Net Force

The cane whistled as she whipped it back and forth, but as she stepped toward him, she hit the toppled chair with her shins and stopped.

'Fuck!' she said. The word was not only unladylike, it was in a deeper, smoother, younger voice.

Still stumbling backward, Michaels banged into the sliding door. The crown of his head thumped against it hard — it made an almost metallic gonging sound, but the glass held—

The old lady kicked the fallen chair out of her way, started to take another step, the cane pulled back to brain him, but he had the taser out now and he pointed it at her and pressed the firing stud—

No, not the firing stud, he'd accidentally hit the laser sight instead! Damn!

A tiny red dot appeared — but on the wall next to the old lady. He moved the taser, put the gyrating dot on the old lady's chest—

She snarled and threw the cane—

It hit Michaels low, below his outstretched arm, across the belly. He didn't feel any pain, but it was hard enough to jolt his aim. The laser dot jerked to the side, off the old lady—

She spun and ran. By the time he recovered, she was mostly out of his line of sight, almost to the front door. Jesus, she was fast! Taser needles were only good for five or six yards, even if he could hit her this far away—

He started after her. He didn't know who the hell she was or what she was doing here, but this was his goddamn house and now his surprise gave way to rage—

Just who the hell did this woman think she was? How dare she?

He heard her yell something he couldn't make out, but by the time he got to the front door, she was twenty yards away and going strong. In the back of his mind, the sight of a seventy-year-old lady sprinting like an Olympic athlete was pretty amazing, even though he knew she was a younger woman in disguise.

He started after her, but she'd had too good a start. And she was fast. No way he was going to catch her wearing a robe and slippers.

The danger was over. He'd chased her off. Now what he needed to do was call the cops. Let them hunt for her.

Michaels started to step back into the house, but stopped when he heard something in the bushes. He leveled the taser, and swept the laser's red dot back and forth, seeking a target. 'Who's there? Don't move, I'll shoot!'

He was ready to blast somebody, anybody who got in his face.

Nothing.

He stepped cautiously toward the bushes.

On the ground in a down position, front legs stretched out and looking up at him, was the little old lady's toy poodle. It yapped once. Wagged its tail.

Michaels shook his head. Jesus H. Christ!

He bent down. 'C'mere, boy. Here, Scout.'

The dog came up and hurried over, head lowered and tail going like crazy. Michaels picked the little dog up. It licked his hand.

Michaels frowned, realized he was breathing way too fast. He blew out a big sigh and tried to calm himself.

What in hell was going on here?

22

Thursday, September 30th, 11:55 p.m. Washington, D.C.

Goddammit!

In her clean-car, driving into the Maryland night, the Selkie's smoldering rage flared yet again. She pounded the steering wheel with the heel of her right hand. 'Shit, shit, shit!'

She knew it was a waste of her energy, that it did no good at all. Done was done, and there was nobody to blame but herself. It was her fault. She'd put the damned dog into a down-stay, but she hadn't told him 'quiet.' One of the goddamned cats must have spooked the dog, and naturally, he'd barked at it because she hadn't told him not to!'

Stupid. An amateur's mistake, so simple it never occurred to her. But even though it was a waste of her energy, it still pissed her off. She beat on the steering wheel again.

It was incredible, but that was how it always went when luck went bad. The smallest thing that could go wrong to screw up things always went wrong at exactly the wrong instant. That bark, just as she was set to strike, had ruined the deletion. A second earlier, and she'd have been a smiling old lady hobbling along behind the target. A second later, and the target would have been out cold on the floor, waiting for the final stroke — game, tip over your king.

If the dog hadn't barked. If the target hadn't had a taser in his pocket. If that chair hadn't gotten in her way —

If, if, if.

Damn!

So now they had the dog, her cane, and unless they were all a whole lot stupider than was likely, they knew that Alexander Michaels was targeted by an assassin. They'd find the place she'd rented in the neighborhood quick enough, though there was nothing in it to tie her real identity to it. They'd know she'd been stalking him. She didn't think there was much they could use from what they had, but one thing for sure:

Getting to the target was going to be a whole lot harder now.

That brought a smile, despite her anger. Oh, yes, she was still going to delete the target, no question of that. The obstacles would be bigger, the risks riskier, but she didn't take a contract and not deliver. Never.

Well. She'd wanted a challenge. She sure as hell had one now.

Friday, October 1st, 12:34 a.m. Washington, D.C.

Alex was trying to pretend it was no big deal, but Toni knew better. He was rattled. He looked calm as he stood there, dressed in tan slacks and a T-shirt, with no shoes, holding the toy poodle that had been part of the would-be assassin's cover. He petted the dog absently as the cops metaphorically tipped their hats and left. They'd kept the local cops from lighting up the place with their flashers, but even so, there was a lot of activity around Alex's condo for this time of night. Neighbors peeped through windows or stood on door stoops, trying to puzzle out what was going on.

Toni was relieved that Alex was all right, that the assassination attempt had failed. And she was also gratified that he had called her first, before he'd called anybody else. That meant something.

Toni had lost no time in co-opting this investigation. It belonged to Net Force, part of the Steve Day case. The local cops had been called in only to provide a net to catch the woman, and it was probably too late for that. The woman wasn't going to be hiding under a bush a block away or anything. If it was a woman. Maybe it was a small man under the disguise?

'Alex?'

'Hmm?'

'We'll need the dog.'

He looked down at the poodle, then back at her. 'The dog? Why?'

'We'll want to run a scanner over him, see if there is an ID chip implant or anything.'

'No, I think he'll stay with me. Have somebody from the lab come by, they can check him here.'

'Alex, he's evidence.'

'No, he is what kept me from going to fill a hole next to Steve Day's.' He looked at the dog and scratched behind one of its ears. 'He's a good boy, aren't you, Scout?'

Toni nodded. Anybody who didn't know him would think Alex was used to assassins coming into his house, no sweat, and isn't it a nice night? But she knew him. Maybe better than he knew himself. 'I guess we can work on this for a while.' She held up the cane, wrapped in no-smear plastic sheeting.

'She wore gloves,' Alex said. 'White, silk or cotton, probably. I bet it was wiped clean after she put them on. The gloves.'