Play Nice (23 page)

Shelli was close to Anna’s age, maybe a couple years younger. At what age had Petrovich started grooming her? Did she see him as the father figure Anna once had? As her protector, only to one day be here—his victim, at his mercy, no more protected by his brand of love than the people he had trained her to kill. It was different here, he had said. Compliance not a given, no undying loyalty and no promise of a swift death if orders were not obeyed to the letter. Shelli could never be Anna, and she knew it.

And she hated Anna for it.

“I’m disappointed in you, Anya.”

Anna turned her attention back to Petrovich.

He, on the other hand, showed no emotions. Whatever he had felt for her a moment ago—or a lifetime ago—he felt nothing now.

Numb. Just go numb,
dragi.

“I know,” she said quietly.

“You know the penalty for traitors.”

She nodded. From the time she came to live with him, he had drilled her fate into her. She’d been too young then to realize that traitors were everywhere. When governments changed hands daily, there was no such thing as loyalty, only survival.

Petrovich cocked his head to the side. “I am sorry, Anya.” But again his eyes held no emotion as his finger tightened on the trigger. Maybe he was incapable of showing emotion. Maybe he really was numb.

Anna steeled herself for the sharp fiery sensation that she knew accompanied his bullet. She resisted the urge to shut her eyes, forcing herself to face her fate head on.

A loud shot splintered the dusty air inside the warehouse. Anna started, expecting to feel pain accompany it. But none came.

Instead, the office window shattered, and she watched the gun drop from Petrovich’s hand, sliding across the floor under one of the filing cabinets, as blood gushed from a wound at his wrist. Someone had shot him before he’d had a chance to pull the trigger on Anna.

She whipped her head around.

Dade.

CHAPTER 16

Anna didn’t waste a second. As Shelli ducked down behind the desk, taking cover from the gunfire, Anna spun around, throwing herself backward until her fingers connected with her gun on the desk. She grabbed it, then quickly wiggled her arms low over her butt, slipping her legs down through the opening. Not an easy task when they were bound together, but, oddly enough, not the first time she’d ever done it either. She shifted, holding the Glock in her hands, straight-armed in front of her, pointed at Petrovich.

He was cradling his injured hand in the other, his eyes trained on Anna, as if wondering just how she had pulled that trick off.

“You have a partner?”

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?”