Goofy grins are for chumps, not murderesses on the run, but I couldn’t help myself. I was under no illusions: running away with Lou wouldn’t be easy. Being on the run was, I imagined, its own special kind of hell. Having to always look over your shoulder. The strain wouldn’t be easy on Lou and me, either, I figured, whatever we were, or were becoming. And it would be made worse by the dreams of Ellen. Those weren’t going away. If I closed my eyes, I could see her and Klein in the car. His sagging, wrinkly body. Her face unmarred by so much as a laugh line. Both rotting.

In our line of work, we trafficked only in the young or the wealthy. Even when you slept with an old man, you thought of the money, each caress of wrinkled flesh making you more grateful for the elastic quality of your own. I hoped, very hard, that I would never grow old, that some terrible car crash would end it for me, leaving my body mangled but young. Death should come sudden or not at all.

Perhaps Ellen had been lucky, after all. Perhaps I’d made her lucky.

I pushed the thought out of my head. Below, I could hear the steam of Lou’s kettle and her soft voice, maybe talking to herself. Maybe singing. I couldn’t keep the goofy smile off my face for anything after that.

I pulled myself out of bed, despite Lou’s instructions, slipped my clothes back on, and began hunting around for a suitcase or a duffel bag—I could help her get a head start on packing. We could splurge tonight, I thought. Pick some fancy resort in the desert, order room service tomorrow morning and sleep in. And then maybe Mexico. Maybe, I thought, my mouth twisting, we’d even cross paths with Jackal again. Wouldn’t that be something.

Lou’s closet was a mess. I should’ve expected that, the way she kept her desk. I pulled a few of my favorites of her dresses and tossed them on the disheveled bed. But I couldn’t find a suitcase underneath the piles of her shoes and old magazines.

I got down on my knees and flipped the bed curtain up. Bingo. Pressed so far back it was nearly against the headboard, an old beige suitcase was gathering dust. I pulled it out and flipped it open, ready to start packing for Lou.

But it wasn’t empty.