Trust Me, I'm Trouble (22 page)

I’m also chafing under the new rules. I wasn’t meant to spend long hours trapped in a house. TV isn’t often fun for me, because I find it too predictable. Books are better, but my attention keeps wandering. I wish I could see a way through this, but until the person who wants me dead is out of the picture, I’m stuck. What I try to not let myself think about too carefully is that I might be stuck for a long time. Indefinitely, even.

And of course, as soon as I think that, I feel the walls closing in. I start breathing faster.

“Julep, what’s wrong?”

The voice, warm and familiar, pulls me back from the edge. I look up to see Sam walking into the intern pen. He crouches low next to me, taking my hands.

“It’s nothing,” I say, letting out a shaky breath. I shouldn’t let him see me vulnerable, nerves too close to the skin. I used to tell him everything, but now I’m wary of him, too raw from his leaving to trust him again.

“It doesn’t look like nothing—it looks like you’re deciding between throwing up and passing out.” He goes from crouch to seated on the floor, pulling me with him. I leave my hands in his as I follow him down.

“I feel like I’m a fish and someone’s aiming a missile launcher at the barrel I’m swimming in.” I bow my head, letting my hair fall to block my face. “You shouldn’t be here, Sam. You’ll blow your cover.”

He brushes a lock away from my face, his fingers gentle. “Remember the time we snuck into that construction site, and you talked me into traipsing out onto the steel girders twelve stories above the ground?”

I nod slowly, pensive. I’m not in the mood for a history lesson.

“I was freaking terrified,” he continues. “But I was more afraid that you’d go out there without me than that we’d both plummet to our deaths. I didn’t want you leaving me behind—then or ever.”

“I remember your eyes,” I say, smiling. “They were huge.”

“Do you remember taking my hand?” He turns my hands palm up in his.

I nod. I remember losing my equilibrium for a split second and grabbing Sam to steady myself.

“You took my hand and you looked at me, and suddenly I knew how to fly.”

The intensity of his gaze sends a bolt of electricity through my chest. My skin burns hot and cold at the same time.

“Letting go of your hand was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I swear to you I will never do it again. But I had to find my own way, to make you believe in me the way I believe in you.”

I blink, breaking the connection. I let go of his hands and draw my knees under my chin, wrapping my arms around my legs. “I do believe in you, Sam. I always have. But right now I have to concentrate on not dying.”

“That’s why I brought it up,” he says. “To remind you that you can show people how to fly, and that no matter what happens, you’ll never again have to face anything alone.”

I shiver. “What am I gonna do, Sam?” I whisper.

“We’ll get through this, Julep. We always do.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” he says.

I clear my throat to try to dislodge the boulder blocking it. “You shouldn’t be here, though. I don’t want to have to explain to Joseph why I’m fraternizing with an initiate.”

“I was trying to find Joseph, actually.”

“Why?”

“He’s supposed to lead our evening session tonight, but he’s late. I thought it might be significant, so I started looking for him. I found you instead.”

Honestly, I can’t say I’m sad he did. I actually feel like I can breathe somewhat normally again since the Han debacle. Risk to the con aside, I really needed the pep talk, and he said pretty much everything I needed to hear. He’s always known me better than I know myself. Apparently, that hasn’t changed, despite his dressing like a fed and pulling cons like a kingpin. The part of me that wants to trust him, to tell him everything, edges one degree past the part that’s afraid he’ll leave again. Maybe there’s hope for our battered friendship yet.

“Hey,” he says, ducking so our eyes are on a level. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I unwrap myself and push up to standing. “Yeah,” I say, brushing the wrinkles out of my pants. “Oh,
crap.
What time is it?”

“Four-thirty-five,” he says, looking at his watch. “Why?”

“I need to see Duke before I can leave.”

“Can it wait?”

“I don’t want to miss the opportunity to snoop,” I say, grabbing my phone and keys from my desk.

“Okay, but be careful,” Sam says, stepping aside to let me pass. His expression is suddenly sad, unsure.

I pause long enough to squeeze his hand, smiling up at him. “See you later, partner.”

He squeezes back. Then I move past him into the hall.

When I get to Duke’s door, I knock. No answer, though, which could be a problem. I try the door, and it cracks open. Not locked.

“Hello? Duke?” I ask. Still no answer.

I pull the door open and step inside. And the second my foot lands beyond the threshold, I know something’s wrong. Really wrong. Not a trap. Something else. I stick to the perimeter of the room, keeping my back close to the wall and my hands close to my body so I won’t accidentally brush anything.

When I get to the sitting area, I have to loop away from the wall to go around the couches. Doing so puts me closer to the center of the room and alters the angle of my view. Just past the edge of the couch, I stop abruptly, terror rooting me to the carpet.

A long, thick smear of blood leads from a pool of it next to the couches to behind Duke’s desk.

“No,” I whisper. “Nonononono.” I run to the desk, jumping over the trail of blood to keep from tracking any with my shoes. Images of Tyler’s body flood my brain, but I force them back. I can’t deal with the past. Not right now.

I hesitate for a split second before looking behind the desk. Duke lies curled on his side, unmoving. I fall to my knees next to him, looking at my hands as if doing so would magically wrap them in gloves. But I give myself a mental shake and reach for his suit jacket, which is draped over the back of his chair. I wrap it around my hands and turn him onto his back.

“Duke! Duke!” I wheeze past the fear stopping my breath. “Duke!” I grab his shoulder and shake it hard. But as soon as I see his face, I know he’s dead.

I gasp into Duke’s jacket, shaking and trying desperately to stifle the urge to scream. The first thing I allow myself to do when I calm down enough to think rationally is back slowly away from the widening pool of blood. As I move, my eyes fall onto Duke’s hand, half clenched around a small blue object.

I crawl around the blood and reach for his hand. Uncurling his fingers with my jacket-covered hands, I pull out a three-inch figurine. It’s dressed in a sparkly blue, sleeveless dress, blond hair shorn in a pixie cut. Its expression is mischievous, and it can’t weigh more than a few ounces.

But then the feeling of long, thin ridges pushing out of its back and into my palm shakes me to my core. I turn the figurine over to confirm my suspicions: delicate, translucent wings.

I’m holding the blue fairy.

I
burst through the door to the pool hall across the street from NWI. I spot Dani immediately, hands in her pockets, leaning against a pool table next to a propped-up pool cue. Her eyes lock on mine and she ditches the man with the mustache she’d been chatting with.

“What is it?” she asks, her expression fierce.

“Duke—” I swallow, eyeing the curious onlookers. I should be more careful. “I need to talk to you. All of you.”

“Ramirez, too?”

I shake my head. I can’t tell Mike. The authorities can’t know my family is involved with this until I know what
this
even is. Who killed Duke and why? Was it for the blue fairy? Was it the contract killer? If I tell Mike, there will be no more compromises, no more second chances. I’m on my own. Well, almost.

“The Ballou. It’s the closest,” I say.

“It is not secure.” She glares at me, though the heat of it is tempered with concern. She must see I’ve been crying.

“No place is secure, Dani. The safest thing to do is to end this as soon as possible.”

She breaks eye contact to stare stonily out the window. After a moment, she caves. “Half hour. At most.”

Meet me at the Ballou.

I group text it to Murphy, Sam, Bryn, and Lily. I don’t specify a time, which means I expect them to drop everything and go there.

“What is this about?” Dani asks, drawing close enough to whisper.

“Not here,” I answer. She opens her mouth to argue, but I silently plead for her not to push. She must read it in my face, because she changes her mind, leading the way to the Chevelle rather than interrogating me.

I get a few return texts.

Sam:

On my way.

Murphy:

What? Why? I’m going to dinner with Bryn’s parents.

Bryn:

Who is this?

I don’t hear anything from Lily, but that’s not terribly surprising. If she shows, fine. If not, she’s probably better off.

When we get to the Ballou, I bypass the coffee bar (a first for me) and climb the stairs to my office. Dani precedes me and scouts the room as usual.

She lowers the blinds, which is fine, whatever. I push the plastic slats at eye level down an inch to see if anyone else is here yet. Looks like Sam is parking. Murphy and Bryn will take a few more minutes to get here from her parents’ house.

“Milaya,”
Dani says softly as she comes up behind me.

“Don’t,” I say, putting distance between us. I can’t let myself be discombobulated by her right now. I can’t let myself worry about putting her in harm’s way, because that’s exactly where I need to put her.

“I—”

Sam’s timely arrival interrupts whatever statement she was about to melt me with.

“What happened?” he says.

“Duke Salinger is dead,” I say without preamble. “Someone shot him.”

That jolts him into silence long enough for Murphy and Bryn to join us.

“Did I hear that right?” Murphy asks, shutting the door behind them. “Salinger got shot?”

“Who shot him? When?” Dani says.

“How do you know?” Murphy says.

I tell them about going up to Duke’s office and finding him on the floor. As I’m nearing the part about the blue fairy, Lily joins us.

“What did I miss?” she says.

“Salinger got shot,” Murphy says from his corner of the office.

“What? Is he all right?” she asks.

“He’s dead,” I say. “I found him in his office.”

She shivers and pulls her jacket closer around her.

“Do you still think NWI’s legit?” Murphy asks.

“I don’t know. Mrs. Antolini is a liar, but maybe she didn’t lie about NWI. Or maybe she did. I haven’t seen any signs of shadiness. But there’s still the connection with the bartender, the numbers I texted you this morning, and the blue fairy.”

“What blue fairy?” Sam asks.

I show it to them. “Duke was holding this when I found him.”

“Do you think it’s why he was killed?” Murphy asks.

“Possibly. I think so.”

“Wouldn’t the killer have taken it if it were?” Bryn asks.

“I found him behind his desk, but he wasn’t shot there,” I say, pushing myself through my answer. “There was a trail of blood from the center of the room to where I found him, which means he probably didn’t die right away. He knew I was coming up to see him after my shift. He waited for the killer to leave and then took the fairy from its hiding place so I’d find it.”

“How do you know all this?” Dani asks.

“I don’t. It’s an educated guess. The killer could have planted it on him for all I know.”

“Are you going to call the police?” Bryn asks.

“I can’t. Not directly. But I called in an anonymous tip on our way here, like I did when Ralph’s shop was Molotoved.”

“So now what?” Bryn says. “You can’t really expect us to do anything about this. We’re high school students. Not vampire slayers.”

“I know, I know. I just need more information.”

“It’s too late,” Murphy says, swiping through his phone. “A news story from the AP wire just went viral.” He pulls the article up on his phone’s browser and shows it to us.

Duke Salinger, founder and CEO of leadership organization New World Initiative, found shot dead in his office earlier this evening, sources say. Investigation under way. No comment yet from authorities.

A sharp pang slices through me. I ignore it.

“Gets worse,” Murphy says, showing us another article.

Devi Raktabija, vice president of New World Initiative, released a statement earlier this evening. “We are in mourning, bereft,” says Dr. Raktabija. “But we will not let Duke Salinger’s death distract us from our mission. We soldier on in our efforts to bring life fulfillment and leadership to those who need it. Duke would have expected nothing less from us.”

In response to questions about the investigation into Salinger’s murder, Dr. Raktabija said that local police were pursuing all leads, and that NWI was cooperating fully with the investigation. “We will be providing police with full access to our facility, to our membership files as relevant to the case, and to the security footage from around the time of the incident.”