Trust Me, I'm Lying

by Mary Elizabeth Summer

  Her answer is a roar from the engine as she pushes the pedal closer to the floor.

  “This is ridiculous. You’re risking your own life for nothing.”

  “Not for nothing,” she mutters, almost too low for me to hear over the engine. “I cannot save them, but you—you I can save.”

  “But you can save them.” I seize the small opening. “I have it all figured out. You can save all of us. Just take me to the warehouse.”

  “Even if you manage to bring down Petrov and all of his people, no one can save those girls. I told you this. Deportation, prison, refugee camps if they are lucky—”

  “We can save them.” I touch her arm. “Do you trust me?”

  She eases up on the pedal. “Your father did not want you involved. You must respect his wishes.”

  “You obviously don’t know anything about American teenagers,” I say, hiding my hurt behind a sardonic smile. “I can do this, Dani. I’m the only one who can.”

  I can tell from the slope of her shoulders, her small frown, the way she won’t look at me, that she’s giving in. I sink into my seat as she switches lanes to exit and heads toward the warehouse. We spend the rest of the trip in silence, giving me plenty of time to rehearse the game.

  Sam I didn’t plan for. At least, not in terms of bargaining with Petrov. The mob boss has stepped up his game, which means he’s tired of waiting for me. He’s probably worried that I reneged on our deal and am pulling in the feds. He’s right, but as long as he doesn’t know for sure, Sam is safe.

  Unfortunately, that doesn’t make me feel much better. All of this is my fault. Sam is in the line of fire because of me. If I’d kept him out of this, he’d never have gotten arrested, he’d never have been on Petrov’s radar, and he wouldn’t be in this mess now. He’ll likely never speak to me again, and it will break what’s left of my heart.

  “You haven’t asked me what my plan is,” I say as we pull into the alley next to Petrov’s warehouse half an hour later.

  “I don’t need to know it to keep you from getting shot. I just need to keep you out of the way of the bullets.”

  She opens her door with a creak and gets out, quietly drawing her gun. I get out, too, and twist my hair into a messy bun, pinning it to the back of my head with the pen in my pocket. I try not to focus too much on the weapon in Dani’s hand.

  I follow her, but not into the warehouse we were in before. Instead, she leads me into the smaller one next to it. We sneak through the rows of stacked wooden crates toward the back of the building, where the offices are. As she walks, her gaze seems to be everywhere at once. She holds her gun low but ready. I want to tell her to put it away, that Petrov’s enforcer drawing a gun on him will only get in the way of my plan, but I don’t want to risk another time-wasting argument.

  I hear the faint buzzing a split second before all the lights in the building kick on. I resist the urge to duck behind the nearest stack of crates. I’m here to confront Petrov, not skulk around hoping to take him by surprise. Besides, the lights are bright enough to dissolve all shadows, leaving us rats no place to run.

  “How nice to see you again, my dear,” Petrov says from somewhere above us. Six of his goons walk out from the stacks and surround us. They keep their distance, but their presence is meant as a threat. Petrov likes to flaunt his power. And yes, I intend to use that to my advantage.

  I squint against the glare of two spotlights clamped to a catwalk about fifteen feet up. Standing between them, Petrov leans against the railing.

  “Nice entrance,” I say. “How much practice did that take?”

  “Tsk, tsk. Opening with sarcasm is hardly an effective negotiation strategy. But then, neither is turning one of my own people against me.”

  “Let go!” Dani struggles against two of Petrov’s suits, who are pinning her arms behind her back.

  “Now that my treacherous pit bull is restrained,” he continues, “I feel more comfortable proceeding with the conversation.”

  Petrov’s silhouette detaches from the catwalk railing and moves down the thin metal staircase near the corner of the room. He nods to a skinny man with red hair and freckles, who then rifles through my pockets and pats me down. There’s nothing for him to find, since I ditched my phone, Sam still has my gun, and the dean confiscated my backpack. The ginger says something terse in Ukrainian that probably means “She’s clean.” Then he backs up a respectful distance, awaiting his next order.

  “I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness,” I say to Petrov. “I really should have knocked.”

  “I will if you forgive mine. I really shouldn’t have shot your father.”

  A low blow, but one I anticipated. I keep it from decimating me by countering it with my last shred of hope that he’s still alive, a hope that’s not even really a feeling anymore so much as a conscious decision to believe.

  Petrov smirks as he sees the emotional skirmish on my face. I lift my chin and affect an expression of contempt. He may have the power to kill me, but I’m still holding all the cards.

  “I believe you have something of mine,” he says.

  “And you have something of mine. How about a trade?”

  Petrov shrugs. “It depends on how valuable the thing you have is. If it’s not worth much, I can throw your friend in the canal with the rest of the trash.”

  His jab has less muscle this time. Words have power—nobody knows that better than a grifter—but harping on the same idea diminishes its strength. The first time you’re exposed to a virus, it can kill you. But if you’re exposed to small doses of the virus over time, you develop immunity. Besides, if Petrov had anything else to batter me with, he’d have used it by now. Which means Sam is probably fine. That knowledge acts as a shield against any further barbs from Petrov about my father.

  “Oh, I think you’ll appreciate the significance of the message my father left me.” Which is true. Petrov would appreciate it, just not in the sense I’m implying.

  “Again, it depends on the content. Most information is easy enough to bury. It helps to have friends in high places.”

  “Friends are important,” I agree. “Which is why I’d like mine back.”

  “Tell me what your father took from me and maybe it will be worth a limb or two.”

  “He found out why you need the forged documents. He made a video of your warehouse of hostages.”

  Petrov snorts. “The warehouse is not in my name, nor can it be connected to me in any way. Besides, now that I know, I can move the product before you have a chance to turn the video over to the authorities.”

  “He also taped a phone call between you and one of your distributors. I haven’t listened to it yet, but I imagine there’s a whole lot of you being refreshingly open and honest about your business practices.”

  “That might get you an arm or leg. But with all the editing software these days, as well as the justice system’s insistence on pesky things like chain of custody for electronic evidence, it would be a generous gesture on my part.”

  “All right, then. What about bank statements?”

  Petrov doesn’t move, but his face turns pale. “I want to see them.”

  “I’m not stupid enough to have brought them with me. And anyway, I think I’ve earned proof of life.”

  Petrov snaps and Ginger leaves. I’ll never understand how really bad bad guys can communicate with just a series of small signals like that. I always have to explain everything in agonizing detail to get my minions to do my bidding. Maybe I have faulty minions. Or maybe I’m losing my mind. Focus, Julep.

  Ginger returns with a roughed-up Sam, his hands bound in front of him with a zip-tie.

  “Sam,” I say, moving a step in his direction before I can stop myself.

  “What are you doing here?” One of Sam’s cheeks is swollen and his jaw shows the beginnings of a sizable bruise, but otherwise he seems intact. No visible broken bones, thank god.

  “Enough.” Petrov says, demanding my attention. Once I’ve t
urned it back to him, his scowl melts into a psychotic smile. “I am sorry for damaging your property, my dear, but I caught him impersonating a computer-repair technician with the intention of stealing my files.”

  Sam, you moron. He’s lucky I’m probably not getting out of this alive. If I do, I’m going to murder him.

  “Let him go and you can have your bank statements,” I say.

  Petrov’s grin deepens. “Shouldn’t you be bargaining for your own release as well?”

  “I know the game. I know I’m as potentially damaging as those statements. I’ve seen them; he hasn’t. Let him walk, and you can keep me and the evidence.”

  “No!” Dani renews her struggle against her captors. Sam wisely stays quiet. He knows I have an ace or two I haven’t played yet.

  “Dani,” I say, giving her a stern look. She settles down but is scowling at me as much as at anyone else.

  “Do we have a deal?” I ask Petrov. “This is a limited-time offer.”

  “Don’t do it, Petrov.” A familiar authoritarian voice joins the party. “She doesn’t have anything. She’s lying.”

  Senator Richland strides into the light from the shelter of the doorway, Tyler by his side.

  THE ULTIMATE CON

  Tyler.

  There is no word strong enough in the English language to describe how I feel at this moment. Betrayed isn’t quite right, because I should have known better. Humiliated is close, but doesn’t cover the heartbreak ripping through my chest. Furious might work, if it weren’t for the fact that despite everything, I still want to throw myself into Tyler’s arms and have him tell me everything is going to be fine.

  But everything is not going to be fine. Everything is shot to hell. My inner grifter is scrambling to come up with some kind of spin to salvage the situation. But with my heart skidding into the wall, all my confidence—and with it my grifter superpower—is simply gone.

  It’s both hilarious and awful, when you think about it. I suck at picking the right people to trust. I knew better. I knew it made no sense that Tyler kept insisting on helping me. Well, now it makes perfect sense. He was spying on me for his father, and by extension for Petrov, this whole time.

  Tyler’s brown eyes, usually soft, bore into mine. He’s trying to tell me something, willing me to understand. But knights in shining armor don’t appear at the point of no return and betray their damsels in distress. They just don’t. And all I can think for several heartbeats is But you yelled at me for not trusting you. Is it really possible to be that much of a hypocrite? Then I think back to all the lies I’ve told to gain people’s trust and realize that yes, it is possible.

  I try desperately to stuff all the hurt back down my throat as I come to grips with the knowledge that Tyler’s betrayal, and my inability to recover from it, means I’ve lost all leverage with Petrov. Bargaining for Sam is now out of the question. The only option I have left is to stall.

  Petrov gestures at the senator. “May I introduce my friend Senator Richland? I believe you’ve already met his son, Tyler.”

  “I’ve also met the senator,” I say, not bothering to hide my bitterness.

  “Well then, shall we conclude our business? I believe you were just countered, my dear.”

  “She doesn’t have anything and hasn’t seen anything,” Tyler says, stepping out of his father’s shadow. “You were about to let Sam go for not being a threat. Now you can let her go, too.”

  He’s still trying to be a hero, the idiot. Despite lying to me for a month, faking most, if not all, of his feelings for me, and working for a sociopath, he’s actually trying to save me. I can’t decide if that makes me feel better or worse. Not that it matters. His interference has doomed us all.

  “Shut up, Tyler,” I say.

  “You’d be wise to listen to her, boy. You have even less to bargain with than she does.”

  I close my eyes and take a breath. A strange peace seeps across my shoulders and into my core, as if someone has wrapped me in an invisible blanket. My erratic heartbeat slows and my scattered thoughts assemble.

  It is simply time for Plan B.

  I open my eyes, pulling my gaze from Tyler to Petrov.

  “Okay,” I say, my voice gaining strength. “You got me. My father lied. He never had any evidence against you. You killed him for nothing.”

  Petrov smirks. “Not for nothing, my dear. He was still disloyal. Besides, I didn’t kill him.” He looks meaningfully at Ginger.

  I grit my teeth, trembling with frustration. “You could have picked any forger in the country. Why did you pick my dad?”

  “I prefer to get referrals,” he says, indicating the senator. “Your father came highly recommended.”

  I direct the next question to the senator. “How did you even know my dad?”

  The senator is sweating, his eyes shifting and nervous. He’s not going to answer me, so I answer myself.

  “From the racetrack, right?” I’m drawing connections quickly now that I have all the information. “I saw your name on the list of donors. You were a regular, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he confirms reluctantly. “But I had no idea this would happen.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” I say, feigning a sympathy I don’t feel in the least. “But Petrov has his hooks in you somehow. You didn’t have a choice.”

  The senator takes the bait. “Exactly,” he says. “Petrov threatened my family.”

  Petrov rolls his eyes. “What I threatened was to cut off my illegal contributions to your campaign fund, as well as tarnish your pristine public reputation with allegations of fraud. The truth is, you didn’t want to go down with me if Dupree had the evidence he claimed.”

  Ding.

  “The evidence that never existed in the first place,” I say.

  Petrov shrugs. “He said he’d hidden it. That the only person who could find it besides him was you.”

  Which is why Petrov ordered the senator to have his son spy on me. I can’t stop my gaze from flicking to Tyler.

  “For all his criminal brilliance, your father had a fatal weakness,” Petrov says. “You. Or rather, a regrettable bleeding-heart sympathy for the innocent, which he no doubt contracted from his ongoing proximity to you.”

  This time, Petrov hits the mark. My dad knew what it took to succeed in this business. Just as I now know what it means to fail.

  “I knew I couldn’t trust him, so I had Yenko follow him,” he says, gesturing to Ginger. “Yenko overheard a call he made to the FBI. When he was less than forthcoming about the information he’d supposedly stolen, I gambled that he’d left that information with you. And then I may have shot him a little.”

  Ding.

  “If only I’d known how much more of a pain in the ass you are,” he adds.

  “He called the FBI to save your victims,” I say.

  “Save them,” Petrov scoffs. “As if I haven’t given them everything—a chance at a new life in the land of plenty. It’s a business arrangement. There is nothing to save them from.”

  “Yet they live piled on top of one another in an abandoned warehouse,” I say. I’m pushing it, but I need to be sure. “How long does it take one of them to work off their debt to you?”

  “I provide an affordable workforce for an elite clientele. I feed them and train them. It would be a shame to squander such effort.”

  “So none of them have ever earned their way out?”

  At first, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to answer the question.

  “Not as such, no.”

  Ding.

  My work here is done. Damn it, Mike, where are you?

  “What about the crates?” I say, improvising.

  But I’ve pushed it too far. Petrov narrows his eyes and pulls out his .45, leveling it at my forehead.

  Then several things happen in rapid succession, the first being the catalyst for everything that happens after.

  All the lights go out.

  THE O.K. CORRAL

  Some
one knocks into me from behind, taking me to the floor right before Petrov’s gun goes off, shattering the stillness.

  By the time the red security lights blink on, everyone has dashed for cover. Sam pulls me to my feet, his hands still bound. Tyler signals to us from behind a nearby stack of crates. I’m not wild about trusting him, even if he did try to save me. But given a choice between Tyler’s crate and Petrov’s, I’ll take Tyler’s.

  I tug Sam in Tyler’s direction and do a quick check for Dani in the semidarkness. If she’s here, she’s hiding, and that’s good enough for now. Of all of us, she’s the one most capable of taking care of herself.

  We duck behind the crate as the Ukrainians open fire. One of the bullets splinters the edge of the crate I’m huddling behind. I scramble backward into Tyler.

  “We have to get out of here,” Tyler says. “These crates aren’t going to last long against bullets, and we have no idea what’s in them. Could be explosives for all we know.”

  “I’m open to suggestions,” Sam replies, ducking a volley from another of Petrov’s henchmen.

  “There’s a side door farther down this wall,” Tyler says.

  More bullets clip the crate, and all discussion halts as we cluster as near to the center as possible. Then Dani darts from out of nowhere to join us. She drops into a crouch, gun raised. She hands me Sam’s pocketknife, which she must have liberated from whatever backroom they took him to when they frisked him.

  I saw through Sam’s zip-tie with the serrated blade and more desperation than strength. I think I may be nicking him in my haste, but finally the zip-tie falls to the floor. I pocket the knife as more shots ring out.

  Dani takes a shot at Ginger, who scuttles into a better position away from the line of fire. The reverberation from her gunshot is deafening in the cavernous warehouse. I clap my hands to my ears too late.

  Then Dani pulls out another gun, this one familiar, and hands it to Sam.

  “No.” I try to take the gun away from him, but he shoves me back into Tyler.

  “Get her out of here,” Sam says to Tyler as he slides the chamber back on the gun and lets it go. “We’ll cover you.”