Trust Me, I'm Trouble

by Mary Elizabeth Summer

  There’s nothing I can do but follow his orders. I walk swiftly back the way I came, fighting guilt as a madman’s cries chase me down the halls.

  As I near the front desk, I pull out my phone and call Mrs. Antolini.

  “The number you have reached is no longer in service.”

  I check the number and try again, but I get the same recording. Something’s not right.

  When I go through the turnstile, I take a chance and ask the new security guard manning the desk if he has Mrs. Antolini’s contact information. He seems greener than the last guy, more nervous but also more pliable.

  “We’re not supposed to give out personal information, Reverend,” he says, looking distressed. I bet he’s a believer.

  “I have her number, my son, but my phone ran out of battery power. I’d like to discuss her husband’s situation as soon as possible. You would be doing your inmate and his grieving family a kind service.”

  He’s waffling. One more solid nudge and I’ve got him.

  “I will pray for you, my son,” I say coolly, bowing my head slightly at him and turning to walk away.

  “Wait, Reverend.”

  Slam, and dunk.

  I hear typing behind me. I turn back, giving him a benevolent smile and Mr. Antolini’s name.

  His typing slows. “Um, Reverend,” he says, sounding confused. “According to our records, Gerald Antolini has no family.”

  • • •

  “Dani!” I yell as I rush up to the passenger’s-side door of the Chevelle. “We’ve got—”

  I pull the handle, but the door is locked. I knock on the black-tinted window but nothing happens. I cup my hand to block rays from the setting sun and peer through. No Dani.

  I look frantically around the parking lot for any sign of her. The killer didn’t get her, did he? My heart lurches at the thought.

  Then she emerges from the interior of the prison. She must have been looking for me, though I wasn’t gone that long. Then she touches her face gingerly.

  I rein myself in from running up to her and demanding to know what the hell she was thinking, going anywhere near that prison without me. I meet her halfway, keeping my pace to a brisk walk, and only then do I see the cut on her cheek, the swelling under her eye.

  “What happened?” I say, trying to modulate my anger.

  “It is nothing. A conversation with an inmate.”

  “A conversation involving assault?”

  She shrugs.

  “What was it about?” I reach out to touch her injured cheek.

  She pulls her head away, which causes a strange and painful tightening in my chest. I let my hand fall, but the urge to reach out again is strong—like I won’t know for sure she’s okay without the tactile input corroborating the visual and auditory. But I know better than to push it. What I don’t know is where all this feeling is coming from. Her being hurt bothers me a lot more than it should.

  “You,” she answers, as if she hadn’t pulled away from me, as if she hasn’t just scraped my heart the way someone cut her cheek. “I interrogated Petrov. I believed his contacts in Chicago might know something about your contract. He landed a punch before the guards restrained him, that is all.”

  “You did what? He’s here? At this prison?”

  “This is the closest maximum-security prison.”

  For some reason, the idea had never occurred to me. The thought of how close he is—just beyond a few feet of concrete—gives me the heebie-jeebies. I fold my arms to keep my hands from trembling.

  “Petrov knew who put the hit out on me?” I shiver anyway.

  “No. But he had heard of it. Not who ordered the hit, but who took the contract. Now that I know a name, I can find him and extract more information about his employer.”

  I don’t really want to dwell on what she means by extract, but knowing we have a lead is somewhat comforting. Except…

  “Why would Petrov tell you the hit man’s name? Why would he help me?”

  Dani looks away, her jaw clenching. “It is unimportant.”

  “Tell me you didn’t make a deal with him,” I say, ten degrees colder than I was a moment ago.

  She doesn’t answer, but her expression confirms it.

  “Damn it, Dani! You should have talked to me first.”

  She’s still not saying anything, which makes me nervous that the hit man’s name wasn’t the only favor she was granted. But there’s nothing I can do about it now. Petrov is still behind bars, and will be for some time, so whatever Dani promised is not going to come due for a while. Long enough for me to figure out how to get her out of it.

  “We should go,” she says, eyeing the parking lot like I did a few minutes ago. “It is not as safe here as I would like.”

  I follow her to the Chevelle and get in. “We would have noticed if we’d been followed,” I say.

  “Better to not take chances.” She exits back onto the freeway in the direction of Chicago, flipping the Chevelle’s lights on against the darkening sky.

  “I’m not going to just let you go after a contract killer on your own.”

  She arches an eyebrow at me. “You do know what I do, right?”

  “That doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous. Besides, you’re just an enforcer. You’re not a professional killer.”

  “But I have killed people. My job is to enforce the rules of the organization. I do what it takes to gain compliance.”

  I shiver again. “Look, I know that you can take care of yourself. But you’re not invincible. And I don’t want you going after this guy without someone having your back.”

  She snorts. “Fine. I won’t go after him alone….”

  “Good.”

  “On the condition that you call Ramirez and tell him what’s going on.”

  Son of a— “You think putting me in a government safe house is the answer? Why not just leave me back there at the prison? It amounts to the same thing.”

  “It is not the same thing at all! Why are you being so stubborn? I am just trying to keep you s—”

  A loud pop interrupts our argument and the Chevelle starts listing to the side.

  Dani starts swearing in Ukrainian.

  “Flat tire?” I say as she swerves onto the shoulder.

  “Stay in the car,” she barks at me as she kills the engine and gets out. She opens the trunk.

  “I’m not staying in here while you jack up the Chevelle,” I say, and follow her out. I pull my phone from my pocket and tap to open the browser. “Crap. There’s no signal out here.”

  “Just…” Dani flows into Ukrainian again for a sentence or two. “Keep your head down and stay close to the car.” Then she disappears under the car to look for a place to set the jack.

  I sneak a few feet away to find a signal. There has to be one. We’re not that far from Chicago. We’re close to Joliet. I think. We’re on the edge of a quarry, and the only quarry I know about in this direction is the Joliet quarry. I guess I’d better find a mile marker so I can tell the towing company where to pick us up. I walk a few more feet to the mile marker, note the number, and then veer off into the grass, still looking for a signal.

  My life was a whole lot simpler before I met these freaking Ukrainians. Dad was free, I didn’t have an arrest on my record, and Dani hadn’t pried open the cage around my heart and muscled her way in.

  Ugh, why did I just think that? I was arguing with her not five minutes ago and now I’ve got this unacceptable warmth spreading through my chest. I can’t give in to it. The last time I felt all skittery and strange about someone, I got him killed. I will not allow that to happen again. Dani is still Dani, and I’m still trouble.

  The trees around me darken the blue of twilight to black shadow. It’s not pitch-black, but it’s darker than it was even a minute ago. I must have wandered farther than I meant to. Dani’s going to be pissed if I don’t get back before she notices I’m not right by the car. I wave my phone a final time, knowing it’s futile but trying anyway
.

  Then something crunches behind me—a footfall where no footfall should be. I whirl just in time to hear the gunshot.

  The bark on the tree next to me splinters and flies apart. I can’t tell where the shot came from, but I can still hear it ringing in my ears, silencer or not. I duck behind a different tree, praying my attacker isn’t hiding behind it.

  Another shot blasts through a bunch of leaves to my right, and I veer in the other direction. Is he trying to kill me or herd me? It doesn’t matter. I can’t lead him back to Dani. There’s no cover on the open road. I just have to hope she’s heard the shot and will come to us. Or maybe I shouldn’t hope that. All I can see in my mind’s eye is Tyler’s face. Alive one minute, covered in blood the next.

  The crunch of running steps behind me speeds up in time with my heart. I tear my hair and hands on oak and switchgrass. But better that than the alternative. My thoughts distill to run, cover, duck, and darkness. And pulse-pounding fear. I keep stumbling forward, getting slower and slower in my desperation to escape.

  My ankle turns on a loose rock, and I collapse in a quivering heap. I crawl a few more feet, but a throat clears behind me, and I know that I am about to die.

  Click. A round goes in the chamber.

  “Sorry, kid. A paycheck’s a paycheck.”

  But instead of a gunshot, I hear a dull thud and squelch behind me. I muster enough courage to roll over, then hiss in terror and scramble backward into a tree.

  The hit man’s body lies limp on the ground, the point of a long sword sticking out of his chest.

  “Are you all right, jang mi?”

  No! I want to scream. No, I’m not all— Wait. I know that voice.

  I jump up. “Ralph?”

  “I’m afraid it is,” he says, his voice the same but his accent different. Instead of Korean, it’s British. He bows to me, the palms of his black-gloved hands pressed together. “I’m sorry for the dramatic entrance, but I’m glad I arrived in time.”

  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?”

&nbs
p; “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 unwillingly. 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?”