Trust Me, I'm Trouble by Mary Elizabeth Summer
The sequel to TRUST ME, I’M LYING
Staying out of trouble isn’t possible for Julep Dupree. She has managed not to get kicked out of her private school, even though everyone knows she’s responsible for taking down a human-trafficking mob boss—and getting St. Agatha’s golden-boy Tyler killed in the process. Running cons holds her guilty conscience at bay, but unfortunately, someone wants Julep to pay for her mistakes . . . with her life.
Against her better judgment, Julep takes a shady case that requires her to infiltrate a secretive organization that her long-gone mother and the enigmatic blue fairy may be connected to. Her best friend, Sam, isn’t around to stop her, and Dani, her one true confidante, happens to be a nineteen-year-old mob enforcer whose moral compass is as questionable as Julep’s. But there’s not much time to worry about right and wrong—or to save your falling heart—when there’s a contract on your head.
Murders, heists, secrets and lies, hit men and hidden identities . . . If Julep doesn’t watch her back, it’s her funeral. No lie.
An excerpt from Trust Me, I'm Trouble
If I could give fledgling con artists one piece of advice, it would be this: tacos.
Specifically, Cemitas Pubela tacos.
There might be a mark somewhere out there impervious to the fresh Oaxaca cheese and garden-grown papalo, but if there is, I have yet to meet him. The spit-roasted pork, the chorizo and carne asada, the chile guajillo … No one says no to tacos. At least, not these tacos. Which is why they are my secret weapon in my toughest cases.
Holding a bag of taco heaven, I knock on the back door of our own windowless 1996 Chevy van, and wait for Murphy to let me in. Murphy opens the door, the cord of his headphones stretched to its limit. He doesn’t bother looking at me until he smells the tacos.
“You brought me dinner?” he says, eyes lighting up.
“Mitts off, Murph. These are for the mark.”
Murphy grumbles something under his breath.
“Well, if you’d get out of the van and actually, you know, work, the tacos could have been for you.”
“The van is an extension of me. I do not leave the van. The van does not leave me.”
J.D. Investigations, which is the name Murphy and I finally settled on for our PI form, purchased the van in March for all of the company’s creeper spying needs. Murphy practically drooled on the bumper when he saw the extended wheelbase. I liked the monstrosity for its diesel engine, the price of gas being what it is. But what sealed it for us was the 1-800-TAXDRMY hand-painted on the side. I’d like to see the curious bystander brave enough to peek in that windshield.