Play Nice (31 page)

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”?

Maybe he was in the crowd, hiding out in plain sight, ready to lift a pistol to the stage, fire, and disappear into the chaos before anyone noticed.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you so much for coming out on this lovely afternoon,” Braxton said to the crowd.

His voice was deep, evenly modulated, friendly yet commanding at the same time. He was average height, inoffensive features giving him a generic look that was both classically handsome, yet not overly attractive. Brown hair, navy slacks, button-down shirt, but no coat or tie. Professionally dressed, but not so dressed up as to appear above the jeans and T-shirts most of the crowd wore. I’m like you, only slightly better, his outfit said.

Anna could see already that he’d make a good politician.

If he lived.

CHAPTER 23

Dade watched through his scope as Anya stood next to Demarkov. They’d been pushed forward by the surging crowd to the very edge of the tree line, clear of any branches obscuring his view. Demarkov’s hand was firmly wrapped around Anya’s upper arm, keeping her close.

Anya’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. She bit at the corner of her lip, her nerves translating clearly on her face. Her limbs were fairly vibrating with the effort to keep them still, stay in one place. She wasn’t used to surrender, and it wasn’t coming easily to her.

“Steady, girl,” he whispered.

He watched her eyes scan the crowd, no doubt looking for Petrovich. Not that there was anything she could do if she spotted him.

At least, not now.

Demarkov’s hired gun returned to the pair again, his hands gesturing as he spoke to his boss. Demarkov replied calmly, nodding. Then he gestured to Anya.

He couldn’t hear the man, but he could well imagine what he was saying. They needed to get Anya out of there. Transported to somewhere much quieter and more private to dispose of their problem.

Dade found himself silently praying to someone he’d long ago stopped believing in as he let his gaze leave Anya.

He’d done what he could for her. Her fate was her own now.

Instead, he moved his scope a half inch to the right and trained it on Braxton.

Time to finish this.

CHAPTER 24

“I tell you, he disappeared. Dade’s not here.” The younger Serbian man gestured to the crowd. “I looked all over. He’s gone.”

It pained her how relieved she was to hear that statement as Demarkov nodded at his associate.

“Fine. Then we go,” Demarkov told the man. “We’ll deal with Dade later.”

Anna’s eyes whipped from one face to the other. If they left, she was dead. The public crowd was her only hope for survival.

“Wait,” she said.

Demarkov raised an eyebrow at her. “Wait?”

“I…” She had to stall. Had to come up with some reason to keep them there a little bit longer “… I have to go to the bathroom.”

Demarkov scoffed, gave her a look that said he was almost disappointed that was the best she could do.

“You can wait.”

“No. I really have to go. Nerves make me have to pee.”

“Hold it.”

“I can’t. I’m telling you, you make me get in a car with you, and I’ll pee all over your leather seats before you get the chance to shoot me.”

Demarkov paused. He cocked his head to the side, studying her.

She stuck her chin out defiantly. And crossed her legs.

“Fine,” he finally said, nodding. Though if he believed her or was just amused by her desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable, she wasn’t sure. “You can ‘pee,’” he said, mocking her with the word.

He pushed her ahead of him, steering her toward a row of portable bathrooms set behind the vendor carts.

Anna stumbled along with his quick step, all the while keeping one eye on Braxton.

Get off the stage.

He was outlining his strategy for providing new jobs in the city. If the crowd’s reaction was any indication, it was a good one. Cheers, hollers, and “Yes!”s punctuated each new point he made.

He’d been up there for five minutes now at least. In the spotlight. A clear shot.

His seconds were numbered.

They reached the line of green outhouses, and Demarkov shoved her toward the nearest one.

“I’ll be waiting here,” he said. “Take your time. But remember, plastic is no match for steel bullets, yes?” He grinned at her, showing off a row of yellow teeth as he patted the bulge beneath his jacket.

She fought down nausea and nodded, her head spinning, tossing out one impossible escape plan after another.

She stepped into the stall, then turned, facing toward the crowd as she moved to shut the green plastic door behind her.

And that’s when she saw it.

It was just a flash of light. Sunlight reflecting off polished steel. But Anna knew that sight well, had been trained to spot it from any distance. It was a gun muzzle.

The flash faded as the gun moved position, and Anna homed in on the person holding it. He was older, short, wearing a windbreaker, and hiding behind a baseball cap and pair of dark glasses.

Petrovich.

He was standing on the edge of the crowd, at the head of the vendor line. Long sleeves of a blue windbreaker covered his arms, but Anna could see a bulge in his right sleeve.

A gun.

“What is the problem now?” Demarkov barked at her.

But Anna stood transfixed in the doorway, watching in horror as Petrovich pulled the gun from his sleeve. No one around him noticed, every other eye in the park focused on Braxton. Petrovich, lifted his arm, moving to take aim.

Only he was a second too late.

Before he could line up his shot, a loud crack exploded in the air.

Anna’s gaze whipped to the senator just in time to see the man fall backwards, his feet sliding out from under him as his head hit the metal stage with a sickening thud.

He’d been hit.

CHAPTER 25

Chaos hit immediately, people in the crowd screaming, running, shoving into one another. Anna watched Petrovich stare at the stage, a frown etched on his face before Anna’s view was obscured by people running every which way. If he hadn’t taken the shot at Braxton, who had? Anna didn’t know. And, at the moment, she didn’t care. All she cared about was Petrovich. He was here. And she had to get to him before he disappeared again.

Demarkov grabbed Anna by the arm, pulling her from the restroom door, and dragging her to his side. “What was that?” he hissed, as if the shot at the senator were her fault.

Anna shook her head, wincing as the man’s grip tightened.

A secret service agent appeared to their right, hand to his ear, listening to instructions.