Page 46 of The Hitman’s Final Job

“Thanks, man.”

We change out of the wetsuits and put them in the back of Hux’s van before he and Chris drive off.

“You always camp after rafting?” I ask, following Rowan to the car.

“If I can. It depends on the arrangements. If Chris can bring my car, I’ll do it; if he can’t, I go back with the group.”

We drive ten minutes to a parking lot where Rowan and I unload the gear from the back of his car.

The hike to the camping spot is short but steep, the trail climbing through the pine forest before opening onto a ridge with a view that stops me mid-step.

The valley spreads below us. Mountains are ranged on three sides, and a small cluster of lights and rooftops reflect the gold of the early evening down below.

“Let’s see how good you are at surviving the wilderness,” Rowan jokes, but then he proceeds to show me the fancy tent that goes up in a single move, like magic, and the blow-up mattresses and the blankets he brought.

We build a small fire and sit with the food Chris packed.

“I want to move here,” Rowan says.

“Now?”

“Not now,” he says. “Not yet. But one day.” He’s clutching his coffee cup, his expression filled with decisiveness. “I love my work, and I’m nowhere near ready to give it up. But I don’t want to be a career agent. I want to leave my mark on something and then … before Dad gets too old, I want to be closer to him. Maybe become a sheriff.”

“I think your dad would like that.”

“I know.”

We sit with the fire for a moment. Below us, more house lights in the valley turn on as the evening deepens.

“What about you?” Rowan asks. “What are your plans?”

I fix my attention on the coffee cup in my hands, gathering the nerve to say it.

“I quit my job.” There must be something about the air up here or the stars in the sky. Or maybe I’m finding that I miss too many things too often.

Rowan is unmoving beside me.

“When?” he finally asks.

“Recently,” I say. “It’s been coming for a while.”

“Is that why you’re in Pine Ridge?”

“No,” I say. “I’m just … wrapping up a job.” I take a sip of coffee. “After Warsaw, I was curious about your dad’s farm. The work he’s doing. I wanted to see it.”

“You know what’s funny?” Rowan finally asks.

“What?”

“You’ve been curious about my dad’s farm for years,” he says. “But you’ve never visited before.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

Sparks shoot into the air when the flames in our campfire hit a knot of pine sap.

“So that zucchini didn’t make it.” he says.

“No, it didn’t make it.”