Still nothing from Nate. A watched phone never buzzes, so I started work on my comedy set. When a text arrived twenty minutes later, I lunged for it. But it was Miley.
Miley:Evelyn says hi! And she’d love to do a feature on yr friend and her pole shoe company!
Maybe there were perks to being in my hometown after all.
Tilly:THANK YOU! Hey, wanna get a coffee sometime?
Miley:Sure! And we could do a kid date too? My daughter Bam-Bam shows an early aptitude for social drama. A potential friend triangle with twins would def be her jam.
As I laughed out loud, my phone rattled again. This time it was Nate.
Forty-Five
For the second time that day, I opened the door to find Agent Nate Duran outside. But instead of lurking behind his ATF colleague, he now stood alone in jeans and a puffy coat. I ushered him inside, my heart flapping like a decapitated chicken.
He paused to take in the living room. “It looks great in here! Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against tie-dye and disco balls. But it’s calmer now. I like it.”
This time I offered tea instead of whiskey. We sat across from each other at the kitchen table to avoid our thighs accidentally touching. It should’ve felt even more awkward than it did, all things considered.
“I have a lot to explain,” I said.
“I’m a good listener.”
I took a deep breath. New Tilly trusted people. New Tilly let people in. I could do this. I wanted to be open and honest with Nate. To be able to tell him everything. But I’d only known him for a week and a half. If he had to choose between his loyalty to the ATF and a rando who’d slept with him once and then ghosted him, he wouldn’t pick me. And if I had to choose between being honest with him and staying out of a prison cell, I’d choose my own freedom. So I looked deep into his gold-flecked eyes and started spouting half-truths and lies.
I’d been acting so weird partly because I was under a lot of stress, I said. I’d met a creepy guy named Connor at Huckleberry’s. He’d drunkenly told me all about an attack he was planning on the capitol in three weeks. That was almost two weeks ago now. His friends—Ralphieand Errol—had been threatening me ever since. They told me they’d chopped off a woman’s finger and mine was next. I hadn’t confessed any of this to Nate and the other agents that morning because I was too afraid. But it was time for me to be brave now.
I left Layna, and Gucci, and Miranda out of my story entirely. Though I knew at that very moment Gucci was likely staking a giant poster advertising “Nikita’s” stand-up set at the Winter Will Never End Festival into the ground of Miranda’s front yard. Hopefully Ralphie and Errol would drive by and see my smiling mug on the poster before my set tomorrow afternoon and think it was a message from Miranda, giving me up. They’d stop harassing her. They’d know where to find me.
Nate took in everything I told him calmly, only interrupting to ask clarifying questions. I kept my answers short, concise, the better not to trip myself up.
“Why did you think we were going to arrest you?” Nate asked.
“Two federal agents show up at my house? I’m a solo mom. Maybe sometimes I get paranoid that something will happen and I won’t be able to care for my kids.”
When Nate spoke next, it was calmly, slowly, as if he was sorry to ask me a question it wouldn’t be in my best interest to answer. “Why do you think Connor Johnson’s phone pinged here? At your house?”
I shrugged, my heart slamming into my ribs like the time I got busted shoplifting lipstick in junior high. “I’m a left-leaning feminist from Westside LA,” I finally said. “I promise I am not in cahoots with a proto-Nazi I met at the strip club.”
Nate’s look said he knew there were things I wasn’t telling him. But after an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then leaned toward me, elbows on the table. I feared he was about to demand the full and unfiltered truth. Instead he said, “Connor Johnson is a federal informant. We have reason to suspect he might have gotten crossways with other members of the Imperial Dominion. That he might be dead.”
“Oh my god,” I managed.
“Ralphie ‘the Lizard’ Wheeler and his nephew—Errol Wheeler. They’re major illegal arms suppliers,” Nate said. “Practically on our Most Wanted list. We’ve had Day of the Rope on our radar. Our sources tell us the attempt will be in eleven days. Catching them could help us stop it. Especially if we could get them to talk.”
“Well, here’s our chance!” I said, so nervous I made jazz hands. I told Nate about my stand-up set at the festival, how it was being advertised with my photo and my pole dancing name, Nikita. Ralphie and Errol would likely be there, looking for me.
“Your pole name is Nikita?” Nate grinned. “LikeLa Femme Nikita?”
“You’ve seenLa Femme Nikita?” I said.
“Watching Anne Parillaud assemble that Steyr AUG A1 rifle in her underwear is probably why I got into the ATF.” He grinned at me. “Nikita. Nice.”
“Yeah, except I’m not an assassin,” I said. “But I’m still kind of a badass. Like a Bond girl, but one who survives.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Basically, you can use me as bait.”
“I don’t want to use you as bait!” he said.
I needed to sound calm and strong. To not let on how scared I was. “If those two are wandering free, I’m gonna be living in fear—for myself and my kids. Better to draw them out and catch them than live in terror they’ll find me.” This was the truest thing I’d said since Nate arrived.
