Trust Me, I'm Trouble (18 page)

Ralph? A sword? A
British accent
?

“What the hell is going on?”

He smiles, but his expression is regretful. “I’ve been ordered to keep an eye on you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are in danger,” he says.

“That is not an answer. Who
are
you?”

“I am Ralph Chen—”

“The hell you are. Ralph Chen could not have done that.”

He stands still as I skirt around him and the body.

“Perhaps it’s more accurate to say I am
also
Ralph Chen.”

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” I’m more afraid than angry, but if I cling to angry, maybe I’ll get through this. Where the hell is Dani? The killer didn’t take her out first, did he? I shudder in dread at the possibility.

“Ralph Chen is one of many names I have legally, and not-so-legally, adopted over the years. It’s the one you know me by, so it’s a fair answer to your question.”

“This is insane! Who are you really?”

He leans down to wipe his sword on his victim’s camo shirt. Then he sheathes the sword and clasps his hands behind his back, probably to appear less frightening. It helps, but not a lot.

“Maybe it would be more instructive for you to ask whom I work for,” he says.

“Fine, who do you work for?”

He doesn’t move, though I’m behind him now. “I can’t tell you that,” he says.

“Then why did you tell me to ask!”

“Knowing that my employer is significant is helpful, is it not?”

I growl in frustration. He’s right, but that doesn’t make me want to punch him any less. “This is ridiculous! Why are you even here?”

“You were in danger.”

“And before? When you worked at the shop? Was I in danger then, too?”

“My orders were different then—just watch and report. I set myself up as a confidant to your father, though it wasn’t easy. Your father has few exploitable weaknesses and he’s smart enough to know a con when he sees one.”

“Well, he certainly didn’t see through you.”

“It is impossible to suspect everyone all the time. And you must admit, I played a pretty believable harmless old man.”

He certainly did sell harmless. So well that he fooled not one grifter but two.

“But
why
?”

He doesn’t answer. I’ve circled him almost all the way around again. I stop when I realize it. I don’t want to be trapped between him and the body and the tree. I want a clear path out of here.

“So your orders change then?” I ask. “Will they change to a kill order at some point?”

“Doubtful,” he says. But he doesn’t smile when he says it, so I don’t think he’s joking. “I’m not going to kill you right now.”

“Well, that’s
so
comforting. Thanks for that.”

“I have a message for you.”

“What is it?”

“Be careful.”

“Okay, great. That’s super helpful, Ralph. Thanks.”

He bows again and walks away. I’d follow him and demand more answers, but by the time I decide to do so, he has disappeared. In an instant. Just gone. Which probably means he’s some sort of British spy with ninja training, and isn’t it just wonderful that I now have to worry about
that
on top of everything else. At least he’s not dead. Or maybe that’s a bad thing. I don’t freaking know anymore. I mean, what the hell am I going to tell my dad?

And then I remember I’m standing in the woods at night with a dead body.

I hustle to where I think the Chevelle is, but I get turned around a time or two. When I break through the trees and back into the quarry, I just about melt down. I want to go
home.
To my apartment with my dad. To a time before I was lost and confused. I hurt, and I’m pissed, and I’m scared, and the damned trembling has started again. And I
hate everything.

But when I turn to head back into the trees, I see Dani running toward me. Before I even think about it, I throw myself into her arms, spewing everything about Ralph and the hit man. She pushes me to arm’s length, looking me over for injuries, but after hearing that Ralph has already dispatched my would-be assassin, she crushes me close again.

“I
told
you to stay in the car.”

“I know,” I whisper into her shoulder.

“But there is time now. It will take time to hire someone new.”

I nod, wishing she’d stop talking about it. She must read my mind, because she goes quiet. After a moment or two, she leads me back through the trees to the Chevelle. I sink into the passenger’s-side seat sideways with my feet still outside the car, finally feeling the night chill settle into my skin. Dani rummages in the trunk again, and then slams the lid shut. Crouching in front of me, she opens the world’s smallest first-aid kit and takes out a couple of Band-Aids.

I lay my hands palm up in my lap so she can assess the damage. Nothing too deep, thankfully. Just scraped and bloody and stinging like hell, now that I’m paying attention to it. Dani clenches her teeth but doesn’t say anything as she digs through the first-aid kit for a sample-sized envelope of antibiotic ointment. There isn’t much in the envelope, but it’s enough for her to spread a thin smear over each hand. Then she abandons the Band-Aids for a tiny roll of gauze. She wraps each hand in a single layer before running out.

“The tire…,” I say, noticing the cut on her cheek again when she tilts her face up to answer.

“I finished before I noticed you were missing. Then I heard the shot….” Her voice breaks, and she pushes herself to her feet. “It was not an accident. Someone cut the tire enough that it blew as soon as we accelerated to freeway speed.”

“I’m sorry. I was looking for a phone signal. I didn’t realize I’d wandered so far.”

She leans against the roof of the car, so I can’t see her face. “When I heard the shots, I thought—” She pauses. “I thought I was too late. I saw your trail. You led him
away
from me. Why? Do you want to die?”

“Of course not,” I say, catching her hand in my bandaged ones. “I thought it would be better to lead him deeper in so you’d have cover. I
will
put you in danger to save myself, just not a stupid amount of danger.” I rest my forehead against the back of her hand, hating myself for using her, for continually throwing her into harm’s way. “If you were smart, you’d get away from me. As far away as you can.”

She squeezes my hands gently. “I will not leave willingly,” she says, which is both what I wanted to hear and, at the same time, not. Because not only is she risking her life by staying, she’s also implying that she might have to leave
un
willingly. And the last thing I want to contemplate right now is the myriad of ways in which that might happen.

Part of me wants to snap at her; the rest of me wants to wrap myself up in her coat and cry. Instead of indulging in either, I pull my feet into the car and fasten my seat belt. Dani shuts my door and walks around to her side.

I gaze through the window at the quarry as she drives us back onto the freeway. I never want to see these bone-colored cliffs ever again. But right now I’d rather stare out into the inky depths than see Dani’s tortured expression, knowing that I’m responsible for it and that there’s nothing I can do to fix it.

“I don’t know what would happen to me if I lost you on top of everything else,” I say without looking at her. “Lost you and it was my fault, I mean. Because I’m going to lose you one way or another, aren’t I?”

She doesn’t answer, and I don’t pursue it. I’ve said what needed saying, and she wouldn’t tell me anyway.

The next thing I know, she’s shaking me awake. I straighten in my seat and look blearily around, disoriented. We’re parked in front of Mike and Angela’s house. Crap. I must have fallen asleep. Oh, god, did I snore? I blush, actually
blush
at the thought.
Come on, Julep. Get it together.
And then memory comes crashing back.

Ouch. I look at my bandaged hands, wincing at how much they hurt when I move them.

“How do I look?” I say. Well,
croak
is probably more accurate.

She frowns. “Like a demon just dragged you out of hell.”

“Fantastic,” I say sourly. “What time is it?”

“Nine o’clock. But I am not taking you anywhere else. It is not safe.”

“Just to the 7-Eleven. If I can get a brush through my hair, I can hide everything else. Please, Dani?”

“You should not be hiding anything.”

I give her my biggest, saddest puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine,” she says. “Just stop looking at me like that.”

When we get to the 7-Eleven, she goes into the store for me. When she comes back, she hands me a bag with a brush, baby wipes, more gauze, and a tube of antibiotic ointment.

“Thanks,” I say as she rips the brush out of its packaging. I gingerly pull its bristles through my rat’s-nest hair, squashing any feelings of awkwardness I have about doing this in front of Dani.

By the time my hair is under control, she’s pulling the Chevelle up to the Ramirezes’ house again. Dani gets out and walks me to the door, looking in every direction but mine.

When we get to the door, she says, “If you want to go anywhere tomorrow, call me and I will take you.”

“I’ll lay low from now on, I promise. I don’t want a repeat of today.” I look her directly in the eye as I say it, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me.

She nods and leaves without offering a good-bye. I carefully open the door and let myself in. Angela is in the living room watching baseball.

“Hey,” I say wearily.

Angela looks at me sharply. I must not be hiding my distress terribly well. Her eyes flick to my bandaged hands and then back to my face.

“What happened?” she says, jumping up and coming over to hug me. “And what are you wearing?”

I manage to tamp down my fear enough to keep my voice from shaking. “Priest costume. Just some scrapes. I fell. Dani patched me up.”

“Fell off what? The back of a moving truck? Let me take a look at that.”

She is a nurse, so I willingly follow her into the bathroom. It feels nice, actually—letting her mother me. Normally, I’d hate it. I often yelled at Sam for being too much of a nagging busybody. But the gentle touch of her hands unwrapping the gauze and washing my skin with antibacterial soap is soothing even as it stings. She doesn’t ask me questions, she just carefully wipes away the water and wraps my hands with fresh gauze. It makes me want to confide in her, which is kind of an odd feeling for me.

I’m not sure how to start, though. I’m so not good at this revealing-myself crap. But I need to talk about
something.
Even if I can’t tell Angela the big stuff, maybe I can tell her something else and get some small measure of catharsis. I don’t even know what I’ve decided to say until it pops out.

“How do you stop liking someone? Like,
liking
liking.” Oh, my god. Did that really just come out of my mouth?

To her credit, Angela takes the stupid question in stride. “Does this have something to do with what happened to your hands?” she says deceptively mildly.

“What? No. Well, maybe the part after what happened to my hands has something to do with it. Or rather it made me realize some things. I don’t even know. Forget I said anything.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “Oh, no, you don’t. You opened this can of worms—there’s no closing it now. What do you mean ‘stop liking someone’? You’re having feelings for someone and you don’t want to?”

I nod.

“You can’t stop, Julep. That’s kind of the point.”

“But I’m a con artist. A: I shouldn’t have feelings like this in the first place. B: I can make other people feel anything I want them to. Why can’t I do that to myself, too?”

Angela grimaces. “Okay, that’s not exactly normal. You don’t really think that, do you?”

I don’t know. Do I think that? “I don’t know what I think anymore,” I finally admit.

She sighs and leans back against the shower door. “Is it a crush, or are you actually in love with her?”

Wow. I guess I’m not as good at hiding my dysfunction as I think I am. “I…don’t know. How did you know I was talking about Dani? Is it that obvious?”

“It’s obvious that she’d crawl over broken glass for you. What’s less obvious is how you feel. Sometimes I think you return her feelings, but other times…? It’s hard to get inside your head. Your reactions to things—it’s like you calculate everything before you say it. Dani’s the only one I’ve ever seen throw you off your game.” She shrugs. “I guess that’s telling.”

Well, that’s not true. People throw me off my game all the time. The measure of a good grifter is how fast we compensate. Maybe that’s what she means. Maybe I can’t adapt with Dani.

“Why do you want to stop, if I may ask? Is it because she’s a girl?”

I blink, surprised. “What does that have to do with anything?”

A smile plays at Angela’s lips. “It matters to some people sometimes. I just wondered if that was what was bothering you.”

“It hadn’t even crossed my mind,” I say truthfully. She’s just Dani. Like Tyler was Tyler. “Honestly, I have so much crazy in my life right now that I can’t even care about that.”

“Some people will care about it. You could lose a few friends over it.”

“I don’t have friends. I have associates. Besides, nothing’s going to happen. Nothing can happen.”

“Why not? What’s holding you back? Is it that she’s older?”

I roll my eyes. “She’s only three years older than me. She’s already bossy enough without anyone else reminding her of that, so please keep that observation to yourself.”

“Then why?”

I think about Tyler. About how I was the death of him. About how much his loss hurt me, how much it still hurts me. About how he deserves better than for me to get any kind of happiness in love, even with a stubborn mob enforcer with enough baggage to swamp Atlantis
.
And then there’s Sam…

Angela must read something in my face, because she tips my chin up until I look at her. “Being in your company is not an automatic death sentence, you know. Even for Dani, who would happily take a bullet for you. You need to accept that.”