“That isn’t exactly comforting.”
“I’ll keep you on the line. You’ll hear everything.”
He’s silent for a second. “Not good enough,” he says at last. “Wait for me. I’m on my way now.”
“Is Sam with you?”
“No. Should he be?”
“No, it’s fine. Nothing’s going to happen. I just want to find out what they’re up to. If I know the game, I can manipulate the players.”
“Fine,” he says. “But you’d better wait for me, or there will be consequences.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
I hang up and sit still for a whole minute before I get out of Murphy’s van and into the coveralls. Not much I can do with my hair other than pull it back into a low, careless ponytail, but my plastic frames add a layer of protection. I know I should wait for Tyler. I just have this mental block when it comes to letting others take the lead.
I grab some incomprehensible tool that looks vaguely diagnostic from the back of the minivan and take on a hunched-shoulder, slightly twitchy affect as I lock the minivan’s door. I scuttle across the road to the nearest fuse box and duck my head behind it, pretending to assess something.
In the first warehouse, rows of metal shelves are stacked to the rafters with unmarked crates. Anything could be in those crates—guns, drugs, Cuban cigars, or even legitimate inventory like paper or dish detergent. Crime bosses often own aboveboard businesses as fronts for their sleazier trades.
Two workers in hardhats jockey forklifts through the stacks, moving crates from one place to another. So far, neither of them has noticed me. But as long as they’re sitting on the goods, I’m not going to be able to investigate.
I “check the meter” at the next warehouse over and spot the Chevelle parked behind the building. I shuffle to the junction box, which happens to be under a window directly behind the car. I peek through the glass long enough to see Dani arguing with a too-thin woman with a bad dye job. The woman rolls her eyes at Dani, but the gesture is undercut by a fear of Dani that’s so obvious I can see it from all the way over here.
Most of what she’s saying is in Ukrainian, but I pick up an English word or two. One of those words is let’s, followed by go.
I abandon Murphy’s tool on top of the junction box and scurry around the back of the car, away from the door leading into the warehouse. No sooner do I duck around the side of the building than I hear the door swing open, and two sets of footfalls head toward the Chevelle. Seconds later, the Chevelle growls to life, nearly stopping my heart, and then fades away into the distance.
Not wanting to push my luck too far, I continue on to the bay doors near the front of the building. With a little wriggling, I squeeze under the crack at the bottom.
The lighting is almost nonexistent, which is fine by me. It’s light enough that I can see crumpled balls of paper skirting the edges of the concrete floor like urban tumbleweed. Bits of broken glass and years of grit and gristle line the fissures in the floor. In short, it’s seen better days. And probably a few homeless people with oil-drum fires.
I slink over to the wall and sketch a quick perimeter. Nothing jumps out at me. It’s a big, empty room with a wooden staircase lining one wall. In fact, the staircase is the only thing that looks like it’s seen any recent traffic.
Now I really should wait for Tyler. I have no idea what’s up there, and I’ll have no one guarding the only escape route should anything go pear-shaped. But no matter how reasonable waiting sounds, my feet aren’t listening.
I’m not sure what I expect to find when I get to the next level. Probably everything worth narcing on is in the other warehouse. But then why were Dani and Bad Dye Job hanging out in this warehouse? My gut says I need to see what’s up there, even though it’s churning with dread at the same time.
When I get to the second story, I peer cautiously through the metal railing. Blacked-out windows make the lighting on the second level even dimmer than on the first, and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust. But they eventually do, and I’m puzzled at first by the rows and rows of mismatched sheets strung up on lines crisscrossing the space. No one is immediately visible, so I take a few steps into the passage, which is lined on either side by dingy fabric.
As I creep past the third sheet, I hear a woman’s soft cry behind it. A murmur meant to comfort spills over the whimpering, shushing it back into silence.
My fingers pull the sheet back a half inch, enough to see without being seen. Enough to glimpse a young girl no older than I am with her arms around another girl, a little older but more damaged. There’s a bed. A metal frame with a mattress and a threadbare blanket. A metal handcuff, one end cuffed to the bedframe, dangles to the floor. I can’t tear my eyes away from it. I can’t accept what it implies, but I can’t deny it, either.
Then the girl who’s not weeping starts to raise her head.
I snap out of my trance just in time to let the sheet fall back. If any of them raises an alarm, I’m as good as dead. But I can’t leave. Not until I’m sure.
I sneak to another row and twitch back a sheet. Another girl staring through a streaked black window. The third space I check is empty, but I can hear a girl in the space next to it mumbling to herself in Ukrainian. I’m pretty sure she’s praying. She sounds like she can’t be older than twelve or thirteen.
I back up, slowly at first, but my pace quickens into stumbling as I move in the direction of the stairs. I count the rows of curtains. There must be nearly a hundred makeshift cells. I try to be silent, but in my desperation to get away, a few shuffling sounds escape. I know I’m not being careful about hiding my presence, but I’m barely keeping my panic in check.
I almost make it to the stairs before an iron arm circles my waist and a hand clamps over my mouth.
THE ENFORCER
I struggle against my captor, all higher-level reasoning obliterated by the single terrified thought that I’m going to be sold into slavery as well. But whoever has me is stronger and pulls me into another unoccupied sheet-walled room just opposite the stairs.
“Be still,” Dani hisses in my ear, and my overwrought brain is torn between relief and rage. She keeps me muffled and restrained, even when I stop struggling.
Then I see Bad Dye Job’s head appear as she climbs the stairs. Dani pulls me back farther into the shadows. The other woman would have caught me for sure if Dani hadn’t grabbed me.
Dani lets me go but imprisons my wrist. When Bad Dye Job is far enough past us to risk it, Dani manhandles me to the stairs, nudging me none too gently ahead of her. I can tell how furious she is with every movement. But her anger is nothing compared to mine.
She pushes me through a side door that opens between a fire escape and an HVAC unit. The hum coming from the equipment obscures sound from inside the building, so it will probably do the same for us. And as it happens, I have a lot to say.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shove her, wishing I could Tase her instead. Rescue or no rescue, she’s a reprehensible person for being involved in this.
“What the hell do you think you are doing? Why should I bother pulling you out of fires if you insist on running right back in?”
“They’re kids! They’re just—”
The anger on Dani’s face freezes into a stony mask, but she doesn’t deny anything or defend herself.
“Tell me my father wasn’t involved,” I say, more plea than demand.
Dani sighs. “You are not supposed to be here. You are not supposed to know any of this. Why do you not listen?”
“Why would I listen to you? You say you saw my father die and did nothing to stop it. You work for a monster who holds girls hostage, girls younger than you, and from your own country. Would you listen to you if you were me?”
She looks hurt but doesn’t flinch. “You think you know everything? You know nothing.”
“Then tell me. What is Petrov doing with them?”
“Go home. No
w. Before anyone sees you.”
“I’m not leaving without answers. Or would you rather I go back in there and lead them all out?”
“And take them where?” she says, her anger returning. “They wouldn’t follow you, anyway. They’d turn on you and give you to Petrov in pieces.”
“Are you saying they want to be here?”
“No,” she says, followed by a string of what are probably expletives in her native language. “But this is complicated. If they involve the authorities, they’ll be deported, maybe imprisoned.”
“It has to be better than being used as, what? Sweatshop workers? Sex slaves?”
Dani’s piercing look confirms my worst fears.
“Many of them are running from lives worse than this,” she says. “And those who aren’t have been told their families will suffer if they try to escape. The threat is real, and they know it.”
“I have to do something,” I say. “I can’t leave them here.”
“Anything you do would only make matters worse.”
“Just tell me if my father was involved,” I say. “You owe me that much.”
“Owe you?” Her ice-blue eyes narrow.
“You said you owe my father. If he really is dead, then that debt goes to me. Tell me what I want to know.”
To her credit, she never drops eye contact, which is how I can see her emotions as she considers my demand.
“No. When he took the job, he did not know why Petrov wanted the documents.”
I close my eyes, relieved.
“He found out,” she continues. “I don’t know how. I did not tell him. And somehow he figured out I was not as loyal as the others. What they were doing, it did not feel …” She leaves her thought unfinished.
“I believe the word you’re searching for is right. Or maybe ethical, or remotely morally defensible.”
“Lower your voice. Tanya will hear.” Her gaze darts inside. I try and fail to break the grip she still has on my wrist. She doesn’t let me go until she’s certain no one’s coming. I yank my arm out of her reach when she finally releases me.
“Why didn’t he call the cops when he found out what Petrov was doing?”
Dani gives me a you-know-better look, and she’s right. I do. My dad couldn’t turn to the police without implicating himself, not without evidence to bargain with.
“Petrov has connections. There’s nowhere your father could have reported it that it wouldn’t have been covered up. Even if these women”—Dani gestures toward the building—“had been recovered—deported, imprisoned, or set free—Petrov would never have seen a jail cell. Your father wanted to end it. And he wanted to protect you.”
I don’t want to believe the situation is as hopeless as it seems. But knowing now what my father knew, it’s clear why Petrov wanted him dead, and why he now wants me dead on the chance I’ll figure it out.
The collar of Dani’s new coat flips up in the wind. “Your father must have found evidence against Petrov. It must be how they discovered his betrayal.”
I lower my head, not wanting to hear.
Dani shrugs deeper into her coat. “I didn’t know. I was on an errand. I was …”
“You were what?”
“I was watching you. For your father.”
I shiver. It’s cold, and this conversation is getting too surreal for me.
“I returned just as Petrov raised the gun. I was too far away to interfere.”
I fight the lump in my throat. I can’t let myself feel anything right now.
“Your father was right about me,” she says, taking a step closer. “I have my own passage to pay. But that payment will not include harming the innocent.”
Her expression is contrite. She wants me to understand. And I’m wishing desperately right now that I didn’t, because I want to be angry with her, to blame her for what’s happening to my family. But would I have done so differently in her place? Am I doing so differently now? I’m just as much a criminal as she is.
“I’ve been watching over you for months,” she says, running a loose twist of my hair through her fingers. “I will not stop until Petrov is no more a threat. Go home. Forget about this. Live your life on your terms, or your father will have died for nothing.”
“If you’ve been watching me for months, then you know I can’t do that.”
Dani shakes her head, smiling a little. “Yes. But I had to try. Your continuing to throw yourself at the enemy makes my job harder.”
“Then you’re not going to be happy with what I’m about to do next.” But before I have the chance to explain, I hear Tyler’s shiny sports car pull up.
“Wait for me?” I say to her. “I’ll only be a minute.”
“Hurry. We risk too much as it is.”
I jog up to Tyler’s car. He gets out and clear of the door just in time for me to throw myself into his arms.
“What is it? What happened?”
I shudder, taking off my glasses and digging the heel of my hand into my temple. Tyler pulls me behind the minivan, out of view of the building.
“Tell me.” His expression is concerned, earnest. And I want so much for him to be able to fix it. But even his connections aren’t going to get those hostages out of there.
“I know what they’re doing. The mob—they’re smuggling people into the country as slaves.”
His face pales. “Are you sure?” he asks, looking sick.
“I wish I weren’t.”
“I had no idea,” he says, almost to himself.
“We have to get out of here.” I cross my arms to ward off the chill in my blood. “Dani could come back anytime.”
“Dani?” He sounds distracted, like he’s listening to me with only part of his brain.
“My stalker. Sam found out who she is. She’s an enforcer for the Ukrainian mob. The one my dad was working for.”
He’s silent, staring at the ground, unseeing. His distress seems worse than mine, but then I’ve had longer to absorb the new information.
“We have to get out of here.” I grab his hand and pull him toward his car.
“We have to help them,” he says, resisting me. “We can’t leave them there.”
Having just said the same thing myself, I have a difficult time switching to the opposite argument. I don’t want to be on Dani’s side on this, but it is what it is.
“We can’t help them now,” I tell him. “If we tried, they’d rat us out.”
He pulls his arm away. “How can you be so heartless? Some things are worth getting caught.”
Okay, that hurt.
“I’m not being heartless, I’m being realistic. We can’t rescue them—not without help,” I say.
He straightens. “What do you need me to do?”
But before I can answer, his phone beeps.
He unlocks the phone and checks the notifications. “Damn it. I’m supposed to be on the field in five minutes.”
Saved by the beep. And here I thought I was going to have to convince him.
“This weekend’s the championship, isn’t it? You have to go,” I say.
“They’ll just have to play without me. I’m not leaving—”
“It’s fine, Tyler. In fact, it’s exactly what I need you to do. Pretend everything’s normal. The less attention we draw right now, the better.”
“What about you?” he asks. “You can’t go back to school with the dean gunning for you.”
The dean. I’d forgotten about that completely.
“I’m going home,” I lie again, taking a deep breath. Okay, so I suck at backup.
“No way. Not alone. You didn’t see your face when you tried to walk in there last night. And anyway, what if someone sees you?”
“I have to figure out the last clue. I need to find whatever it is my dad’s hidden.”
“You think he’s really dead?”
“I don’t know anymore,” I say, trying not to think about it. “I was sure he wasn’t, and then I was sure he was, and then t
his morning I thought he wasn’t. But I really have no idea. In any case, it doesn’t change my next move.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says, pulling me close. His coat is rough under my cheek.
“I don’t want me to get hurt, either,” I say.
“How do you know you’ll find anything that will lead you to the next clue?”
“I don’t,” I admit. “But with Ralph gone, the only tie I have to my father is his stuff. If there isn’t something there to guide me, then we’re screwed.”
I pull away from Tyler, pushing him more gently in the direction of his car. “We have to get out of here before someone recognizes us.”
“Call me if you find something,” he says.
“I won’t forget this time,” I promise.
I get in the van and turn it on, watching as his taillights disappear around the corner. Then I kill the ignition, get out, and head back to where Dani is waiting.
The look she gives me when I reach her is unreadable. Not because there isn’t something there, but because there’s too much, and it’s all contradictory.
“Ready?” I ask.
“For what?”
“To take me to Petrov.”
THE DOGFISH
“I can’t believe I am doing this.”
The front seat of the Chevelle is much more comfortable than the back. The faux-fur seat cover feels like a warm hug and smells like Dani, which despite our conflicted relationship is oddly comforting.
“I should be taking you home. Or to a mental hospital. Only a crazy person would confront Petrov.”
“I’m not confronting him. I have a proposition for him. One that will actually make me safer.”
“How do you know he won’t kill you where you stand?”
“Because I’ll convince him that he needs my brain intact. Which means no more hit attempts for you to protect me from.”
She mutters under her breath, then repeats, “I can’t believe I am doing this.”
She turns the Chevelle onto a road I recognize, and before I can fully grasp the significance, the stone edifice of the Strand appears. Petrov is a member of the Strand? Was that why my dad hid the second clue here?
Trust Me, I'm Lying Page 17
