Page 70 of The Hitman’s Final Job

Time to go home, I guess.

Silas gets handsy during the drive back, so I pull him closer to me and promise he’ll get to touch anywhere he wants if he’ll let me get us home safely. Thankfully, he’s not that far gone.

When we get to the house, I tell him to go up to the bedroom while I grab a glass of water for him.

He kisses me, mouthing in between how much he wanted to do that at the bar, and goes upstairs.

When I turn on the kitchen light, there’s something on the floor just inside by the back door.

When I pick it up, a chill runs down my spine. It’s a photo of me with Silas at the restaurant in Warsaw. We’re smiling at each other, our heads so close we look like we’re about to kiss. I remember wanting to do that.

I stand up slowly.

The kitchen is very quiet around me. The house creaks as it settles and from upstairs comes the sound of Silas moving around.

I turn the photo over. On the back, in handwriting, it says: You have been warned repeatedly. This is the last one.

“I missed you,” Silas says, appearing by the door in nothing but his underwear. I fold the photograph and put it in my jeans pocket.

“Sorry,” I say. “Lost track.”

He crosses the kitchen and kisses me again, longer this time, his hands on my face, and I kiss him back. I wipe my mind of all thoughts of the photograph burning a hole in my pocket and the man who seemed to be watching me across the road from the Ridgeline.

“Come to bed,” he says against my lips.

“Drink this glass of water and then we’ll go,” I say, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and taking it to the tap.

When we’re in bed, Silas falls asleep quickly while I lie in the dark, gazing up at the ceiling.

Someone followed me the whole time I was in Warsaw, and now they’ve shown up on my property. My sanctuary.

This is escalating.

I remember what Dale said about reporting anything new. Sleep takes much longer to come this time, even with Silas pressed against me, which so far has brought me only peace.

This feeling of helplessness is not something I’m familiar with. I’m the man who raised a child when I was barely an adult. I’m the man who fought to keep my research independent so it can’t be bought by the highest bidder. And now it seems that someone might be interested in suppressing it because, god forbid, people have the resources to feed their communities and be economically independent.

Silas moves in his sleep and tightens his arm around me. He mumbles something that sounds like “You’re so sexy. I wish I could keep you.”

That brings a smile to my face. I wish I could keep him too.

TWENTY-TWO

SILAS

When I wake up, the bed is wrong.

The sheets are warm, the pillow is right, and the morning light is coming through the curtains at the right angle. But the particular weight and warmth that has been on my left side every morning is absent.

Vaughn’s side of the bed is cold, so he must have gotten up a while ago.

I reach for my phone and check the time. It’s nine in the morning, which is later than usual, but then again, I don’t always drink as much as I did last night. Tess does know her wine because the absence of a hangover this morning can only be considered a miracle.

There’s a message from Zuza.

Zuza:

Check your emails.