Trust Me, I'm Trouble (6 page)

“Stop talking,” she says sharply. “I am coming to get you. Go somewhere bright and full of people and text me the address.”

I agree and hang up, checking over my shoulder, because it is physically impossible not to when someone’s just told you there’s a hit man targeting you.

The Popeyes across the street definitely fits the bill for brightness, and its proximity to a college means it’s relatively populated, even at nine-forty-five at night. I glance at the number on the door as I start to cross the street. Unfortunately, I’m too busy tapping the address into my phone to notice the headlights barreling toward me until it’s almost too late.

The squeal of accelerating tires betrays my would-be killer. I throw myself behind a Corolla parked illegally in front of the bar. Glass shatters as bullets rip through the car’s rear windshield. I cover my head instinctively and curse when the glass nicks my skin.

Gunshots are almost unheard of in Edgewater, so of course people pour out onto the street like idiots when they should be barring their doors. Popeyes is out of the question now. I make a run for it, my heart slamming against my rib cage. The rational part of my brain says the hit man won’t come back, not with so many witnesses on alert. But the rational part of my brain is no match for survival instinct.

The “L” station is packed and full of light. I jump the turnstile and sprint across the platform, but I don’t feel safe here. I won’t feel safe until I see Dani. I curl up behind a nice metal map display, wrapping my arms around myself to keep my body from shaking to pieces.

Granvlle L staiton.

I tap to Dani, typos rampant from clumsy fingers.

Two things on my to-do list: First, force myself to breathe, and second, figure out who the hell would want me dead.

“A
re you all right?” Dani asks. The soothing glow of streetlights washes over the car as we pass from one pool of light to the next. I want to think about the light, or the oral report I have to give in history, or anything other than bullets flying at my head. And as soon as I think that, the pools of light turn to pools of blood under Tyler’s body.

“Yeah,” I say, blinking back the image for the fiftieth time. “I got away. Total amateur hour.”

“You or him?”

I’m still too rattled to snort, though I appreciate her efforts at distraction. “Both.”

She reaches across the console to lay her hand on top of mine. I must be pretty out of it. She never touches me voluntarily, not without a specific purpose. I’m not sure her touch helps, though. It makes me nervous for a different reason, one that involves me leaning on her too much when I’m clearly a danger to anyone stupid enough to be friends with me. Her job is already dangerous enough. She doesn’t need my crazy life adding to that.

Despite my reservations, my tremors eventually subside under the warmth radiating from her hand.

“I should be stronger than this,” I say. “I used to be invincible.”

She squeezes my hand. “The first time I was ordered to kill someone, I shook so badly, I missed at point-blank range.”

Seriously. This is what she comes up with.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” I say.

She smiles at me, unapologetic. Sometimes I forget that most of my friends can take care of themselves.

“The
first
time you were ordered to kill someone?” I continue.

She releases my hand, moving hers back to the wheel. “Do you really want to know?”

Do I? Or would I rather exist in this fantasy I’ve built up that Dani is as much a victim as the other girls I rescued from Petrov? I know she’s a mob enforcer, but knowing is a far cry from witnessing. I’ve never seen her do any actual enforcing. Do I want to go down that road, or do I want to leave Dani in this nice gray area where she’s just like me—a crook with an unfortunate weakness for the innocent?

I’m not much for truth, generally. But in this case, I think I do want her to tell me. I want to know her better, and that includes all the pieces that she usually keeps hidden. She shows up every time I need her. She tells me what I need to hear every time I need to hear it, whether I want to hear it or not. Since the day we met, she’s never hurt me, left me, or asked anything of me I couldn’t give. I can’t say that about anyone else I’ve ever met. But I still don’t
know
her. And I need to know her to have even half a chance of repaying her someday.

“Yes, I do,” I say. “But not tonight. Tell me a happy story instead.”

She falls silent for a moment, thinking. “In Kharkiv, a group of us orphans lived in an underground maintenance area for the city heating system. Lots of pipes that steamed, kept us warm in winter.”

Holy crap. This is a happy story? I keep my mouth shut, though. This is the first time Dani’s ever actually talked about her past.

“One day, Tatyana—she was six or seven then—came through the manhole carrying a bedraggled cat. It had only one eye and a chunk out of its ear. The fur was patchy and covered in so much grime we could not tell what color it was. The cat took one look at us skinny gutter rats and thought it was about to get eaten. It clawed free of Tatyana’s arms but couldn’t figure out how to get back through the manhole, so it flew around our shelter, bouncing off kids and pipes and yowling at the top of its lungs. We were all scrambling, trying to catch it and throw it out before it drew
militsiya
attention. Mykola finally forced it out. He was covered in scratches, but he was the hero for the day, so he got the largest portion of food. Poor Tatyana. We teased her about it for months afterward.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s a horrible thought, Dani as a child living underground in a post-Soviet concrete jungle, dodging cops and scrounging for food, but the mental image of a bunch of kids hopping around trying to catch a cat that’s gone nuclear is like something out of a sitcom.

“Did it ever come back?” I ask.

“The cat?” Dani says, smiling enough to actually show teeth. “No. But Tatyana couldn’t help herself when it came to animals. She was always dragging in some poor unfortunate creature with a limp or when it was zero degrees outside. Sort of like you.”

“Ha. Ha-ha. You’re so hilarious.” I’m itching to ask her for all the details—how long did she live in Kharkiv, how did she hook up with Petrov’s crew, what happened to her parents, how is she even still alive—but I don’t. I may not know her history, but I know her personality enough by now that digging for information directly is the fastest way to get her to clam up. “Do you ever think about going back?” I ask instead.

“I do,” she says. There’s more she’s not saying. The silence that falls is heavy with it. She wants me to figure it out, but I think I already have.

Dani pulls the car up to the curb in front of the Ramirezes’ house.

“Thanks for coming to get me, Dani.”

“I will always come and get you,” she says.

I’m not sure what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.

With a deep breath, she leans back and taps the steering wheel. “Before you go in, we should figure out how to keep you from getting shot.”

I’m proud of myself for not wincing at that. “There’s not much we can do beyond figuring out who’s behind the contract, is there?”

“No more riding the ‘L’—it is too exposed.”

“I can’t call you for rides every time I need to go somewhere.”

“Yes, you can. For now. If I am working, you can call Donovan. No more public transportation. Promise me.”

I sigh. “Okay. No more public transit.”

She scrutinizes me. “Are you crossing your fingers?”

“Jeez, I’m not five years old.” I uncross my fingers.

“Your school is safe enough. I could never get closer than across the street.”

Now who’s the liar? “You put the rat in my locker, remember?”

She gives me a confused look. “What rat?”

“What do you mean, ‘What rat’? The dead rat you put in my locker. Tyler said he saw you put it in there.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I did not put a rat in your locker.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Then it clicks.
Tyler.
That brilliant bastard. He was the only one who gained from the rat incident. He needed an excuse to earn my confidence. He planted the rat himself and said he’d seen who had done it so I’d open up to him. He must have seen Dani in passing while getting his orders from Petrov and decided to use her description. This is what I get for not confirming details.

“Rats are not the problem now,” Dani says, interrupting my self-recrimination. “School is safe. Your coffee shop is not. Too many entrances, not enough exits. And not enough population.”

“Aw, man.”

She searches my face, but I can’t tell what for. Understanding or agreement, or something. “This is important,
milaya.
This isn’t a game.”

I close my eyes and see
NO GAME
spray-painted across the poor Chevelle. It’ll take at least the rest of the week to get it back from the body shop.

“I get that it’s not a game, I do. But it’s a pain in the butt working without an office.”

“Then stop working until we know what we are dealing with.”

I give her a sour look, but her face is set, and even if it weren’t, I know she’s right. About the Ballou, anyway. There’s no way I’m not working.

Dani’s gaze softens into uncertainty. She opens her mouth to say something more when my phone buzzes.

“It’s Mike,” I say before I even pull out the phone. “I’m late for curfew.”

“You should tell him.”

I don’t really want to argue about it with her, so I answer the phone. “Hi, Mike. So, funny story…” I climb out of Dani’s rental Nissan, mouth
Call you later,
and shut the door before returning to the phone conversation with Mike.

“I imagine it’s a gut-buster,” he says sardonically. Ha. If he only knew.

“See, I thought I had a lead on my mom, so I went to this bar.”

“You went to a bar.”

“Yes, and I knew you’d be upset, but see? I’m telling you everything like I promised.” I feel a small twinge of guilt at the lie. Because I have no intention of telling him about the contract. He’d fly back on the next plane out here, and I’d be immediately reassigned to some new cop in some new city, and I’m just not risking that. Death? Sure, I’ll risk death. Exile? No.

“Were you drinking?” Mike asks, voice hard.

“Yes. Club soda. Notably lacking the twist I ordered.”

He sighs heavily. “Just get home, will you? It’s bad enough I’m not there to chew you out in person, but you’re making Angela worry.”

I walk in through the front door and note that Angela is curled up on the couch with a book and a cup of tea. Yeah, she looks really worried.

“Hi, Angela,” I say.

“Hi, Julep,” she says, and smiles at me.

“I’m only”—I check the clock in the kitchen—“twenty minutes late.”

“You’d be amazed what can happen in twenty minutes,” Mike says.

“Yes, well, nothing happened,” I say. Angela looks up again, a small frown on her face. “The lead at the bar turned out to be a random coincidence. But I do have a favor to ask.” Misdirection—a grifter’s greatest asset. It’s even better when you can get something extra out of the misdirection. “Murphy found an article in an Alabama paper about my mother being reported missing. Can you pull a few strings and see if there’s an official police report on it?”

“Pull a few strings? Julep, that’s a state police issue. It’s outside my jurisdiction.”

“But kidnapping’s in your jurisdiction, right?”

“Sometimes. But usually only when it involves ransom or a child. Do you actually think your mom was kidnapped?”

Not really, no. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility,” I say instead.

He sighs again. “Fine. I’ll look into it, if you
promise
you’ll be home by curfew
every night
until I get home.
No bars.
”

I think about Dani making me swear off the “L,” the Ballou, and pretty much everywhere that isn’t Mike’s house or school.

“Done,” I say.

He mumbles to himself about grifters and headaches and something else I don’t catch. Then we sign off for the night.

“Interesting day?” Angela says.

“I turned in my history paper,” I say, smiling a little too brightly. It took all my reserves maintaining a front for Mike. I’m worn out and starting to lose my focus.

“That’s good,” she says, assessing me.

I should probably explain about Angela. First of all, she’s a saint. I mean, what kind of woman lets her FBI-agent husband take in a known criminal for an indeterminate length of time? Angela, that’s who. She’s a NICU nurse. She literally saves babies for a living. But she’s no fool. She knew what she was getting into letting me stay. And she hasn’t held it against me even once.

“Well, I’m turning in,” I say. “I have two finals left to study for.”

“All right,” she says, but she doesn’t say good night, which is kind of awkward.

I make it to the guest room and shut the door behind me with a soft click. Then I lean against it and slide down till my butt hits the floor. I wonder if Angela noticed that I didn’t have my backpack with me. I left it at the Ballou, because I couldn’t take it into the bar. I’ll have to risk the Ballou in the morning. If I make Dani go with me, she’ll be less likely to object.