Dade looked away.
On the stage two women worked a pair of metal poles attached to both the ceiling and floor. One had short, platinum hair, a home dye job. She was topless, wearing only a turquoise G-string that clung to her ample hips as a means of collecting bills. The second woman was completely nude, and Dade could see silvery stretchy marks running along her lower belly. She stumbled, her eyelids at half mast, clearly on something. These were the 11:00 A.M. girls, the bottom of the stripper food-chain.
Dade let his eyes adjust to the dark as he made his way through the mostly empty tables to a purple, vinyl booth at the back of the club.
Just as the lawyer had said, an older guy with graying hair was in residence. A pair of younger men in dark suits sat beside him, with a bottle of bourbon between them on the table, glasses out, cigars being smoked as they talked animatedly, completely ignoring the dancers onstage.
Dade walked straight toward the group, one hand hovering over his weapon.
As he approached, their low conversation ceased, all eyes turning his way.
The man nearest the end of the booth slowly put a hand to his waistband. Clearly Dade wasn’t the only armed man here.
The older guy in middle raised one thick eyebrow at Dade.
“Can I help you?” he asked. His voice was, as the lawyer had said, heavily accented.
“Actually, I believe I can help you, Demarkov.”
The man froze, registering clear surprise. Though he didn’t act rashly, as one might expect. Quite the opposite. Instead he sat back in his seat, eyes slowly assessing Dade, taking their time to decide just what kind of threat he might present.
“And you are?” he finally asked.
“Nick Dade.”
Recognition dawned behind his eyes and he nodded, almost as if he had expected the visit.
“Ah. I see.”
“You hired me to do a job for you.”
He nodded. “I know. One that is not done, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“One that you failed at.”
“I resigned. That’s different than failing.”
“Resignation was not an option.”
“I know.”
The two stared at each other a beat, each sizing up the other, each trying to silently intimidate the other and each trying to decide just how well it was working. Finally Demarkov spoke, “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk about Anya.”
Demarkov frowned and shook his head. “You gave up the contract. I have nothing to say to you.”
“I’ve got Anya Danielovich.”
The man shot a look to his associates, then back at Dade. He leaned forward.
“I’m listening.”
“She’s yours if you want her.”
“You have her now?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere safe.”
He paused, his eyes narrowing, assessing Dade slowly and quietly again as the moments stretched on. He was waiting Dade out, hoping he would give away something in the silence.
Dade stood still, eyes calmly meeting Demarkov’s gaze. Playing his game of silent chicken.
Finally Demarkov cracked first.
“She is still alive, then?” he asked.
Dade nodded.
“But you wish to finish the job after all?”
“I wish to be finished with this mess.”
“Why the change of heart?” the man probed.
“I’m tired of running,” Dade answered truthfully. “Tired of being a target. I’ll give you Anya, but once I hand her over, I’m done. I walk away from the situation, understood?”
Demarkov paused only a moment before nodding. “Understood.”
Dade could hear the lie in the man’s voice clear as a bell. Dade had already proven himself to be unreliable in their eyes. There was no way they would let him walk away now, no matter what kind of deal he could make with them.
But he had to chance it.
“Where is she?” Demarkov asked again.
“I want to know what she is to you first,” Dade said.
“She is a loose en—”
“Besides a loose end,” Dade broke in. “Who is she to you that she needs to be eliminated?”
Demarkov chewed the end of his cigar. Clearly he was not a man used to explaining his actions to anyone. But, considering he likely planned to have Dade killed anyway, he finally answered, his voice deep and thick with feeling. “Anya Danielovich killed my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Anton Fedorov. A general. A highly respected military man,” Demarkov explained, obvious pride ringing through in his words. “He was trained in the KOS, the same as I was, and rose through the ranks even more rapidly. Only his rise made enemies within the organization. It wasn’t long before he was discharged, then became one of their targets.”
While Dade knew little of the man outside Anya’s file, he had a feeling that jealousy had less to do with Fedorov’s death than his own greed. But he kept those suspicions to himself.
“Anya was sent by the KOS to kill your brother?”
Demarkov nodded. “I didn’t find out about the hit until it was too late to do anything about it. But Anya was supposed to have died that night, too.”
“Only she didn’t. When did you find out?”
Demarkov shifted in his seat. “Recently, certain other members of the former organization have resurfaced, leading me to believe the past wasn’t as buried as I’d hoped.”
Petrovich.
As he’d suspected, it was no coincidence that two people bent on eliminating her had found Anya at the same time. Demarkov had somehow gotten wind that Petrovich was looking for her, and followed his lead, one party’s eminent strike spurring the other’s.
“So this is about revenge?”
Demarkov leaned forward. “Where is Anya now?”
“One o’clock,” Dade said, instead of answering. “I’ll be at Senator Braxton’s rally in Golden Gate Park. I’ll hand her to you there. You personally,” he added, shooting a look at the two lackeys.
“That’s a very public place,” Demarkov hedged.
“I don’t trust you,” Dade answered truthfully. “The more public, the better.”
Demarkov nodded.
“We have a deal?” Dade asked.
Demarkov looked to his associates again. Dade couldn’t tell what silent exchange was going on, but a moment later Demarkov nodded. “A deal. But this time, I expect you to finish what you start.”
Dade nodded. “Me, too.”
CHAPTER 22
Anna sat on a bench across the park from where the rally was set to start in a matter of minutes. People were filling the viewing areas near the stage—families with young children, college students relishing their first taste of being a part of the political process, older couples standing hand in hand at the fringes of the crowd. Sprinkled throughout the crowd were men in dark suits wearing earpieces, the senator’s secret service. Anna was glad to count at least three canvassing the east side of the park. That was one more than the schematics she’d seen had listed. Prescott must have taken the threat seriously after all. That would make her job easier.
She rubbed her hands together, feeling empty without Lenny’s leash to hold. She’d checked him into a kennel on the other side of the park while she’d waited for Dade to come back. No matter what went down here today, she didn’t want him caught in the crossfire.
Her plan was to alert the secret service to Petrovich’s presence as soon as she saw him. A man with a gun in the crowd would be threat enough for the police to detain him, and once they started asking questions, started delving into Petrovich’s background, taking his fingerprints, it was all over. Best case scenario, he’d be deported back to Serbia, left to be dealt with by the government he’d abandoned. Worst case, he’d be tried here as a war criminal. Either way, he would not be chasing Anna down anymore.
S
he realized her entire plan depended on knowing the nature of the man after her, that Petrovich would, in fact, go after Braxton himself and that they had picked the right event where he’d strike. It was a very educated guess, but she knew it was still a guess. She just hoped to God she knew Petrovich as well as she thought she did.
And that she could trust Dade.
She wanted to trust him. But when he’d left her earlier that day, she realized just how little she really knew about him. She’d met him less than three days ago, and half of that time he’d been bent on killing her and she’d been trying to escape. That wasn’t exactly the makings of a solid partnership.
She’d wanted to believe him when he’d said he had business to take care of on another job. She’d wanted to believe that the hard look in his eyes as he’d said it had nothing to do with her and their fate at this rally. She wanted to believe he would be back here any minute to help her execute her plan and that he hadn’t taken off to save his own skin, rented a car, driven halfway to Mexico by now.
But as the minutes stretched on without a sign of him, the belief slowly began to fade and doubt grew to take its place.
She felt sick that he might have played her. And then sick all over again that she suspected it, that the idea had even popped into her head. She wondered if there would ever be a day when she wouldn’t automatically assume the worst of people. If she might someday actually trust someone. She had trusted him. For that all-too-short instant when they were at the drive-in, wrapped up in each other and the moment. She wanted to believe that moment had been real, that she might see it again when this was all over.
Even though she knew better than that.
When this was all over, she was putting as much distance between herself and San Francisco as possible. She was a ghost again, disappearing, becoming someone else, starting over again just as she always had. Alone.
“Hey.”
Anna’s head jerked up to see Dade jogging toward her.
Relief flooded her system, though the surprise that he was actually coming back for her must have shown on her face as he said, “Don’t tell me you didn’t think I’d come back.”
Anna swallowed hard, ignoring the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.
“Of course not.”
“Good.” He shot her a quick grin before looking to the growing crowd. “Ready to do this?”
It’s now or never, Anya.
She nodded. “Let’s get it over with.” She stood.
But Dade put a hand on her arm, pausing her movement.
“Hey.”
She turned to face him.
His eyes were suddenly soft, open, filled with more emotion than she would have guessed him capable of. They were a whole different color brown like this. Darker, warmer. He reached a hand out and trailed the back of his knuckles down her right cheek. “Good luck,” he said softly.
She swallowed. “You, too.”
He nodded. Then abruptly turned away, letting a long breath out through his nose. “Let’s go, then.”
Dade put a hand at the small of her back, slowly leading her through the crowd of supporters. Anna scanned the faces of each person for any sign of Petrovich. Security was tight on the east end of the park, though, according to the information she’d gleaned at campaign headquarters, there were noticeable gaps in security on the west side, where vendors were set up selling hot dogs, popcorn, and cold sodas. That’s where she would have broached the crowd if she were Petrovich. Which is what she did now, eyes peeled for both security and her target.
Most of the people pushing in toward the stage were young, idealism written clearly on their acne-stricken faces. Some hard-core politicos were mixed in, carrying signs both for and against Braxton. A couple wore “legalize pot” T-shirts, a perpetual hope in California. Most were enjoying the sunshine and the rare warm day in August. Anna hardly saw any of them, her eyes scanning the group for her former handler.
“This way,” Dade said, nodding his head to the left. “I see a spot where we can get a good view of the crowd.”
Anna nodded, following as he led the way around the left side, past the vendors, to a slightly elevated area by a grove of oak trees.
A few spectators had found the higher ground with the view of the stage. A couple of families, one twenty-something couple, and two men in dark sunglasses.
Anna immediately homed in on the two men. One was older, had graying hair, a paunchy middle. He wore slacks and a blazer, even in the warm sun, his wingtips sinking in the muddy grass. His companion was dressed similarly, standing just a hair behind the older man, shifting from foot to foot on the lawn.
They didn’t look right. They didn’t belong here. Red flags began waving all over her psyche.
Especially when the older guy saw them approaching and called out to Dade.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice heavy with a Serbian accent that transported Anna fifteen years back in time.
Anna felt her limbs stiffen, her eyes whipping from the man to Dade’s face. Gone was the warm, dark brown in his eyes, instead left in its place was a black, hollow look that held zero emotion.
And zero explanation for the dozens of ugly questions racing through her mind as Dade’s hand clamped down on her arm, forcibly propelling her toward the two men.
“Dade?” she asked quietly.
But he didn’t answer her, wouldn’t even look at her, instead keeping his eyes straight ahead on the two men.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” the older man told Dade.
“I had business to take care of,” Dade answered. His voice was flat, words clipped.
Panic began to rise in Anna’s throat.
“This is Anya?” the man asked, gesturing to her.
Dade nodded. “As promised.”
“Then you will get your payment as promised, too.”
Anna felt a breath escape her before she could rein it in. It was true. Every horrible doubt she’d had was true. Dade had never meant to help her, to save her, to see her out of this alive. All he’d ever meant, from the very beginning, was to finish the job he’d started.
He’d lied to her.
And she’d bought every stupid word of it.
You are a fool, Anya. You know better than that. No one will ever save you.
“Now I walk away,” Dade told the man. “Our contract is fulfilled, and I don’t ever want to see you or your associates again. Understood, Demarkov?”
The man nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his thin lips. “Understood.”
Dade shoved Anna forward, pushing her into the waiting arms of the younger man. The guy grabbed onto her arm with one hand, the other shoving the muzzle of a gun concealed beneath his jacket sharply enough into her ribs to make his point clear. There was no running now.
Anna felt the weight of her Glock, shoved into the top of her right boot, but knew it was useless to her now. Even if she could get to it before either of the men fired on her, she had one bullet and two captors. It didn’t take a genius to do the math there.
“Good-bye, Mr. Dade,” Demarkov said
Anna watched as Dade turned and quickly walked away, feeling that panic rise into her throat, begin to choke her. She had no doubt these men meant to kill her.
Demarkov waited until Dade’s back had retreated into the crowd of supporters before he turned to his companion and barked out something in Serbian. It had been a long time since Anna had spoken the language, but it came back to her with startling clarity, as she translated the phrase: “Follow him. Kill him.”
The younger guy nodded, handing Anna off to Demarkov and disappearing the same way Dade had.
For a moment Anna had the irrational urge to cry out to Dade, to warn him. Immediately she hated herself for caring. He had betrayed her as sharply as anyone in her life ever had. The KOS, Shelli, Petrovich.
Petrovich, who was somewhere in this crowd now. He was here, armed, intent on shooting down the senator, and now
he was going to get away with it.
As if in response to her thoughts, a voice came over the loudspeaker, one that Anna instantly recognized.
“How is everyone today?” asked Prescott.
Anna turned her gaze to the stage, watched as a cheer rippled through the waiting crowd in response to the man’s question.
“Are we ready to meet the man of the hour?” he asked.
Again cheering erupted, people edging closer to the stage. The family behind Anna surged forward, jostling her elbow.
Demarkov’s grip tightened on her, drawing her into him. He smelled like expensive alcohol and cheap aftershave. She fought down the urge to run, knowing his bullet was much faster. Instead, she frantically scanned the growing crowd around her; faces, the backs of heads, stature, posture, anything she could see to distinguish Petrovich from the crowd.
A presidential song started playing from the speakers, and Braxton emerged from behind a red, white, and blue curtain, waving to his assembled supporters. They cheered back at him, some waving American flags, others clapping. A couple boos from the protesters in the back were barely heard above the noise, quickly being drowned out by shouts of encouragement.
Anna felt her heart pound in her chest, her body hyper aware as she watched Braxton. How many minutes did he have left? If it were her, she wouldn’t wait. As soon as she had a clear shot, she’d take it. Too many unknown factors to risk otherwise. Any second Petrovich’s bullet would tear through the man waving to his hordes of devotees.
Anna’s eyes scanned the tree line on the other side of the clearing. There? Was he hiding in the natural cover?
She looked north. Or was he there, inside one of the buildings at the edge of the park, a scope in hand, aiming his crosshairs at the “man of the hour”?
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