Play Nice

by Gemma Halliday

* * *

  No matter how she tried to block them out, questions flew through Anna’s brain faster than she could formulate answers. Who was Dade? Where was he taking her? How long would he wait before finishing the job he’d been hired to do? And, most importantly, if he was the KOS’s man, who the hell were they running from now?

  She didn’t know. Only one thing was certain.

  Escape.

  She stole a glance at her captor as he turned left onto Van Ness, searching his face for some clue as to his plans. His eyes were dark and focused on the road, mouth a straight line, jaw clenched shut. A calm, unreadable wall.

  He was numb. He’d been trained well, too.

  “How did you find me?” she asked. Not that it mattered now. But if she could get him talking, she might be able to glean some information.

  “I was given your location,” came his clipped answer.

  “By who?”

  “Whom.”

  “What?”

  “The correct word is whom.”

  She blinked at him. “I don’t need a fucking grammar lesson. I need some answers.”

  “Join the club,” he mumbled, eyes still straight ahead on the road.

  Anna took a deep breath, willing herself to rein in her emotions. Pissing off the guy with the gun was not going to get her anywhere but dead, fast. She closed her eyes, counted to five.

  “Who hired you?” she asked, making a concerted effort to keep her tone calm and even.

  “I told you. The KOS.”

  “The KOS doesn’t exist anymore. Give me a name.”

  He clenched his jaw tightly, kept his eyes straight ahead.

  No answer.

  Which, honestly, told her more than she’d hoped. She’d bet anything that he didn’t know who had hired him. If he had, he would have at least tried to protect his employer’s identity with some lie. As it was, the slight twitch of his eyelid now told her that he wished he knew, too.

  “How much did they pay you?” she asked.

  Dade turned on her. “Excuse me?”

  “I want to know how much my life is worth. What did they pay you to kill me? Ten grand? Twenty?”

  “This is insane. I’m not having this conversation.”

  “Thirty? Forty?”

  He stared straight ahead.

  “Fifty?”

  He didn’t move.

  “Seventy-five?”

  Anna watched his right eyelid twitch again.

  “Seventy-five,” she settled on. “Not bad. But if I were you, I would have held out for a hundred.”

  His eyes shot to her. “Why? Is that your going rate to complete a job?”

  “I don’t have a rate,” she answered quickly. “I don’t kill for profit. And if you want to know, it’s been fifteen years, three months, and four days since I last pulled the trigger of a gun.”

  “That’s pretty exact.”

  Anna swallowed. She hadn’t meant to say so much, but the moment had gotten the better of her. Her emotions were running high. Too high. She chose her next words carefully, willing her thoughts to slow down before speaking.

  “You could say it left an impression.”

  “I take it this gun was pointed at someone?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek.

  Tread carefully here.

  “Yes.” She nodded, trying to eradicate all trace of emotion from her voice.

  “Someone who is now dead,” he asked, though there was little question to it.

  She closed her eyes, willing her mind to block out the image of her last kill—his eyes wide with surprise, face contorted with pain, color quickly draining from his cheeks as the life seeped out of him, staining his general’s uniform a garish red.

  “Yes,” she answered slowly.

  Dade was quiet a moment, and when he did speak his tone was lower, deeper.

  “You know, there are some people who make the world a better place dead than they did alive.”

  She opened her eyes to search for the empathy that might have been behind his words, but his gaze was straight ahead on the road, his mouth a tight line, nothing soft or yielding in his demeanor at all.

  “And who gets to decide that?” she asked him. “Who gets to play the anonymous judge and jury when it comes to their fate?”

  “People who know better.”

  “People like you?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer, but his jaw tensed, a nerve just below his chin pulsing.

  “You think you know me, don’t you?” she continued. “You think you know me well enough to decide if I live or die.”

  “I’ve read your file,” came his clipped response.

  “I’m more than the contents of some damned file,” she countered. Even though they were words she only halfway believed herself. If her life as Anna had been such an easily shattered illusion, what did that leave her with now? Who was she really?

  She shoved that disconcerting thought down as Dade turned left, pulling onto The Embarcadero. Anna craned her neck out the window and saw sparkling blue water peaking through warehouses lined up one after another to her right.

  “Where are we going?” Visions of being tied up, thrown into the bay, lungs filling with frigid water assaulted her, making her shiver despite the sunlight filtering in the windows.

  “Pier 39.”

  She knew the popular tourist attraction. She’d been here a handful of times since moving to San Francisco. The pier consisted of a wide, wooden walkway jutting into the Bay, lined with souvenir shops, seafood restaurants, and novelty attractions. It was a sightseeing must-see.

  And not exactly the deserted dump-site she’d imagined.

  “You’re going to kill me at a tourist spot?”

  He shot her a look she wished she could read before turning his eyes back to the traffic in front of him.

  “No. We need to talk, and I need somewhere safe to do it.”

  “Kind of crowded.”

  He nodded. “That’s the idea.”

  He turned left at the light, pulling into a four-story concrete parking garage. A machine spit out a parking stub at him, then raised its wooden arm to allow him access to the garage. The lower level was full, not surprisingly. He followed a ramp upward, finally finding an empty spot on the third level between a minivan and a Prius. He cut the engine, then grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the dash and a jacket from the backseat. “Let’s go.”

  He got out of the car, motioning her to do the same.

  She did.

  And for a split second she was standing on one side of the car, Dade on the other, a hunk of bulletproof metal between them.

  Run. Go. Duck behind the parked cars. Weave through traffic. You can lose him.

  But she stayed rooted to the spot. Lenny stared at her through the tinted back window, his tongue protruding, head cocked to the side, big black eyes wet and ignorantly grateful to be out of the cramped apartment for the day.

  Dammit, she couldn’t leave him behind.

  And Dade knew it.

  “Come on,” he said, suddenly at her side, a leather jacket covering the bulge of his gun from view.

  She took a deep breath, her moment of opportunity gone.

  There will be another one. Wait. Be patient.

  “What about Lenny?” She gestured to the boxer. His face was pressed against the window, making slobber prints on the glass.

  “He’s fine.”

  “He might get hot.”

  “I cracked a window.”

  “He gets lonely. He barks when he gets lonely.”

  “Nice try. The dog stays,” he said, grabbing her by the arm again and propelling her away from the car.

  With little choice to do otherwise, Anna fell in step beside him.

  A pedestrian bridge spanned The Embarcadero from the garage to the Pacific side. Several piers lined the road there, some home to storage warehouses, some to cargo ships unloading crates from Asia, others overflow parking for tourists, and a few set up as attract
ions filled with kitschy shops, street performers, and bay cruises to Alcatraz, Angel Island, and the ocean beyond where the migrating whales could be seen by marine enthusiasts most months of the year.

  Dade led the way across the bridge to Pier 39. It was a weekday, but during the summer that hardly mattered. The wide wooden walkway was already crowded with visitors wearing cargo shorts, backpacks, and sunburns. Anna and Dade blended into the throng of people moving down the pier, passing the Hard Rock Café, the aquarium, and the Infinite Mirror Maze. Normally the crowd would have made Anna feel comfortable, the mass of people mitigating the loneliness of keeping a secret she harbored most days. But today, every person that passed by was a potential threat. Every pair of eyes on her a spy, every elbow that jostled hers as they threaded their way through the crowd an attack, making her jump both physically and mentally, stringing her nerves to their breaking point.

  While Dade’s eyes were covered by dark glasses, Anna could tell by his body language that he was on alert as much as she was, his grip on her arm tight, his shoulders tensed, all his peripheral senses scanning the area for unknown assailants.

  “I don’t like this,” Anna said. “I feel too exposed. There are too many things we can’t control.”

  “We’re not staying on the pier.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, feeling like a broken record. She didn’t like being kept in the dark any more than she liked feeling overexposed.

  “We’re getting on a boat.”

  Her feet froze. “Are you crazy? We get on a boat and we’re trapped. Sitting ducks.”

  Dade tightened his grasp on her arm, pushing her forward, even as her feet stumbled to catch up. “Calm down,” he ground out, his eyes still focused straight ahead. “Think clearly.”

  She swallowed.

  Right. Calm. No emotion. Emotions are weak. And weak agents make mistakes.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m calm. I’m just not sure that a pleasure cruise is a good idea right now.”

  “Once we get on a boat, we’re also enclosed. No one gets on or off until we return to the dock. As long as they don’t follow us on, we’ve bought ourselves two hours.”

  She bit her lip. He made a certain sense. “If they don’t follow us on.”

  “So keep your eyes peeled,” he said, making his way through the crowd.

  As if she hadn’t been doing just that for the past fifteen years.

  But she did as he instructed, her gaze scanning the face of each person they encountered as they threaded their way down the pier. A German family with two teenagers sat on a wooden bench eating chowder from bread bowls. A guy in a Hawaiian shirt was buying a miniskirted brunette a pair of coral earrings from a vendor cart. A couple kids in pukka shell necklaces and baggy shorts stood in line to ride the carousel.

  None of the benign-looking day trippers screamed “assassin.” But Anna wished she had her weapon back all the same.

  She stuck close to Dade as he led the way toward a small, covered shack on the right side of the pier near the end. A ticket window took up most of the front, a sign next to it listing tickets available for various bay cruises. Dade purchased two tickets on the Blue & Gold Fleet’s next cruise around Alcatraz. Cash. The boat left in half an hour, jacking up Anna’s paranoia. Thirty minutes was plenty of time for anyone to catch up to them.

  “I need to change,” Anna said, once Dade had shoved the tickets in his back pocket.

  “Into what?”

  “I need a fresh shirt.”

  She gestured to her clothes. It was true. The T-shirt she’d thrown on that morning was cut in several places, the shattered glass from the shelter having made its mark. A smear of her neighbor’s blood graced her sleeve, and her right side was streaked with dregs from the Indian place’s dumpster. Curry, if she had to guess from the smell.

  Dade followed her gaze, his eyes lingering only a second longer than necessary on her chest before he nodded.

  “Fine.”

  He looked up, scanned the shops along the walkway. Several sold souvenir clothing, ranging from pricey designer items to made-in-China T-shirts. He settled on the latter, nodding toward a place two doors down with a sign proclaiming everything inside was ten dollars or less.

  “Can you find something in there?” he asked.

  She nodded. At this point, any place she could change in private would do.

  Two seconds when he’s not watching you. That’s all you need.

  Dade strode purposefully across the walkway, his hand still firm on Anna’s arm. The front of the shop was open, racks spilling out onto the pier to entice visitors farther inside. Two college kids in Stanford sweatshirts pawed through the closest one. Dade paused, and Anna saw him doing a slow sweep of their bodies before navigating around them. A visual weapons check. He didn’t trust anyone.

  A thought that made her feel both protected and deeper in danger all at once.

  “Let’s make this fast,” Dade instructed, hovering next to her as Anna quickly gravitated to a rack labeled WOMEN. She complied, grabbing a shirt at random. It was white, proclaiming that she had left her heart in San Francisco in scrolling purple script. It would do for now.

  She handed it to Dade. “This one’s fine.”

  Dade’s eyes flickered to the shirt, then back up to her. “Kind of big isn’t it?”

  “I’m not entering a wet T-shirt contest.”

  For a half a second he looked as if he wanted to smile, but it never quite made it to his lips. Instead, he took the shirt from her, getting in line behind the college kids. When he got to the front of the line, he paid the clerk cash, exchanging only the barest minimum of words before taking their purchase and steering Anna back out of the store.

  Once outside, he handed the bag to her. “Here. Knock yourself out.”

  Anna pulled the shirt out of the bag and took a step toward the restrooms to the far right of the carousel.

  But Dade’s grip stopped her.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, pulling her into his chest.

  “I need to change,” she answered, gesturing to the shirt.

  He shook his head. “You can put it on here.”

  “Really? You think it would be less conspicuous if I stripped down here in the middle of the pier?” Anna thrust her chest out toward him.

  “Just put it on over the old one. It’s big enough.”

  “That kind of defeats the purpose of a clean shirt. I’m still wearing the evidence.”

  Dade’s grip tightened on her arm. “You’re not going anywhere alone.”

  “You wanna come with me into the women’s restroom? Because I’m sure no one will notice you there.”

  Dade clenched his jaw, and she could see his nostrils flare at her sarcasm.

  But she stood her ground.

  “Look, I need to change. It will only take a couple of minutes.”

  He paused. “Fine,” he finally spat out. “You have two minutes. You’re not out of that restroom in exactly two minutes, I’m coming in guns drawn. Understood?”

  She nodded, letting him propel her forward until they reached the ladies’ room door. Women with fanny packs and toddlers in tow navigated around them as Dade paused at the entrance. His grip tightened momentarily, as if having second thoughts about letting her out of his sight. But clearly the less evidence from the shelter she carried on her person the better for them both. A point he must have realized, as he slowly let go.

  “Two minutes,” he repeated.

  Again she nodded in compliance before slipping through the door.

  The second she was alone, Anna scanned the room for an escape route. The door she came in was the only one visible here. It was crowded, woman two deep at the mirrors, sidling awkwardly around each other to reach the sinks and automatic hand dryers. She pushed through them, surveying the row of stalls at the back wall. Ten in all, lined up along the right side of a rectangular room. No back door.

  A small row of windows lined the back wa
ll at the end of the row. But they were at least six feet off the ground. Even if she could have reached them, she wasn’t sure she could have pried through the layers of paint and grime to open one, let alone fit through.

  90 seconds.

  The only way out was the way she’d come in—through Dade. She bit back disappointment and pulled open a stall, eyes roving instead for anything that could be used as a weapon. Paper seat protectors, small squares of toilet tissue in a metal dispenser, bolted to the wall above a tiny metal garbage for feminine hygiene disposal. Nothing she could take with her. Nothing she could hide in a pocket.

  60 seconds.

  She felt desperation begin to bubble up in her throat as she ripped her tainted clothing off, shoving the clean T-shirt over her head. She exited the stall, depositing her cast-offs in the nearest trash can beneath a pile of dirty diapers and used tissues. She was clean, but no closer to escape.

  30 seconds.

  Anna’s eyes shot around the busy room. Sinks were affixed to the wall on one side, hand dryers on the other. A plastic foldout diaper changing station and a metal feminine products dispenser sat on the far wall. Anna crossed to the metal machine. For ten cents she could purchase a sanitary pad or a tampon. For fifty, a single dose packet of Advil or SPF 15 sunscreen. And for a dollar, a condom or a plastic pouch of Chanel No. 5 Imposter.

  Anna quickly dug into the pocket of her jeans, coming up with two fives and a one dollar bill. She pulled the one out, sliding it into the machine.

  The machine spit it back out.

  She smoothed the dollar on the thigh of her jeans, noticing the damp layer of sweat her palm left there as she carefully fed it into the machine again.

  Again it spit the dollar out.

  15 seconds.

  Desperation was an almost palpable thing, her stomach clenching, her limbs tingling, everything she had focused on keeping her hands from shaking as she took a deep breath and, with excruciating slowness, fed the bill into the machine again.

  Thank God, this time, the bill stayed put.

  A sigh of relief escaped her as she quickly turned the metal knob beneath the perfume photo. She heard a click inside the machine, then a second later a small plastic pouch fell out of the metal chute and into her outstretched hand. Anna shoved it into her back pocket and spun around toward the entrance.