Trust Me, I'm Trouble

by Mary Elizabeth Summer

  Angela thanks the doctor, but I’m too lost in a fog of anxiety and self-loathing to remember my manners. I did this. Sam’s right—I have to get the assassin behind the wheel and make him pay. But Sam’s also wrong. It is my fault. Because, deep down, I knew this would happen. That the bullet with my name on it would hit her instead of me. But I never wanted that. If she was going to fall protecting me, then I should have fallen, too. Why am I still here?

  And then suddenly I get it. Spade is too good to have missed me by accident. He meant to take Dani out of the picture first. He’s probably taking out my protectors one by one, in order of threat level. Which means Mike is next on his list. My guts are in knots, but I have to do something.

  “Angela,” I say, taking her hand. “Dani said there’s a safe house. I think you should go. Make Mike go, if you can. But go now. Before—” I cut myself off, closing my eyes and lips until I regain control.

  “Julep,” Angela says. I open my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither is Mike.” She looks like she wants to say more but is dangerously close to tears herself.

  I want to insist, I want to trick her into it, but I’m not that strong a person. Instead I nod, fear of them staying washing over me even as fear of being abandoned recedes. I know that eventually I will have to face my enemies alone. It’s the only way I can flush them out, and the only way I’ll be able to live with myself afterward. But for now, it’s enough that I can lean into Angela’s soft hug and feel home.

  • • •

  Two hours later, I’m still at the hospital. Murphy and Bryn have come and gone, bringing Sam a change of clothes. Angela offered to beg off work and stay with me, but I said I’d be okay if she went. Ralph sticks around, showing no signs of leaving any time soon. Sam is still here as well, playing with his phone in a far-off section of the waiting room. One of the nurses comes over to kick me out of the alcove, but I’m leaving it anyway. I settle in the chair next to Sam’s. He doesn’t look up. I don’t say anything. We sit like that for another fifteen minutes, each of us steeped in our own thoughts.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I say.

  “Then don’t say anything. We’ve never needed words before.”

  I slide down in my seat. “You saved her life. Thank you,” I say.

  He smiles sardonically. “Don’t thank me. It’s weird.”

  And just that one simple thing, him reminding me of what we used to have, destroys the paper-thin protective layer I’d erected between myself and my emotional overload. I start weeping again.

  Sam puts his arm around me and draws me close. “What can I do?” he asks for the second time this hospital visit.

  It takes me a while to answer. “I need to see her.”

  Sam leaves without another word. When he returns, he waves me over to the door leading to the ICU. I follow him to the nearest supply closet, where he outfits me in scrubs, clipping a badge he’d clearly stolen from a nurse to the pocket.

  “It won’t fool them for long,” he says. “When you get in there, remember to wash your hands. It’s the ICU, not a wellness clinic.”

  I try to smile at him, but in my current state, it probably looks more like a grimace.

  He hands me his burner phone. “Just in case,” he says. He checks to make sure the hall is clear before leaving. I leave a few minutes later and walk briskly through the ICU hallway, checking the sliding glass doors for patient names. Two Smiths and a Velasquez later, I find her. Ivanov.

  I walk into her room, sliding the door closed behind me. I pull the curtain to block us from view. With luck, the other nurses will think a doctor’s with her, and vice versa. I use the hand-sanitizer dispenser at the head of Dani’s bed, remembering Sam’s warning.

  The tubes crawling out of her pallid skin into machines that beep and flash make her look like an extra from one of Sam’s sci-fi movies. Her tattoos stand out in stark relief, but even they seem weakened somehow, as if Dani’s life force is what gave them strength. I trace the manacles on her wrist with my finger.

  Tears slide down my cheeks, silent this time. I did this.

  “I’m so sorry, Dani,” I say, my voice tiny.

  The cut along her jaw has been taped closed with Steri-Strips. Her left arm is red and purple from where the door of the Chevelle dented on impact, pinning it to her side. I don’t see evidence of a head injury, but I’m sure it hurts like a bitch.

  I crawl onto her bed, careful not to jostle her or knock any of the tubes or wires. I tuck my hair behind my ears and lay down along her right side. I stroke her cheek, her neck. I rest my hand over her heart, clinging to the ridiculous idea that my touching it will magically help her heal.

  “Please, Dani. Wake up. I know there’s nothing here for you really. I know Olena and the others are waiting for you, and that I’m not much compared with that. But please, please. It’s not your time yet. They will wait for you. Please come back.”

  The only answer I get is the beeping of the machines. She doesn’t move, much less wake. So I try a different tack.

  “I’m still in a lot of trouble. All sorts of people are trying to kill me. You hate that.”

  Still nothing, but the gentle teasing makes me feel a little less like I’m bleeding internally. I snuggle in closer, inhaling the sick, aseptic smell of hospitals. She doesn’t smell like Dani at all, but that doesn’t stop me from kissing her ear, her temple, her nose. Then I burrow into the crook between her jaw and shoulder, finally giving in to exhaustion.

  An indeterminate amount of time later, I’m jarred awake by Sam’s burner phone buzzing under me. I shake off the heavy fog, trying to remember where I am. Then I remember and I’m confused, thinking a nurse or doctor has woken me and then left. The phone buzzes again, drawing my attention to my pocket. I sit up and wipe my face. I pull out the phone and press Answer.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “Julep, finally.” It’s Lily.

  “Lily? What is it? I’m in the hospital.”

  “I know. Sam called. I’m so sorry, Julep. This is all my fault.”

  “All your fault? What do you mean?”

  “It’s my mom.” I can hear the tears, the conflict in her voice. “She put the contract out on you.”

  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.