Hollywood Confessions (38 page)

“
There, much better.”

Anna rolled her eyes and laughed. “Just take the damn picture already. He’s going to bolt any second.”

Shelli held up the camera. “Okay, big guy, smile.” She snapped the shot, then checked the digital window. “Aw, he’s adorable.”

Anna peeked over Shelli’s shoulder. “Perfect.”

“
Oh, here,” Shelli reached behind the desk, pulling out the morning’s copy of the Chronicle. “I’m sure he needs fresh paper in his stall.”

“
Hey, save me the classifieds,” Anna asked, juggling the terrier in one arm while she tried to pull the section out from the rest.

“
Oh no, not again.”

“
What?”

“
Don’t tell me you’re moving again?”

Anna turned away, hoping her thoughts weren’t visible on her face. “Thinking about it.”

“
This is the second time you’ve moved since I’ve known you.”

It was true. She was getting antsy faster and faster the longer she stayed in the city.

“
My lease is up,” she lied.

“
Can’t you renew? I thought you liked that place.”

“
I do.”

“
So?”

“
So, it’s time for a change.”

“
Last time it was the plumbing. The time before, the super who refused to fix the AC. God, I hope you find a keeper this time.”

Anna cringed. She hated lying to Shelli. Both apartments had been fine. But more than a few months and she started to get that antsy feeling. Like she was too settled, too comfortable. That’s when her guard would fall.

“
Well, let me know if you want me to go check out some places out with you. Oh, hey, my neighbor’s sister just rented this condo near the Haight. I think she’s looking for a roommate. I could ask?”

Anna bit the inside of her cheek. Then nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.”

Liar.

She had no intention of staying in San Francisco. As much as she’d miss the shelter, even Shelli, it was time to move on. Unfortunately, not something she could share. There would be too many questions, promises to keep in touch that would just be another round of lies. She knew from experience that the best way to go was silently and swiftly. One day she was there, the next it would be like she’d never existed.

Like a ghost.

Because, after all, isn’t that what she was?

* * *

Dade squinted his left eye closed, his right trained on the image of Anya magnified through his scope.

“
Come on, girl. Just put down the damned rat,” he muttered under his breath.

He’d been glued to her since she’d arrived. His scope tracking her as she parked her car up the block and walked to the shelter. He’d followed her inside, his entire body focused on the framed image of her dark hair in the lens. But he hadn’t been able to get a clear angle. First, she’d had that redhead dancing around her, then she’d disappeared into the back room, and now she was holding some mangy dog that wouldn’t sit still.

Dade shifted his weight, keeping his index finger loose on the trigger.

He was patient. He knew his moment would come. It would be done today.

The roof of the hotel was the highest point in a three block radius. It was an area wide enough to make him confident no nosey office worker looking out her window would see him, but close enough to his target that he knew he wouldn’t miss. He’d been lucky. It was perfect for a long-range shot. Which was exactly how Dade wanted it. He had no intention of getting that close to her again.

He would do it through the window. A bigger mess, no doubt, with the glass. But the noise would confuse people. Make them focus on the point of impact, not the point of origin. They’d be ducking, avoiding debris. Not scanning the street for a guy with a gun.

He’d hauled his rig up to the roof in a guitar case, blending in as one of dozens of the city’s street musicians roaming the sidewalks just after dawn. He knew from his mornings parked in front of Anya’s building that she woke at 6:15 on the dot every day. She would have been getting her first cup of coffee – cream and sugar – when he’d set up the scope, the long range rifle, aligned the site perfectly to the right front window of the shelter.

At 7:30 the redhead had come in, army bag slung over one shoulder, walking from the bus station up the street, and unlocked the doors, swinging around the yellow sign from ‘closed’ to ‘welcome’. He’d lain on his stomach, sprawled flat against the roof as he’d watched her flip on her computer monitor, paw through a pile of mail, then slip into the back room until Anya arrived, half an hour later.

Usually he’d swing in thirty seconds behind her, parking his SUV down the block.

But today he was waiting.

He blinked his left eye shut again, feeling the morning sun begin to melt the layers of fog away. A thin bead of sweat trailed down his temple, but he barely noticed.

He watched Anya pull out a newspaper, the redhead wave her arms in the air in response. Not a surprise. From what he’d seen, she seemed the high strung type. Anya was harder to read, though the line of her back seemed straighter, more tense. Whatever they were discussing upset her. Finally the redhead raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. Anya responded with her back to him. Then she leaned forward and passed the dog to the redhead.

Bingo.

Dade felt his muscles relax, his heart speed up, his body focusing, narrowing in on his target. His finger closed around the trigger, his eyes riveted to a spot at the back of Anya’s head.

Then she whipped around, her enormous blue eyes turning his way. For a second, he could swear she was looking right at him. Which was impossible, of course – he’d checked and double checked to make sure nothing on the roof was visible from the ground.

He blinked hard, shook off the feeling, refocused on his site. His finger hovered over the trigger.

He counted off one, two…

But he never got to three.

Instead, as his finger lay loose on the trigger, the plate glass window in his scope exploded into a million pieces.

Dade jerked his head up. Bits of broken glass spewed onto the sidewalk, passersby scattered, screaming, covering their heads as if being attacked from all sides. A man came running out of the hardware store next door, yelling in some foreign language, waving his arms. It was exactly the scene he’d envisioned.

Only a second too early.

Dade grabbed a pair of binoculars from his bag, training them on the broken storefront. Neither the redhead nor Anya were visible, though he spotted the tail of that rat dog peeking out from behind the front counter.

Another shot rang out and Dade watched the telephone on the counter explode, chunks flying every which way. He dropped the binoculars, left the scope, reached into his bag and grabbed his M9, shoving the handgun into the waistband of his pants as he hurtled himself over the fire escape. His legs pumped down the rusted flights, one thought racing through his mind.

He hadn’t pulled the trigger.

So who the hell was shooting at Anya?

* * * * *

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