Page 51 of The Hitman’s Final Job

“I don’t trust anyone else right now,” I say, striving for a gentle tone. “What if Draven already knows Vaughn is innocent and doesn’t care? What if the contract stands regardless of what we find? I’m not handing Vaughn’s name back to the organization until I know what we’re dealing with.”

Zuza is quiet. “The HelixGen research is drawing blanks,” she finally says. “I keep hitting walls. Shell companies inside shell companies. But I did get a name—Richard Musgrove. He appears to be the man who came to Pine Ridge to personally run the acquisition attempt.”

“Get him.”

“It hurts my feelings that you think we’d be having this conversation without me having that information already,” she says.

“You have no feelings.”

“I have at least one feeling. About coffee.”

I snort. “Tell me what you have on this man.”

“Richard Musgrove lost his job after Pine Ridge. The failure to secure the town apparently cost him his position at HelixGen.”

I sit with that for a moment. “That could be a motive.”

“It could. There’s only one thing. It takes money and connections to order a hit on someone. Not to mention the existence of the organization isn’t public.”

“Unless he has backing,” I suggest. “Maybe his dismissal is a cover. And if Musgrove is behind it personally, then why isn’t he going after the other two? The oral historian and the one who used to work for HelixGen? They were equally responsible for what happened in Pine Ridge.”

“Maybe you should ask them,” Zuza says.

“I can only do that if I tell them what I know. The real reason I’m here.”

“Maybe that’s something you should think about.”

I don’t answer immediately.

What I don’t tell Zuza—what I’m not ready to say out loud to anyone—is that the thing I’m most afraid of isn’t the contract or Draven’s impatience or even the threat to Vaughn’s life. What I’m most afraid of is Vaughn finding out the truth and deciding he doesn’t want me in his life. Not even as a friend.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think fast,” Zuza says.

I end the call and put my phone away.

Downstairs, the kitchen smells like roasting chicken and herbs.

Vaughn is at the oven, crouching slightly to check on the chicken through the glass door. He’s in a dark green Henley with the sleeves pushed up. The jeans he’s wearing fit him so perfectly I stand in the doorway for a moment just appreciating the curve of his ass.

“How’s it looking?” I ask.

He glances at me over his shoulder. “Twenty minutes. The vegetables need to go in.”

“I’ll do it,” I say.

We move around the kitchen like we’ve been splitting tasks for years. When I reach over to grab a kitchen towel, he goes for it too, and for a moment we stop, our hands on the cloth and our eyes on each other.

I clear my throat and go set the table in the dining room instead.

Unsurprisingly, Tess and Clayton don’t arrive empty-handed. There’s wine, more bread, and cake.

“Tess, I definitely need to go back to Atlanta before I need to buy new clothes.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to work out the excess energy.” There’s a tease in the way she says it, but Vaughn takes the chicken out of the oven, so we get busy serving up the food.

Dinner is excellent because Vaughn is a great cook. The conversation inevitably finds its way to the topic of the pumpkin festival.