Page 8 of The Hitman’s Final Job

“What do you mean, we don’t have much?”

“The client is being super secretive.” She pauses and taps one red fingernail against the table. “They stripped it to essentials. A face. A date. A location. That’s it.”

“No background on the target?”

“Minimal. Male, mid-forties, American, here through the weekend for a conference.”

“That’s nothing. Where’s the background? The employment history, the family history, connections, skeletons in the closet, threat assessment. Fuck. A reason.”

“I know.”

“They didn’t give us a reason?”

“They gave us a generous fee instead.”

I take another sip of my coffee. “We’re not in the business of killing random businessmen, Zuza. And this smells like exactly what it is.”

“We’re not,” she says simply. “Draven has been our handler long enough. He doesn’t take contracts that come without justification. He told me this target is not someone we should feel conflicted about, and I believe him.”

Zuza is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. She speaks at least seven languages, and she’s saved my life more than a few times. So, when her Polish accent becomes more pronounced, I know I’m getting to her.

“I’m sorry, Zee. I just can’t shake the feeling something’s off.”

She glances at her phone again and then back at me. “What is off is you being frozen out of the details. Do you know why?”

I nod. I guess it’s time to rip off the Band-Aid. “I told Draven I want to resign.”

Her jaw practically hits the ground, then she says a bunch of words in Polish before she takes a deep breath. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because I mean it. I want to change my life. Hell, I want to have a life.”

“But you’re so good at this.”

“That’s the point, Zee. No one should be good at killing people.”

“We need to be so we’re not the ones with a bullet through our beautiful faces.”

I laugh. “I know, but I need more. This isn’t something I just thought about. I’ve been wanting to do it for the last two years.” Since I went back to Colorado to see Rowan and his dad, Vaughn. But I don’t tell her that.

“Wow. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because this is the kind of information that can derail a job, and you know the only time we talk is when we’re on a job. Those are the rules.”

Her expression tells me she knows I’m right but she still doesn’t like it. She shakes her shoulders and inhales. “New plan. How about we check this guy out and then decide what to do? It wouldn’t be the first time we followed our instinct first and the rules second.”

“Draven will be so happy with that.”

“Fuck Draven. You’re his second-best asset, and he’s frozen you out because, what, he’s butthurt that you want to quit?”

“Second best?” I cough a laugh. “Okay, what have you got?”

“A face. Just an ordinary face.” She smiles. “Well, not entirely ordinary. But a face.”

I wait.

“A man who, according to the client, is developing biological weapons he’s intending on selling to low-income countries.” She picks up her macchiato again and takes a slow sip.

“Do you have a photo of this target?” I ask.