Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Darren’s disappearance had existed as a question buried beneath layers of secrecy.
Today my mom had given that silence direction that hopefully would lead someone to dig further.
And when they did, the people responsible for burying the truth might finally feel the ground begin to shift beneath them.
It was right after hockey practice when Luke called me. Marcus had found something—a charge on the card tied to Darren’s shell company. Three years paid in advance for a storage unit. Unit 47. Luke wanted me there. Marcus was already on his way to open it.
The storage facility sat off a narrow road, iron fencing and rows of beige metal doors stretching beneath a flat gray sky. Nothing scenic or inviting. Just concrete and gravel.
Luke’s SUV was parked near the edge of the lot. He stood a few feet from the driver’s side, pacing once before stopping when my car turned in. His attention locked on to me immediately. By the time I parked, he was already moving.
I barely had the door open before he was there. His hand closed around mine, steady and sure, guiding me out of the car. The second my feet hit the ground, he stepped in, his gaze sweeping over my face. Then his hand went to the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss.
When we parted, his hand stayed at my waist a second longer before he stepped back slightly. “Marcus is at the unit. He’s getting the lock open.”
Of course he was. I glanced past him toward the back row of doors. “Has anyone else been here?”
“Not that we’ve seen,” he replied evenly.
His eyes flicked to the roofline of the office then the pole near the entrance. Cameras. Old. Maybe working. Maybe not.
“But assume they are,” he added quietly.
The wind cut across the lot, making my hair dance behind me. Gravel shifted under my shoes as we walked side by side toward the rows of units. Whatever hid behind that metal door had been waiting longer than I had.
Luke reached out, fingers brushing mine, then lacing through them. Warmth spread up my arm, grounding my breathing.
A second figure stepped from the shadows near the storage office.
Marcus Vega looked out of place on the sidewalk in a way that made him blend in anyway. Clean jacket. Neutral colors. His eyes tracked everything without lingering, as if the world offered information he could collect simply by existing inside it.
“Callahan,” he greeted, voice even.
“Vega,” I returned, trying to match his composure.
Luke angled his body slightly in front of me, subtlety protective. “You confirm we’re clear?”
Marcus’s gaze flicked across the lot and then the street. “Seems that way, but it doesn’t mean we’re alone.” He tugged a thin pair of gloves from his pocket.
My stomach dropped. Luke squeezed my hand once. “We’ll get in and out fast.”
Marcus jerked his head toward the storage office. “Unit forty-seven. Back row. It’s open.”
Guess he was the lookout. Luke and I walked toward where he’d indicated. Each step carried the sound of our shoes against the crunch of gravel until we hit the walkway.
As we passed a closed office, my reflection flashed in the glass, pale and tense. Besides mine, Luke’s was composed, controlled, almost calm.
The door was identical to the others. Beige metal. Scratched near the handle. A rusted number 47 bolted above it. A heavy padlock hung from the latch—open, already unhooked, the shackle loose against the metal.
Marcus had done his part.
Luke’s hand found mine again, fingers threading through with quiet pressure. “You ready?”
I wasn’t. I nodded anyway.
Luke’s gaze held mine a second longer, anchoring me in his presence.
He released my hand and stepped forward. The padlock came off with a dull clank as he pulled it free and dropped it gently to the concrete.
His fingers curled around the metal handle. He glanced back at me once—checking, not asking permission. Then he rolled the door up. The metal groaned as it lifted, the sound harsh against the still air.
Dust drifted in the narrow band of light that cut across the concrete floor inside. My breathing stalled as I stepped into the stale air. The space inside was small. But it was far from empty.
A battered plastic storage bin sat near the back wall, the lid cracked at one corner. A cardboard box leaned against it, taped shut. A duffel bag slumped to the side, worn and scuffed.
Luke stepped forward first, then paused, looking back at me. I matched his pace..
I glanced back to find that Marcus had joined us, but he stayed at the entrance, half in shadow, watching the lane behind us.
Luke crouched beside the large plastic storage bin shoved against the back wall and lifted the lid carefully, setting it aside without a sound. Inside were file folders, a stack of envelopes rubber-banded together, and a smaller metal lockbox tucked beneath them.
He began sorting through it with deliberate precision. “Why don’t you check that?” He gestured to a taped cardboard box near my feet.
I knelt slowly and dragged the box closer. The cardboard lid opened easily, the tape not doing much to hold it in place. Marcus had joined Luke and was sorting through documents. When he paused, there was a stillness about him that had me taking notice.
“Holy shit,” Marcus murmured.
Everything in me snapped to attention, and I turned.
“This is the smoking gun.”
Luke moved, closing the distance in two strides, eyes scanning the page Marcus held. Silence stretched. “What is it?” Luke’s voice came out low, dangerous.
Marcus exhaled slowly, jaw tightening before he finally spoke. “It’s not just notes.” He lifted the paper slightly. “This ties Darren to something bigger. Financials. Suspicious movement in the company. Names.”
My stomach dropped. “What kind of names?” I pushed up from the floor, crossing to them.
Marcus’s gaze flicked to me, assessing. “The kind that explains why he didn’t walk away from whatever he got into. And why someone made sure he couldn’t talk.”
The air shifted. Luke went still beside him. “Motive.”
“Yeah,” Marcus confirmed quietly. “Motive.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. “Does it name who?”
Marcus hesitated. “It points,” he answered carefully. “Not clean enough to hand over yet. But close.”
Luke’s jaw flexed. “Close to who?”
Marcus met his gaze. “Close enough to your world that I’m not saying another word until I go through everything.” Silence slammed into the room. “I need to take all this. Go through it and make sure nothing in here circles back to you.”
Luke didn’t argue, but he didn’t let it go either. “Mila’s mom is working with the feds. Should we give it to him?”
Marcus’s attention snapped to me. “Who?”
“Nick Jacobson.”
Recognition hit instantly. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “I know him. He’s good people. After I go through everything, I’ll make sure he gets it.”
We gathered the documents without another word, movements quick now, efficient. Marcus lowered the door, metal screeching again, then locked it.
The sound felt final. My lungs finally caught up to the reality of what we had done. I turned away from the rows of storage doors and stumbled toward the lot.
Marcus walked toward his sedan without hurry, Luke in his wake. The two of them stopping near the SUV, keeping their voices low. I couldn’t hear the words, only the cadence—measured, deliberate. Then they put everything in the trunk.
Marcus gave a single nod before getting into his car. Luke watched him pull out of the lot before turning back to me. He crossed the distance without hesitation and opened my door.
I dropped into the driver’s seat. He rested one hand on the top of the door frame, leaning in slightly.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No,” I answered. “But I will be.”
That earned the faintest shift in his expression. “Good,” he replied. “We’re in this together.”
The reason Mom and I had left Blackwood—Darren lying behind King Enterprises, eyes sightless, blood pooling around him—haunted me. My hands gripped the steering wheel hard. “He knew he was in danger. He should’ve left or, I don’t know, done something to stay safe.”
“Yes.”
I looked up at him. “What if we’re wrong about all of it?”
“Then we adjust,” he answered without hesitation. “We don’t guess. We get proof about who’s behind his death, and what, if anything, he had on Dunn.”
I studied his face. What he left out was anything Darren had on King Enterprises.
“I’m not keeping you in the dark,” he continued. “Not about this. Not about anything.”
That meant more than us finding the storage unit or the notebook.
He reached in, brushing his thumb lightly over my knuckles where they gripped the wheel. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I exhaled slowly. “Drive safe.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You too.”
He stepped back, closed my door gently, and walked around to his SUV. As I started the engine, I checked my mirrors out of habit.
Across the lot, near the fence line, a dark sedan sat facing the exit. Engine running. Windows tinted.
Something about it sat wrong, enough to trip the same instinct Darren’s notebook had carved into me—don’t assume, don’t trust, don’t wait. I held the image for one second too long. Then I pulled out, Luke’s SUV falling in behind me.