Page 21 of The Hitman’s Final Job

Priya stares at me. “Airport gifts?”

“They had a very good selection⁠—”

“He bought us airport gifts,” she repeats to Dom.

“Chocolate, probably,” Dom says.

“Vaughn. You were in Poland. There is an entire world of pierogi and amber jewelry and hand-painted pottery, and you went to the airport shop.”

“I was busy,” I say, which is true, but I’m not going to tell them that in the only free time I had, I locked myself up in my hotel room gearing up for the first semi-date/probably hookup I’ve had in years only to have it turned upside down by the one man I want but can’t have. I’m way too jet-lagged for this. “Let’s all get back to work, and tomorrow you’ll get to find out if I went to the cheap chocolate airport shop or the expensive chocolate airport shop.”

They disperse, and for the next two hours I work through what accumulated while I was away. The work is absorbing like always, pulling me into that deep focus mode I usually find hard to come out of. Thankfully, the jet lag takes its toll, and instead of falling asleep at my desk, I decide to leave the lab and organize the other part of my life. Mostly the fridge, because I have no food in the house.

Around noon I say goodbye to the team and get into the truck. I’m halfway back to the house when I see Clayton.

He’s at the edge of the field by the fence line with his hands in his pockets. When he sees the truck, he raises a hand, so I pull over and roll down the window.

“Welcome back, Vaughn,” he says, resting his forearms on the window frame. “How was the trip?”

“Good. Long. Wished I was here all that time.”

He laughs. “You won’t take me away from Pine Ridge for no money or glory.”

“Don’t blame you, my friend. These are beautiful crops. Who’d want to leave this behind?”

“Your advice paid off. Not a lot of pest pressure this year, and with the dry spell we had in August, I was worried, but”—he shakes his head—“everything held. We’re getting ready to harvest next week. Already have contracts with all the local grocers.”

“That’s excellent news.”

Clayton Briggs is about my age, broad-shouldered, with that kind of weathered look that comes from spending most of your life outdoors. He’s been renting the land from me for four years now, and in that time he’s become a great neighbor and friend.

Not only that, he’s been keen on working with me to improve the quality of the crops. He’s a sort of guinea pig to test if our methods work on large-scale farming.

“By the way, Tess has been baking up a storm all weekend. I’m just letting you know so you don’t go grocery shopping and come back with bread and cake when you’ll have enough arriving at your door to stock a bakery.”

“Tell her I appreciate it. No shop could hold a candle to her baked goods.”

“Oh, she knows.” He glances back at the field. “By the way, don’t forget about the pumpkin festival. It’s in three weeks. Last week of September.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” I usually make an excuse and try to miss it.

“Are you visiting your son this year?” he asks.

I laugh. “No.”

“Feeling healthy? No sniffles?”

I laugh harder; two years ago I came down with the flu and missed the festival again. Clayton won’t let me forget he thinks I did it on purpose.

I’m not a hermit, as my son likes to claim, but I’m also not the kind of person who gets involved in town business unless the situation calls for it. After what went down months ago when a company tried to infiltrate Pine Ridge by seeking access to a data collecting project, I’ve become closer to some of the town residents.

It’s probably healthier to get out of the lab more.

“What have you got for the giant pumpkin competition?”

Clayton leans closer, like he’s about to tell a secret. “I have a good one. Brenda. She’s been growing since July, and if she keeps going the way she’s going, I think she’ll do good. You should come see her.”

“I’ll drop by this week. First I need to go into town and then catch up with my sleep before I turn into a zombie.”