Play Nice

by Gemma Halliday

  Shelli Cooper had been hired on as office manager at the shelter a couple months after Anna had started there and ran the place like clockwork. At just over five feet, she was a petite little firecracker with enough perk to singlehandedly solve the nation’s energy crisis. She had a tendency to talk with her hands and was perpetually bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her red hair was worn long and loose around her face, hippie style, with a pair of green eyes set in skin so pale she reminded Anna of a china doll. A dusting of freckles along Shelli’s upturned nose gave her a perpetually youthful look, though Anna put her age somewhere in her early thirties, close to Anna’s own.

  “Sorry,” Anna said, setting her shoulder bag down on the counter. “Long night.”

  “Oh yeah?” Shelli asked, leaning in. “You get some?”

  “Ha. No, stubborn boxer. Rain. Mud. Not fun.” She picked up a pile of mail and thumbed through it. Mostly bills and bulk mailers from other local businesses.

  “Yeah, it really came down last night, didn’t it? My power flickered a couple times during the debates. I was sure it was going to cut out. Did you watch?”

  Anna shook her head. “No. I never get into politics.”

  “You didn’t miss much. Republicans crying bleeding heart, Democrats crying big oil. Same old tune. They say Jonathan Braxton’s ahead in the polls, though. Not sure how I feel about having a governor younger than I am, but there you have it. Oh, hey,” she said, switching gears, “we got a newcomer last night after you left.” Shelli navigated around the front counter to grab a clipboard from the desk behind.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Terrier mix. Tiny little thing, freaked half out of his mind. No ID or tags. A homeless guy brought him in just as I was closing up. He was afraid the church wouldn’t let him in for the night if he had a dog with him.”

  “Is he in the back?”

  “Number fifteen.” Shelli handed her a clipboard with the terrier’s paperwork before taking a seat behind the counter and jiggling her computer screen to life. “He’s all yours, Anna.”

  “I’m on it.”

  The shelter’s kennels consisted of one large room with concrete floors where fifteen smaller cages were set up. Three-quarters were full, which was less than most shelters in the area, often overflowing, sometimes even illegally housing animals in the offices and storage rooms. It was hard enough finding cute little puppies homes, never mind older animals that had been abused, neglected, or worse, grown up feral, fending for themselves. While Anna did her best to clean them up and make them look attractive for potential new homes, it was often a race against time to get the adoptable ones out and make room for the never-ceasing influx of new animals.

  She stopped at the last cage and squatted down next to their newest boarder. He was small, even for a terrier, his fur a shaggy gray color, matted with something dark and sticky along the back. He yipped warily at the cage door, bouncing up and down on all fours.

  “Hey there, fella,” Anna said, trying to make her voice as low and soothing as she could. “Don’t you worry, we’ll clean you up.”

  He yipped again, clearly not convinced.

  She slowly opened the cage door, talking in soft tones to the animal as she reached out a hand and let his wet little nose run along her palm. Once his nostrils had gotten their fill, she scooped him up from the floor, running her hand gently along his back as she carried him to the sink. He shivered in her hands, and she could feel his ribs jutting beneath his skin. Sadly, he looked like he’d been on the streets for a while.

  “It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. Trust me, you’ll feel so much better after a nice, hot bath.”

  She turned on the water, letting it warm up a bit before setting the dog down in the deep, metal basin. He circled a few times, sniffing at the drain as she turned on the handheld showerhead and ran it along his fur. Immediately the water turned brown, rinsing away God knows what. She lathered him in shampoo as he tried to bite the bubbles rising from his coat, then rinsed him again until the water ran clear and his fur was at least two shades lighter.

  The next step was to scan for ID. Even though he’d come in tagless, more and more pet owners were being urged to have ID chips implanted in their animals. Anna looked for the telltale bulge along his neckline. Nothing. But just for good measure, she scanned the handheld machine over his fur. As suspected, nothing showed up.

  “I guess you’re Fido Doe, now,” Anna informed him.

  He looked up at her and licked her chin.

  “Oh, you like that name, do you?” she laughed.

  She scratched behind his ears as she carried him out into the front room where Shelli would take his picture to broadcast via Internet for a potential new home.

  “Ready for his close-up,” Anna said.

  Shelli’s head popped up from her e-mail. “Oh, isn’t he cute! He looks so much better. He’s gonna go right away.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  “Okay, hold him up.” Shelli pulled a digital camera from the top desk drawer and aimed it at the terrier. “Hmm … wait. He needs something.”

  She leaned down and rummaged in her desk again.

  Fido wiggled in Anna’s arms, his little nose twitching, just dying to explore the new room.

  “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold him.”

  “Here, perfect.” Shelli stood up, a length of red ribbon in one hand. “Just hold him a second,” she said, navigating the ribbon around his neck. The little dog twisted his head to the side, trying to nip at the ends as Anna held him down. Finally Shelli won out, creating a somewhat lopsided bow around his neck.

  “There, much better.”

  Anna rolled her eyes and laughed. “Just take the damn picture already. He’s going to bolt any second.”

  Shelli held up the camera. “Okay, big guy, smile.” She snapped the shot, then checked the digital window. “Aw, he’s adorable.”

  Anna peeked over Shelli’s shoulder. “Perfect.”

  “Oh, here,” Shelli reached behind the desk, pulling out the morning’s copy of the Chronicle. “I’m sure he needs fresh paper in his stall.”

  “Hey, save me the classifieds,” Anna asked, juggling the terrier in one arm while she tried to pull the section out from the rest.

  “Oh no, not again.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re moving again?”

  Anna turned away, hoping her thoughts weren’t visible on her face. “Thinking about it.”

  “This is the second time you’ve moved since I’ve known you.”

  It was true. She was getting antsy faster and faster the longer she stayed in the city.

  “My lease is up,” she lied.

  “Can’t you renew? I thought you liked that place.”

  “I do.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s time for a change.”

  “Last time it was the plumbing. The time before, the super who refused to fix the AC. God, I hope you find a keeper this time.”

  Anna cringed. She hated lying to Shelli. Both apartments had been fine. But more than a few months and she started to get that antsy feeling. Like she was too settled, too comfortable. That’s when her guard would fall.

  “Well, let me know if you want me to go check out some places with you. Oh, hey, my neighbor’s sister just rented this condo near the Haight. I think she’s looking for a roommate. I could ask?”

  Anna bit the inside of her cheek. Then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.”

  Liar.

  She had no intention of staying in San Francisco. As much as she’d miss the shelter, even Shelli, it was time to move on. Unfortunately, not something she could share. There would be too many questions, promises to keep in touch that would just be another round of lies. She knew from experience that the best way to go was silently and swiftly. One day she was there, the next it would be like she’d never existed.

  Like a ghost.

  Because, after all
, isn’t that what she was?

  * * *

  Dade squinted his left eye closed, his right trained on the image of Anya magnified through his scope.

  “Come on, girl. Just put down the damned rat,” he muttered under his breath.

  He’d been glued to her since she’d arrived. His scope tracking her as she parked her car up the block and walked to the shelter. He’d followed her inside, his entire body focused on the framed image of her dark hair in the lens. But he hadn’t been able to get a clear angle. First, she’d had that redhead dancing around her, then she’d disappeared into the back room, and now she was holding some mangy dog that wouldn’t sit still.

  Dade shifted his weight, keeping his index finger loose on the trigger.

  He was patient. He knew his moment would come. It would be done today.

  The roof of the hotel was the highest point in a three-block radius. It was an area wide enough to make him confident no nosey office worker looking out her window would see him, but close enough to his target that he knew he wouldn’t miss. He’d been lucky. It was perfect for a long-range shot. Which was exactly how Dade wanted it. He had no intention of getting that close to her again.

  He would do it through the window. A bigger mess, no doubt, with the glass. But the noise would confuse people. Make them focus on the point of impact, not the point of origin. They’d be ducking, avoiding debris. Not scanning the street for a guy with a gun.

  He’d hauled his rig up to the roof in a guitar case, blending in as one of dozens of the city’s street musicians roaming the sidewalks just after dawn. He knew from his mornings parked in front of Anya’s building that she woke at 6:15 on the dot every day. She would have been getting her first cup of coffee when he’d set up the scope, the long-range rifle, aligned the site perfectly to the right front window of the shelter.

  At 7:30 the redhead had come in, army bag slung over one shoulder, walking from the bus station up the street, and unlocked the doors, swinging around the yellow sign from CLOSED to WELCOME. He’d lain on his stomach, sprawled flat against the roof as he’d watched her flip on her computer monitor, paw through a pile of mail, then slip into the back room until Anya arrived, half an hour later.

  Usually he’d swing in thirty seconds behind her, parking his SUV down the block.

  But today he was waiting.

  He blinked his left eye shut again, feeling the morning sun begin to melt the layers of fog away. A thin bead of sweat trailed down his temple, but he barely noticed.

  He watched Anya pull out a newspaper, the redhead wave her arms in the air in response. Not a surprise. From what he’d seen, she seemed the high-strung type. Anya was harder to read, though the line of her back seemed straighter, more tense. Whatever they were discussing upset her. Finally the redhead raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. Anya responded with her back to him. Then she leaned forward and passed the dog to the redhead.

  Bingo.

  Dade felt his muscles relax, his heart speed up, his body focusing, narrowing in on his target. His finger closed around the trigger, his eyes riveted to a spot at the back of Anya’s head.

  Then she whipped around, her enormous blue eyes turning his way. For a second, he could swear she was looking right at him. Which was impossible, of course—he’d checked and double-checked to make sure nothing on the roof was visible from the ground.

  He blinked hard, shook off the feeling, refocused on his site. His finger hovered over the trigger.

  He counted off one, two …

  But he never got to three.

  Instead, as his finger lay loose on the trigger, the plate-glass window in his scope exploded into a million pieces.

  Dade jerked his head up. Bits of broken glass spewed onto the sidewalk, passersby scattered, screaming, covering their heads as if being attacked from all sides. A man came running out of the hardware store next door, yelling in some foreign language, waving his arms. It was exactly the scene he’d envisioned.

  Only a second too early.

  Dade grabbed a pair of binoculars from his bag, training them on the broken storefront. Neither the redhead nor Anya were visible, though he spotted the tail of that rat dog peeking out from behind the front counter.

  Another shot rang out and Dade watched the telephone on the counter explode, chunks flying every which way. He dropped the binoculars, left the scope, reached into his bag and grabbed his M9, shoving the handgun into the waistband of his pants as he hurtled himself over the fire escape. His legs pumped down the rusted flights, one thought racing through his mind.

  He hadn’t pulled the trigger.

  So who the hell was shooting at Anya?

  CHAPTER 3

  They’ve found me.

  Anna dove behind the counter, tackling Shelli to the ground. Her heart thudded in her chest, a fear she’d hoped never to feel again surging through her limbs.

  Shelli’s eyes were two big saucers, her face ghostly white, mouth hanging open. “Holy shit, what’s going on?”

  “Stay down,” Anna commanded, covering her head as two more shots ripped through the tiny lobby, embedding themselves in the wall behind her. Shelli nodded, crouched beneath the desk, holding the terrier to her chest in a death grip.

  On instinct Anna grabbed for the .32 strapped to her ankle. Only she came up empty. It had been years since she’d worn one. And her Glock was in her purse, halfway across the room. There was no way she could get to it without completely exposing herself.

  You’ve gotten careless.

  She frantically ran her hands along the floor, searching for anything she could use as a weapon. Shards of glass cut into her palm as she closed around a paperweight shaped like a Siamese cat. She leaned forward, trying to get a visual around the side of the counter.

  The point of impact was clearly the front of the building, but it was too chaotic on the street to get a clear handle on the shooter’s position. She did a quick scan of the area, even though she knew it was futile. These were professionals with the best training money could buy. If they wanted to be invisible, there was no way she’d see them. Had she been the one setting up the hit, she’d have done it from the ground, close to the buildings across the street. But it was too hard to tell if anyone was there now.

  “Anna, what the hell is going on?” Shelli asked again, her voice shaky. The dog whimpered in her arms.

  “Stay where you are,” Anna shouted back. “Don’t move, just stay down.”

  She picked a spot on the left side of the room, near the front door, and hurled the paperweight toward the window. It crashed through, bouncing off the sidewalk. A second later gunfire sprayed the window and Anna lunged to the right, her fingers curling around the strap of her handbag, a split second before the shooter redirected her way. She hit the cover of the desk just as a bullet took out the chunk of beige carpet where she’d been.

  She leaned her head against the counter, taking one quick breath, then two as she rummaged in her purse for her weapon. An odd sense of calm washed over her when her fingers clamped around the cool metal, lifted it, held it almost like an extension of her hand. She’d let it lie dormant in her purse for years, never touching it, but knowing it was there, loaded, just in case.

  Just in case of today.

  Shelli gasped when she saw it, shrinking even farther back under the desk. “Jesus Christ, Anna, what the hell is going on here?”

  Anna didn’t answer. She didn’t have time to. She knew these weren’t the kind of men to play games. They’d be closing in soon. Once the element of surprise was gone, they would rely on time. They must know as well as she did that they weren’t in the remote regions of Bosnia anymore; the SFPD would be on scene in a matter of minutes. They had to get to her before then.

  Which meant she had to run.

  She wrapped both hands around the gun, took a deep breath, then stood up, launching herself vertical like a jack-in-the-box as she fired off half a dozen rounds through the nonexistent front window. She quickly drop
ped back down to a crouch, listening for the pause as they took cover themselves, then returned fire.

  It came swift and hard. Faster than she’d hoped, spraying the back wall of the office, raining pieces of plaster down on her.

  Shit.

  Fully automatics, AK-74s if she had to guess. How many of them were there? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was she had to get the hell out of there. Without an arsenal of her own, she was a sitting duck.

  Anna bit the inside of her cheek, panic rising as, one by one, she eliminated escape options.

  The gunmen shot three rounds into the computer on Shelli’s desk, the monitor exploding with a pop that sent sparks flying into the worn carpet. Shelli screamed. Anna ducked, covering her head with her arms and turning away.

  Just in time to see the back door fly open.

  A man dressed in all black entered the room, a handgun held tight to his body. He took two steps into the room, then ducked behind a column as gunfire erupted again.

  Anna’s heart froze.

  Trapped.

  She trained her gun in his direction, mentally counting how many rounds she had left. Eight. She had eight shots left. Enough. She held the gun straight-armed in front of her and shot off three rounds into the column at head level.

  She heard him swear, diving backward for cover. He returned fire, and Anna ducked down, narrowly missing a bullet as it bounced off the desk chair. Anna retaliated, shooting off four more shots his way, before ducking back down behind cover. Out of the corner of her eye the man darted across the room toward her, hailing more fire from the front of the office.

  She turned her gun on him.

  But he was faster, grabbing her by the wrist and twisting her arm behind her until she cried out, her hand involuntarily releasing her weapon with a sickening thud to the floor.

  “Anna!” Shelli cried out, her voice high with hysteria.

  Anna struggled. But the man’s grip was tight. It was like struggling against steel, completely unyielding. There was nowhere to go. He shoved her up against the wall, his hard body pinning her there, pressing into her back. His mouth ground up against her ear, the stubble on his chin scraping her cheek. She tried to turn away, but there was no space left to move.