Page 60 of Kept in the Dark (Hitmen of Ulysses #2)

“Oh my God, I’m so pumped. I’m trying not to be a total dweeb about this, but I’m so happy you’re staying.

Anything you want to do while we’re outside the fence?

I know you haven’t left the mansion in a few weeks.

I could go for an ice cream cone,” she says, almost to herself as she starts the car back up.

I smile. “Ice cream sounds nice. I think I was a kid the last time I had an actual cone. It’s one of the few good memories I have of my dad—we’d always get an ice cream cone before he dropped me back at my mom’s after his weekend.”

She smiles. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah. I don’t have a lot of nice memories, but…” I frown. “Hey… actually… any chance we could stop at my place real quick?”

The look she gives me is wide-eyed. “What?”

“Only for a minute. In his note, Dimitri said that my stuff is going to be repossessed. I don’t care,” I hurry to add when she grimaces, “but there’s a photo album from when I was little, and it’s the only pictures I have of my dad.

Stuff is stuff, but if staying with Dimitri ends up meaning that I have to stay a missing person, memories are the only thing I care about losing.

” And then, because she doesn’t quite look convinced, I add, “It’ll seriously take five minutes.

I know exactly which box it’s in and exactly where the box is in the U-Haul. ”

She chews on the inside of her cheek. “Let me text Mac and see if he thinks it’s safe enough.”

“Sure. Just… um… don’t tell him I’m staying, or ask him not to tell Dimitri. I don’t want to distract him from the job, and I have some serious groveling to do.”

Her thumbs make a soft clacking noise against the screen as she types out her question, and she holds it, staring at the open message chain.

He responds instantly. “He says it’s okay to stop there.

They’ve cast the signal on the flash drive thingy, so chances are low that anyone is still watching.

And he knows it’s broad daylight, on a fairly busy street.

That next message is for me…” she blushes, angling the phone away from me so I won’t see whatever private words he sent.

“And then he’s reminding me how to circle the block and keep an eye out for plainclothes officers.

Okay. Mac stamp of approval. Let’s go get that album. ”

She pulls out of the parking lot, and I watch the bus station disappear into the background with a buzzing sort of excitement. As she navigates across the city to my barely lived-in rental, our chatter is lighthearted, full of the first deep bonds of sisterhood.

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes you didn’t leave,” she says, giggling. “He’s gonna be all, ‘this pleases me greatly,’ which is like Dimitri for, ‘I’ve never been happier.’”

I laugh at her terrible accent. “You sound like the Count from Sesame Street.” We grin at one another, and after a beat, I tell her, “Mac is really lucky.”

“Because of how good I am at impressions?”

“Because you’re amazing. So insightful.”

“I know,” she says gravely. “Everyone’s always so surprised by it. Do you think my bangs make me look younger than I am or something? I’ve been thinking about growing them out.”

I laugh as she lifts a hand and parts them in the middle to show me how much more serious and adult she looks when I can see her forehead.

We arrive at the top of my street, and the mood in the car immediately shifts. Eleanor’s eyes dart around, up and down, and in every car window as she circles the block. I try to help, but I don’t really know what to look for.

“Okay, I think we’re good. I’m going to park in that spot over there,” she points. “In and out, five minutes, right? Pull up the hood of your sweatshirt just in case.”

I do just that and pop out of the car.

Luckily, the front door opens with a code, and the U-Haul key is still hanging on the little key hook that the previous tenant left screwed into the wall.

Heart racing from adrenaline like I’m actively being chased, I snatch the orange keychain and scurry down the short driveway in front of the row home towards the back of the truck with the recognizable orange branding.

I jiggle the key in the lock when the door won’t roll up automatically, and curse to myself as it catches halfway.

Piece of shit… it smelled like cigarettes in the front cab, too, which I now remember gave me a wicked headache for most of the 10-hour drive.

I climb up into the back and start rearranging boxes to get to the row near the front. It doesn’t take too long, since I’m organized and methodical, and I know I’m looking for the one labeled “Mementos and Misc Office.”

Just as I get my fingernail under the clear packing tape, I hear the grinding of metal against metal and spin around in time to see the rolling door close.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I shoot towards the disappearing opening, but before I make it two full steps, I hear the resounding metallic click echoing in the dark chamber around me, locking me inside.