Play Nice by Gemma Halliday

them both into the back pocket of her jeans.
    “You think that’s smart?” Dade asked. She looked up to find him watching her, intent. “Using a credit card?”
    “It’s not mine.”
    She moved into the bathroom. Again, cupboards lay open, purged of their contents. Cosmetics, cleaning products, and reams of bathroom tissue lay mingled on the tile floor. Anna stooped down, pawing through the mess.
    “Who does it belong to?” Dade stood in the doorway, again watching as if taking mental note of her every move.
    “Anyone I want it to.”
    He gave her a questioning look, but didn’t press.
    Anna’s hands closed around a box of overnight maxi pads. Half had already spilled onto the floor, but she reached inside and removed the one stuck to the bottom of the carton, carefully unwrapping it from its powder pink shell. She unfolded the pad, revealing a slit along the right side. She slipped two fingers into the cottony interior and came out with a micro SD card the size of her fingernail. It went into her pocket with the credit card and ID.
    Dade raised an eyebrow in question again, but she ignored it, instead brushing past him back into the studio, stopping at her linen closet to scoop a handful of bullets from the floor. She crossed to the kitchen and paused only once more to grab the bag of dog chow, rolling the top over with a crunching sound and shoved it into her duffel.
    “Ready?” Dade asked, crossing the room to face her.
    She nodded. Then held out her right hand, palm up. “My gun.”
    He looked down at her hand, then up at her, something akin to amusement flitting momentarily across his features.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “I’m not leaving here unarmed.”
    “You’re not unarmed. You have me.”
    Anna squared her shoulders. “I don’t need you. I don’t need an escort.”
    “I disagree.”
    “Give. Me. My. Weapon.”
    Dade looked down at her, crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes an impenetrable wall of black. He shook his head very slowly, side to side.
    “You don’t get it. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you,” she said. All the fear, panic, guilt, and regret she’d felt that morning converted into pure, undiluted anger as she stared him down.
    “You really think you’re in a position to do that?” he countered, taking a step toward her. She took one back, the small of her back coming up against the cool tile of her kitchen counter.
    “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I know how to handle these guys myself,” she said.
    His voice was low, even, refusing to respond to her growing agitation. “I’m not sure you do.”
    Anna laughed, a hollow sound completely devoid of humor. “You have no idea who you’re talking to, do you?”
    In one quick movement, her hand shot behind her, latching onto a paring knife, flicking it out in front of her.
    Dade looked down at the shiny tip, pointed at his chest. His jaw tightened. Anna saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down, his chest rise and fall a little faster.
    “Actually, I do,” he countered.
    She opened her mouth to protest but he rode right over her, silencing her with one simple word.
    “Anya.”
    She felt her insides turn to ice, her heart lurch. “Who the hell are you?”
    “I told you. Nick Da—”
    “Shut up!” She shoved the knife menacingly toward him.
    He did. But he still held his ground.
    “I’m leaving,” she said. “With my gun. Now.” She held out her hand again, wielding the knife in the other.
    Lenny barked in the background, sensing the tension in the air. Anna prayed he stayed put. Already, she knew the disadvantage she was at. Dade had her by close to a hundred pounds, all trained muscle from what she could tell. Trained by whom and how well, she could only guess at. But she knew her upper hand was hanging on by a thread.
    “Put down the knife,” Dade commanded.
    Anna opened her mouth to reply, but again he didn’t wait for her response.
    “Or I’ll have to take it from you. And I don’t want