Down to the Liar by Mary Elizabeth Summer

she’s asking for isn’t necessarily a kindness. I grift partly to keep myself afloat and partly because I don’t know who I am without it. But I’m under no illusions that it’s a good thing to be doing. Sure, I use it to help people now. Since everything went down with the mob, I’m on the Captain America side of the law (well, mostly). But I’m still not really a great person. No one, least of all me, thinks I’m a good influence on young girls.
    Lily must sense that she’s losing me, because she says, “I’m looking for the Julep Dupree who saved a hundred girls from a life worse than death. Is that person still around?”
    Fabulous. One act of brainless idealism, and I am never going to live it down.
    I size her up again. The last time I trusted a classmate, he ratted me out to a mob boss. The last time I trusted a barista, he arrested my best friend and then me. You could say I’m a little gun-shy in the trust department these days. But I have a hard time believing she’s duplicitous. I’m practically gagging on the waves of innocence rolling off her. She couldn’t be an FBI agent, and I can’t imagine her in league with someone like Petrov.
    And then her lower lip wobbles, ever so slightly, and she immediately firms up her features. The show of resolve is what breaks me. What can I say? I’m a fixer.
    “One-week trial,” I say, shaking my head at myself. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “If it turns out you’re a spy, I
will
sic my enforcer on you. And yes, she bites. Give me your phone.”
    Lily hands me her phone, and I type my number into her contacts app.
    “When should I start?”
    “Right now,” I say, switching from her contacts to the Web browser and pulling up the page for New World Initiative. I hand back her phone. “You’d better be right about that caramel macchiato.”
    She turns to go, glancing at me once before walking out. I settle back into my angst. I wish she hadn’t brought up the Ukrainians. I wish I hadn’t been thinking about all of it before she even showed up. I have too hard a time stuffing it all away after it comes popping out. The weight of it all presses down harder on me here. I lost so much more than I saved that day. Tyler. Sam. My dad. Not to mention Ralph, who I still haven’t managed to track down despite all my and Murphy’s searching.
    I just want to go back to what it was like before all this started happening.
    Amen to that. I light a candle on my way out.
    • • •
    After school, Dani takes me to the firing range in Des Plaines. Dani and I have been going regularly since January, so it’s a familiar route. I spend this particular trip lost in thought.
    I usually talk Dani’s ear off during the drive, getting her criminal-underworld insight on cases, keeping her updated on the Ukrainian girls, and, in general, telling her about my day. She’s a great listener. Not so much a sharer, unless she’s giving me the smackdown for being stupid. Like last March when I was struggling with my anger over Tyler’s death and daring the world to try to take me down. She said I didn’t have to suffer to earn forgiveness. But maybe I just suffer either way….
    “You did your job. You saved me from Petrov. Your promise to my dad is done, but you’re still here. And you still think it’s your job to protect me. Just so we’re clear, I never asked you to.”
    “You are right. You did not ask. But I was not doing it for you.”
    “Dani—”
    “Enough. It is your life to risk as you want. Just as it is my life to risk in your place.”
    “What are you thinking?” she asks, breaking into my memories.
    “Work,” I say, more lie than truth. No need to rehash the many ways in which I’ve been an idiot. So I fill her in on the particulars of the NWI job instead. Well, most of the particulars.
    “And your new associate has found information on the New World Initiative?”
    “As much as can be found without joining up,” I say, thinking back to the