Trust Me, I'm Trouble (31 page)

I
wake up with a cramp in my hand and a gross taste in my mouth. I pick myself up from the nest of Dani’s blankets. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in her apartment, but I guess yesterday got the better of me. I snuck out of Mike’s house (FBI detail didn’t stand a chance) and took the “L” to Dani’s, because I didn’t want to have to face anyone before making my next move. I could have gone to the Ballou instead of breaking into Dani’s apartment, but I wanted to be surrounded by her smell while I waited for the morning.

I managed to eke out a plan from the bare scraps of brain I have left after everything that’s happened in the past twelve hours. Will the plan work? Hell if I know. But it’s time to give it the old con-artist try.

I yawn the entire way to the kitchen. Dani doesn’t have a coffeepot, of course, which is a downer. I use the time to shower instead, washing all the lake grime out of my hair with her shampoo. And if the water running down my face has a higher salt content than water that comes from a faucet normally does, well, I’m not telling.

If Mike made it through the night, then he has a fifty-fifty chance of making it through the day. Especially if I don’t go near him. Spade, in my grifter opinion, likes to make a point before he neutralizes his target. He took out Dani with me watching, and he didn’t even break a sweat. Mike, Sam, Murphy. I’d be an idiot to think any of them are safe. But Spade won’t do anything unless I’m watching. And since I won’t risk my friends, I’m as good as on my own.

Lucky for me, I have plenty of enemies.

I finish my shower and get dressed for the day ahead. I brought jeans, my Converse, a T-shirt, and a hoodie with me from Mike’s. I’m not a corporate intern anymore, not a Catholic schoolgirl. I’m just me. Julep. Patron saint of lost girls.

I text Mike that I’m at the hospital with Ralph and slide on a pair of sunglasses to protect my pounding head from the early-summer sun. Days like this, it’s good to be a bad guy.

My first stop is the chapel. Lily asked me to meet her when we talked last night. I figured the chapel was fitting.

I pull open the heavy oak door that leads to the nave. I’m not sure what I’ll find when I go in. Will she be contrite? Will she still be angry? Even more of a mystery, how will I react? When her brother betrayed me, I threw a raging hissy fit. Then he died, and I never got to take it back. What will I do when I come face to face with a girl whose silence put Dani in a coma?

I don’t actually see Lily until she tackle-hugs me. She’s crying like her heart is breaking. I can tell that she’s not hugging me because she’s sorry or because she cares for me. She’s clinging to the only moss-covered rock in a storm-tossed sea. I know how that feels. I reach my arms around her and pull her close. Neither of us speaks, but we don’t need to. Not about this. She used to be Tyler’s sister, but she’s my sister now.

After a long while, her sobs turn to little sniffles and hiccups. “She’s my mother,” she whispers. “I couldn’t— But Tyler loved you. So I had to know. If you were worth saving.”

I smile. “I guess you must have decided I am.”

“Truthfully, I’m still on the fence,” she says, wiping her eyes. “But no one’s death is going to undo my brother’s. Death just breeds more death. I couldn’t be a part of that. Even for her.”

“I get it,” I say, bumping my chin on the top of her head.

She straightens and pulls away. “I should go home before she suspects something.”

“Does she know you know?”

Lily shakes her head. “Or she might, actually. I don’t think she cares if I know. She’s out of her mind with grief still. She’s a zombie when she’s not in a rage. She spends most of her time in Tyler’s room.”

I shudder with guilt and sorrow before forcing my attention back to Lily. “If you’re not sure, then it’s not safe. Can I see your phone?”

She hands it to me, hesitant. I don’t know if she’ll ever trust me, but that’s neither here nor there at the moment. I type Mike’s office address into the nav app.

I show her the phone. “Can you get here? Buses only, cash only.”

“It’s not that far,” she says. “Why cash only?”

“I don’t want anyone tracking you.”

“Okay. But aren’t you coming with me?”

“I have some errands to run. When you get in the building, ask for Mike. Tell him what you told me, but don’t tell him where I am. If he asks, say I’m at the hospital. Tell him I said to take care of you until I get back.”

She nods. “Where are you going?”

“I’m taking my kings out of the back row,” I say, nudging her arm with my elbow. Then I turn to leave.

“Wait. You still have my phone.”

“I know,” I say, and walk out of the church.

• • •

My next stop is the Chinese restaurant Dani and I staked out a week ago. I hate being here without her. I hate being here without the Chevelle. I hate being here at all.

The restaurant isn’t even open yet, but I won’t have to wait long. If Han is half as good as Dani, she’ll find me.

Forty-five minutes later, Han shows up. “What the hell are you doing here? This is my territory, and I don’t tolerate rats.”

“We prefer the term ‘criminal informants,’ ” I say, leaning against a fancy lamppost. “Dani’s in the hospital.” It’s heartless to throw it at her like that, but I need to shock her into opening her mind to helping me.

She pales. “I heard about the accident. Your fault?”

I nod. “Yours, too.”

“How do you figure that? I’m not the one with a contract out on me.”

“Yet you knew who took the contract and you did nothing to stop it.” I’m gambling that she feels some measure of guilt over this. “He was aiming for her. If he’d wanted me dead, Dani would be standing here and I’d be in the hospital. Or the morgue.”

She flinches. Grifter: 1. Ex-girlfriend: 0.

“What do you want? You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something from me.” Her chin inches up with each word. It’s taking her considerable effort to overcome her pride.

“I need you to convince Spade to change his plans and come after me now.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“You have the message board, your extensive underground network. Surely you can find him and convince him you have inside knowledge as to when I’ll be vulnerable. Tell him I’m being sent to a safe house. That should up his timetable.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s a professional. He’s not just going to fall for someone willing to give him insider information. Besides, I’m not a grifter. I don’t lie like it’s breathing.”

“Then threaten to shut him out. Start a rumor that you’re going to take me down for personal reasons before he has the chance. He’ll have to follow you to make sure you don’t.”

“What if he tries to kill
me
?”

“Are you saying you can’t evade one little hit man for the rest of the day? Didn’t you say you were an enforcer or something?”

She glares white-hot daggers of rage at me. “What’s to stop me from actually killing you? For ‘personal reasons.’ ”

“I’ll take my chances,” I say. “Be at Bar63 on North Broadway by nine tonight.” Then I end with, “For Dani.” Because I can’t not.

• • •

My last errand is the one I’ve been dreading, and that’s saying something since I just came from a tête-à-tête with Genghis Han.

The president’s house is a beautifully renovated turn-of-the-century Tudor about a mile from campus. I’ve never been inside. Had I a choice, I wouldn’t be trying to get in now. But if enemies are the only allies available to me, then I’ll take them.

I ring the bell. It’s actually kind of normal-sounding. Not the overly dramatic cathedral bells I’d anticipated.

A young aide opens the door. “Sister Rasmussen has been expecting you,” she says.

“I’ll bet she has,” I say.

“Please, follow me.”

The aide takes me to the kitchen in the back of the house. This is hardly comforting. There are lots of knives in the kitchen. And any screaming is not likely to be heard from the street. Not that I think she’ll try to kill me. Probably. She’s my grandmother, after all.

“Can I get you a drink?” the aide asks.

“No, thank you,” I say, thinking about Persephone and pomegranate seeds.

The president keeps me stewing for almost fifteen minutes. I suppose it’s a demanding profession, running the largest Catholic high school in Chicago. Or dominating the international criminal underworld. Or both.

When she does finally deign to grace me with her presence, she is still wrapped head to foot in the nun getup. “Ms. Dupree,” she says with her usual aplomb.

“Sister Rasmussen,” I say, just as calmly.

“Come to ask for another favor?” she says, arching an eyebrow.

“I’ve come to ask for help in protecting your investment.”

“What investment is that?”

“Me.”

“I see.” She skirts the opposite side of the kitchen island, keeping the polished countertop between us. “Difficulties with your summer internship, I presume?”

That’s right. Rub it in, why don’t you?

“A few. And I was hoping you could help me resolve one or two of them.”

“Exactly how would the president of a preparatory school do that?”

“I’m sure you have all sorts of resources at your disposal.”

“Suppose I could offer you the resources you need. What would you give me in return? Or are you going to throw the school into jeopardy again so you can rescue it?”

“Harsh but fair. No, I don’t have a badger game prepped this time. I’m hoping family ties still mean something in the twenty-first century.”

She gives me a warning look, but I haven’t pushed her so far as to make her brush me off. I have to tread carefully. She still hasn’t admitted anything I can use against her if this all goes south.

“If you do not have collateral to bargain with, then I have a suggestion.”

“I’m listening,” I say, suddenly even more leery of wolves in nuns’ clothing.

“The Brillion internship is still open.” She smirks at me. It’s a small smirk, but it’s definitely there. “I’ll give you what you need if you agree to take the internship for the rest of the summer.”

I pretend to consider her offer. In truth, a summer internship is nothing for what I’m asking. But my daddy didn’t raise an idiot. My sentence would be to the Moretti family business, or my name isn’t Julep Dupree….Okay, well, you know what I mean.

“Fine, I’ll do the internship, if you help me today
and
if you make the New York investigation against Sam for that safe-deposit-box theft go away.”

She pretends to consider my counteroffer. I’m sure she doesn’t give a crap one way or the other about whether Sam goes down for the safe-deposit box, and I highly doubt sabotaging an investigation would take more than a drop of her considerable power. It’s more a show of good faith on her part than something that would take any real effort. It’s a good deal for her, and it’s not a terrible deal for me.

“Done. You start on Monday. Brillion office, eight a.m. sharp.” She clasps the delicate gold crucifix hanging around her neck. “I think I have just the resource you need.”

Did she just call someone simply by touching her necklace? I am seriously impressed. I want one of those.

I hear the door to the back hallway open and close, followed by footsteps on the marble tile floor. I’m surprised to not hear heels, though. I guess I assumed Fake Mrs. Antolini would still be in the same outfit she’d come to my office in.

But it’s not Fake Mrs. A who rounds the corner.

“Ralph?” I say, shocked.

“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Chen. Ms. Dupree has a problem for which she needs to make use of your considerable talents.”

Ralph bows to me, silent, expression completely neutral. No guilt, no surprise, no affection, nothing. He’s not playing it like he doesn’t recognize me, either, which no doubt means that my grandmother knows our whole history. She was probably the one who sent him to watch me from the beginning of his friendship with my dad. She probably knows things about me that I don’t even know. The thought makes me shudder.

Get it together, grifter.

“Well, this is unexpected,” I say, ignoring the million questions crowding my brain. Right now, only one thing matters. “Shall we get started?”

M
ost people think that the trick to the three-card monte is the sleight of hand, the dealer’s ability to switch the lady out for a worthless card without the mark noticing. But prestidigitation is just a tool. It’s a necessary part of the game, but it’s not 
the trick.
The trick is getting the mark to believe he can win.

In my case, Spade already thinks he can win. He’s had the upper hand since he took the contract. But I’m not his usual kind of target. I don’t run to my friends or the police or even strike out on my own. I’m craftier than that, and he’ll likely underestimate me. Ackley will be harder to lure. He’s easily as crafty as I am and will be tougher to tempt out of his lair. But it certainly helps that I know what he wants. I can pretend I have it and he’ll have to face me to find out if I do.

I unlock and open the door to Bar63. The bar is uncharacteristically empty for a Saturday evening. The Closed sign on the door probably has something to do with it. I had Sister Rasmussen close it for the occasion. It’s amazing the places you can get into when you have the key.