Partner was a stretch, but Anna nodded. “Yes.”
“You always liked to work alone.”
“Things change,” she said. She shifted her attention to Shelli, who dared to venture out from her cover again. She moved slowly, her eyes still scanning the warehouse for the source of the surprise interruption. Though, nowhere in their depths did Anna see a white flag just because she was the one being held at gunpoint.
Not that she expected to.
“Back up,” Anna demanded, taking a step toward Shelli.
She did, taking two steps backward until she was flush against the wall.
“You, too,” she told Petrovich.
He complied as well, taking a place next to Shelli, eyes still stone, void of all emotion.
No, not quite void. Somewhere in them she thought she saw a flicker of pride.
She’d surprised him, not an easy task when he’d taught her everything she knew. He was impressed. It sickened her that some small part of her was pleased to see that. That a part of her felt like she had done well and deserved his silent praise.
“Now don’t move!” she yelled, knowing that her anger was more directed at herself than them. Clearly neither of them was stupid. As long as she held the gun, they had no intention of moving.
Anna sidestepped slowly to the left, keeping her weapon squarely on the pair. She would have liked to end them both right then and there, but she only had one bullet and two targets. No matter who she used it on, the other would drop her before she could flee.
“I’m leaving now,” Anna said, backing slowly toward the door. “I’m backing out of here. My gun will be pointed at this door until I leave the warehouse. If I see anyone in the doorway, I shoot. Understood?”
Petrovich nodded. “Understood,” he said calmly, as if understanding a lesson from a textbook and not the rules of his own death.
Shelli said nothing. Didn’t move. Her eyes still searching for escape.
Anna slowly walked backward, praying Dade was smart enough to have gotten out of the warehouse and started the car. She paused a moment in the doorway, calculating just how far it was to the door down the catwalk. Could she make it before Petrovich and Shelli made it to the door of the office?
She didn’t really expect them to stay put. She knew that Shelli must have a weapon on her somewhere. Likely more than one. But as long as Anna’s hands were bound, there was no way for her to search one while keeping a weapon on the other. As soon as Anna was out the door, they would both be coming after her.
The question was, could she outrun their bullets?
She took one last step backward, over the threshold of the office doorway.
She locked eyes with Shelli. Shelli knew as well as Anna did what the odds were.
They stared her down for only a second, then she ran.
With the gun tucked up tight against her chest, she took off at as close to a sprint as her awkward position would allow toward the door to the outside of the warehouse. As she’d guessed, she could hear Shelli springing into action behind her, feet clanking on the metal catwalk, Petrovich yelling after her something that Anna didn’t take the time to translate.
She was two feet away from the door when a bullet hit the wall in front of her, embedding itself in the wood, sending splinters flying into the air, a spray of dust along with them.
Anna’s instinct was to stop, duck, look for cover. But she knew if she did that, she’d be dead. Instead, she kept running, willing her feet to move faster, tucking her hands up close to her body as she ran the last couple of steps to the door.
Three more shots rang out, pinging against the metal railing, the wall, the door ahead of her. Anna sprinted to outrun them. Another one hit the door in front of her just as she threw it open, sudden sunshine assaulting her as she got her bearings.
She tumbled through, rushing blindly away from the building, all the while listening for the sound of Shelli a step behind her. She raced forward, down the flight of steps, panic starting to build as she remembered that the SUV was parked a good ten yards away. She’d never make it. Shelli would surely be on top of her by then.
But she kept running. It was the only option she had.
She ducked around the forklift, circling the corner of the building, and almost cried in relief when she saw the SUV idling just ahead.
Dade had been ready for her. He’d created the distraction he knew she’d needed, then provided a quick getaway.
She sprinted toward it, pulling energy from pure adrenaline. She heard the warehouse door slam behind her, Shelli racing down the stairs after her.
“Drive, now!” Anna yelled, coming up alongside the SUV.
Dade didn’t wait to be told twice, putting the car in gear as Anna threw herself into the backseat of the car, her legs still dangling out the open door as it lurched forward.
Tires spun, dirt kicking up as they surged across the property, throwing Anna onto the floor. She spun around, dropping her weapon and grabbing for the fully loaded one stuck in Dade’s waistband instead. She aimed it at the warehouse, firing off four shots. Two went wild as she got her bearings. One hit the side of the building, taking out a chunk of brick, causing Shelli to crouch low on the metal staircase. And the fourth hit the forklift parked outside, pinging into the gas tank, the spark of the bullet shattering the metal tank enough to rocket a plume of orange flames skyward, fire engulfing the truck, sending it lurching into the air.
Heat burned Anna’s face as Dade put distance between them and the scene. She shielded her eyes from the blinding flames, watching them spread to the warehouse beside it.
She caught sight of a figure running in the distance, a wisp of brown hair flying after her. Anna may have escaped, but so would Shelli and Petrovich.
Anna pulled herself back onto the passenger seat as Dade flew down the road, tires spinning, taking the corner with such force the back end of the truck spun out. She managed to grab the door and pull it shut next to her, her balance impaired by being trussed up like an inchworm.
Three blocks later, they hit city traffic again, and Dade was forced to slow down.
Anna glanced in the rearview. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she didn’t see any women in wigs driving bleeding old Serbian men, so she took that as a good sign.
“Glove box,” Dade said, his hands gripping the wheel. “There’s a pocketknife.”
She dropped his gun on the console between then, then pushed the tab and flipped open the box, pulling out a green army knife. She managed to flip open a blade, and hand it to Dade.
“Do the honors?” she asked.
He did, quickly cutting through the plastic bands, before handing it back. She flexed her hands, shaking circulation back into her fingers.
“Nice shot back there,” she said, watching a VW inch toward the red light in front of them.
“I know.”
Anna let herself smile.
“I wasn’t sure how much you’d gotten from him at that point, so I figured it was better to aim low.” He paused. “You did get some answers from him, didn’t you?”
She nodded, relaying the conversation she’d had with Petrovich. Even as she retold the scene to Dade, it hit her that Petrovich really had seemed surprised that she wouldn’t join him. Had she changed that much? Or had he never really known her? For that matter, had she ever known him? Not really. She knew what he wanted her to know, what he pretended to be. And maybe vice versa, now that she thought about it.
“He’s going to kill the senator,” she said, knowing for certain just how true that was. “He wanted me to do it, but I have no doubt he’ll take it upon himself now.”
Dade was quiet for a moment, eyes straight ahead. “That doesn’t have anything to do with us,” he said, his voice flat.
Anna nodded. “No,” she agreed. “But we’re the only ones who know.”
Dade didn’t answer.
“Petrovich said something in there,” she went on. “He said I can’t
outrun what I am. Who I am.”
Again, Dade was silent, eyes straight ahead. Not that she expected an answer. She was talking to herself almost as much as to him, letting the realities of that future she’d talked about in Petrovich’s office fall into place as she spoke them out loud. Of what it could be if she planned her moves very carefully now.
“He was right, you know,” she continued, watching Dade closely. “If the past two days have taught me anything, it’s that he was right. I killed twenty-four men. Did you know that?”
“Yes.” The answer came quickly, clipped. He had definite feelings on the subject, she could tell.
“I am a killer.”
Dade turned to her. “So you want to kill Senator Braxton now?”
She shook her head. “No. And if I do nothing now, aren’t I doing just that?”
Dade gave her a hard look, then turned his attention back to the road.
“I’m not trying to make up for the lives I ended,” she continued. Which was true. She knew there was no making up for those. As a young agent she’d told herself the targets she was given were bad people who deserved to die. It’s possible that was really true. She’d never know now. “But I have a chance to save one.”
“Bullshit,” Dade said, eyes still straight ahead. “You’re trying to save yourself. Let me tell you something, it won’t work. You can save a hundred lives, and those kills will still haunt you.”
Anna bit her lip, watching the taut line of his jaw, the twitch of nerves just below the growing stubble on his chin.
“That may be true,” she agreed. “But if I do something now, at least Senator Braxton’s death won’t haunt us, too.”
The use of the pronoun was deliberate. Us. Dade was a killer, too. Whether he woke with nightmares of conscience like she did, she didn’t know. But she’d thought she’d glimpsed a moment of humanity in him. Maybe just enough that he would listen to her appeal.
Because she needed his agreement if this was going to work.
It took several beats of silence before he finally opened his mouth to answer.
“So what do you want to do?”
“Warn him.”
“And tell him what? That we know he’s about to be killed because you were hired to do the job?”
She nodded. “Good point.”
“We don’t even know where or when Petrovich plans to strike.”
“What if we could figure it out?”
He paused. “How?”
“Where would you do it?”
He breathed in deeply, exhaled through his nose. “Okay. I’d do it somewhere public. A large crowd to get lost in.”
“I’m sure the senator makes plenty of public appearances.”
“Outside,” he added. “Harder to keep security tight.”
Some of the tension was disappearing from his face. This he knew how to do. Plan the perfect hit. This was his comfort zone.
Anna nodded. “Okay, a large, outdoor, public gathering.” She paused. “Can I see your phone?”
“Why?” he asked, even as he slid it from his pocket and handed it to her.
“Chances are he’s got a campaign website, and, if he does, his schedule may be posted.”
Anna googled the senator’s name. As she’d hoped, an official website came up as the first hit. After clicking through, she easily found a page marked “Appearances” that did, in fact, list the senator’s upcoming schedule. She scrolled through the list, quickly dismissing the private fundraising dinners, the expensive golf tournament, and a visit to a children’s hospital. Instead, she homed in on a rally scheduled in Golden Gate Park for the following day.
“You think this could be it?” Anna asked, reading the entry off to Dade.
“Short notice. Not a lot of time to plan.”
“I have a feeling he’s been planning this for a while,” she answered. “I was a wildcard in the equation, but I’d bet he’s got every other detail worked out to a tee.”
He always does.
Dade shrugged. “I’d say it’s perfect as far as access and easy getaway go. If it were me? That’s where I’d hit him.”
Anna nodded. Her, too.
“So we have a pretty educated guess as to when and where. I think it’s enough to warn his security staff.”
Dade took a deep breath, looked in his rearview for the tenth time in as many minutes. He was antsy, she could tell. Clearly not used to be being on this end of the hunting ground. Being the hunter was a much more comfortable position than being the prey.
“Fine. Do you have a number?”
Anna clicked through to another page, pulling up the phone number and address of the Braxton campaign headquarters in Sacramento. She quickly typed the digits into Dade’s phone, waiting as it rang on the other end.
Three rings in, she was greeted by an automated voice giving her a menu of options. Unfortunately, “warning of death threat” wasn’t one of them. She hit ZERO TO talk to an operator and was immediately greeted with a Musak rendition of AC/DC’s “Back in Black.”
She waited five minutes, listening to the song repeat twice, then hung up.
“Well?” Dade asked.
“No one answered.”
He shrugged. “So?”
She took a deep breath. An anonymous tip was one thing, but what she was about to propose was taking it a whole leap further. “Look, if we’re going to do this, we might as well do it right.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I think we should talk to the senator in person.”
Dade narrowed his eyes at her, trying to read her thoughts behind the words.
She put on her best poker face, willing emotion out of her expression. She needed his compliance to pull this off.
“Why?” he asked again.
“I think he’ll take us more seriously. He needs to know we’re not fooling around, that this is a real threat.”
Dade didn’t respond.
“And I think we have a better chance of speaking with him directly. Or at least his head of security. Someone in charge. On the phone, it’s easy to pass us off to some junior staffer who could give a shit, you know?”
Dade let out a deep breath. Then finally nodded. “Fine. We’ll go to Sacramento.”
CHAPTER 17
While California is the most populous state in the country, that population exists mostly in two major areas: San Francisco and Los Angeles. The rest of the state consists of miles of orchards, farmland, and vineyards, dotted with small rural communities. Including the state’s capital, Sacramento.
By California standards, Sacramento is a small city set smack in the middle of agricultural land, away from most of the real business conducted in the state. It consists of a few city blocks of high-rises downtown, the capitol, and a small patch of suburbia. Over half the people living in Sacramento work in the government, the other half servicing those who do.
The hour-and-a-half drive between San Francisco and Sacramento was filled with fields of tomato farms, apricot trees, and wineries. Anna watched them all pass as she leaned her head against the cool window, wondering what it would be like to live in one of those sleepy farm communities. She’d never done the small-town thing before, afraid of being where there were too few people and too many questions. Blending into an anonymous city was much easier.
But maybe a change of pace would be nice when this was all over. Maybe a slower way of life would suit her. For so long she had lived day to day, ready to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice. But somehow, knowing that her worst case scenario had already found her, she felt more … secure. Odd that was the word that came to mind when she was riding with a man who’d been contracted to kill her, on the run from an assassin for hire, rushing to stop an assassination that she’d been asked to perpetrate. It was not a situation that she had any control over or any sort of assurances about the outcome.
Yet she felt more secure than she had in her apartment every night, locking the doors, arming the alarm sys
tems, sleeping with one eye open next to her watchdog, just waiting for the day when the unknown would shatter life as she knew it.
She was now facing the unknown head-on. Taking something into her own hands.
She planned to end this. To make sure that Petrovich not only never contacted her again but never trained another young recruit to kill for his gains again. It was a wrong she wanted to right for more reasons than one, not the least of which was saving her own skin. She would not let the threat of Petrovich control her life anymore. She was not the daughter he never had, his pupil, his puppet. She controlled her life now. She had a plan.
And it all hinged on Braxton.
* * *
Dade knew nothing about Jonathan Braxton. He was one of hundreds of faceless politicians that thought they were the epitomy of importance but really never got much done in the bureaucracy that was designed, in Dade’s opinion, to stop any sort of progress at all. Dade had long ago given up following politics. Swap one party for the other, one name for the next, honestly nothing much ever changed in government. The only thing that ever changed was the degree of nastiness in their campaign commercials. He admitted getting a kick out of those sometimes.
What he was not getting a kick out of currently, though, was sitting in Braxton’s campaign headquarters in a hard plastic chair waiting for someone named “Prescott” to see them.
The woman at the wooden reception desk had politely gone through a list of twenty questions when they’d come in, trying to drag out of them if they were big contributors or no-name protestors. Dade had given her precious little to work with other than he was in possession of information related to Braxton’s security that was of the utmost importance. She told him that this Prescott would be with them shortly to discuss his issues. Only Prescott clearly didn’t have the same definition of “utmost” that Dade did. They’d been waiting for half an hour. And his patience was wearing thin.
He shifted in his seat, idly flipping the pages of a Time magazine from the table in front of him, surveying Braxton’s war room. Cheap wooden tables were filled with laptops and college students whose youth made them believe they were making a difference in the world by helping this guy win a nomination. Posters graced the walls, everywhere photoshopped images of Senator Braxton smiling back at them, showing him as the perfect not-too-old, not-too-young, not-too-good-looking but not-too-plain-looking candidate. Folding chairs mingled with hand-me-down office furniture, giving the place a grassroots feel that said they couldn’t afford real furniture despite the fact that Dade was certain the senator was spending millions on television commercials.
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