Page 43 of The Hitman’s Final Job

There’s a pause on the other side of the line.

“What’s going on, Vaughn?”

I don’t know how much I should tell him, but if I want the help of his hacker friend, I’ll need to give him something.

“Would you and Kai like to come over to my place for dinner tonight? I can tell you more then.”

“We’ll see you then.”

FOURTEEN

SILAS

Rowan refuses to tell me where we’re going, but when we’re approaching Riverside Outfitters, I know this isn’t going to be a chill hiking day.

We’re greeted by a guy who seems to be either hypercaffeinated or the human version of the Energizer bunny.

“Rowan. Dude! I thought I had to fake my death and put up a notice just to see you at my funeral.”

“Not that he’s being dramatic about it, or anything.” The words come from a tall guy walking past us carrying a load of wetsuits. He stops, places a kiss on the first guy’s head, and then turns to us. “Good to see you, Rowan. And you must be Silas,” he says, turning to me. “I’m Huxley, but everyone calls me Hux. This little dude here is Chris.”

The shorter guy must be the Chris from Riverside Outfitters who Tess mentioned.

I don’t know what I expected exactly from the man who proposed a phallic gourd competition at a community festival, but someone who might blow away if the wind gets too high was not it.

He greeted Rowan like they’ve known each other for years, and I’m not going to deny it makes me a little jealous. I know Rowan has other friends, but I’ve never met anyone who’s this friendly.

“Silas,” he says, extending his hand. “We finally meet. Rowan talks about you constantly.”

“Nothing good, I hope,” I say.

“Mostly good,” Chris says. “The rest is entertaining.”

Rowan grins beside me, entirely unrepentant.

The store is exactly what you’d expect from a place called Riverside Outfitters. It’s all organized chaos, with every surface occupied by equipment in various states of preparation. The smell of neoprene, river water, and coffee somehow tracks.

The wall behind the checkout counter is covered in photographs of people in rafts, faces caught mid-rapids, with expressions ranging from exhilaration to what can only be described as regret. I scan them quickly and find Rowan in three of them. There are also photos of people climbing, cycling through some kind of forest, and skydiving.

All of a sudden, my interest in today’s activities rises. I’m not an adrenaline junkie, but I can’t remember the last time Rowan and I did any kind of radical sport. This couldn’t have come at a more perfect time, because I need to burn some energy.

“Hux will take you out today,” Chris says, handing us each a wetsuit. “He’ll run you through the briefing on the water. It’s a full day, so you’ll have lunch on the river.” To me, he asks, “First time?”

“First time what?”

“White water rafting,” Rowan says, with the biggest grin. Excitement radiates from him like he’s going to burst if we don’t get moving.

“It’s my first time,” I confess, “but I’ve always wanted to do it.”

“You’ll be fine,” Chris says. “You seem like you’re in great shape, and Hux will look after you.”

Chris runs through what the day will involve while Hux stares at Chris as if this is the first time he’s hearing this information.

Hux is tall, broad, with the kind of outdoors tan that shows he’d wilt like a sad flower if he had to have an office job.

Intro spiel over, we load into an old van, and Hux takes us out of Pine Ridge. Other than when he introduced himself earlier, he seems the quiet type. Rowan talks for the three of us, mostly telling me about other times he’s done this same tour with Hux. Apparently, Chris doesn’t like being in water, but he’s an expert climber. He and Chris balance tour days with managing the store.

When we get to base camp, we change into our wetsuits. As Rowan does his suit up, I think about the version of his life I’ve been missing.