Free Play Nice by Gemma Halliday

German family with two teenagers sat on a wooden bench eating chowder from bread bowls. A guy in a Hawaiian shirt was buying a miniskirted brunette a pair of coral earrings from a vendor cart. A couple kids in pukka shell necklaces and baggy shorts stood in line to ride the carousel.
    None of the benign-looking day trippers screamed “assassin.” But Anna wished she had her weapon back all the same.
    She stuck close to Dade as he led the way toward a small, covered shack on the right side of the pier near the end. A ticket window took up most of the front, a sign next to it listing tickets available for various bay cruises. Dade purchased two tickets on the Blue & Gold Fleet’s next cruise around Alcatraz. Cash. The boat left in half an hour, jacking up Anna’s paranoia. Thirty minutes was plenty of time for anyone to catch up to them.
    “I need to change,” Anna said, once Dade had shoved the tickets in his back pocket.
    “Into what?”
    “I need a fresh shirt.”
    She gestured to her clothes. It was true. The T-shirt she’d thrown on that morning was cut in several places, the shattered glass from the shelter having made its mark. A smear of her neighbor’s blood graced her sleeve, and her right side was streaked with dregs from the Indian place’s dumpster. Curry, if she had to guess from the smell.
    Dade followed her gaze, his eyes lingering only a second longer than necessary on her chest before he nodded.
    “Fine.”
    He looked up, scanned the shops along the walkway. Several sold souvenir clothing, ranging from pricey designer items to made-in-China T-shirts. He settled on the latter, nodding toward a place two doors down with a sign proclaiming everything inside was ten dollars or less.
    “Can you find something in there?” he asked.
    She nodded. At this point, any place she could change in private would do.
    Two seconds when he’s not watching you. That’s all you need.
    Dade strode purposefully across the walkway, his hand still firm on Anna’s arm. The front of the shop was open, racks spilling out onto the pier to entice visitors farther inside. Two college kids in Stanford sweatshirts pawed through the closest one. Dade paused, and Anna saw him doing a slow sweep of their bodies before navigating around them. A visual weapons check. He didn’t trust anyone.
    A thought that made her feel both protected and deeper in danger all at once.
    “Let’s make this fast,” Dade instructed, hovering next to her as Anna quickly gravitated to a rack labeled WOMEN . She complied, grabbing a shirt at random. It was white, proclaiming that she had left her heart in San Francisco in scrolling purple script. It would do for now.
    She handed it to Dade. “This one’s fine.”
    Dade’s eyes flickered to the shirt, then back up to her. “Kind of big isn’t it?”
    “I’m not entering a wet T-shirt contest.”
    For a half a second he looked as if he wanted to smile, but it never quite made it to his lips. Instead, he took the shirt from her, getting in line behind the college kids. When he got to the front of the line, he paid the clerk cash, exchanging only the barest minimum of words before taking their purchase and steering Anna back out of the store.
    Once outside, he handed the bag to her. “Here. Knock yourself out.”
    Anna pulled the shirt out of the bag and took a step toward the restrooms to the far right of the carousel.
    But Dade’s grip stopped her.
    “Where are you going?” he asked, pulling her into his chest.
    “I need to change,” she answered, gesturing to the shirt.
    He shook his head. “You can put it on here.”
    “Really? You think it would be less conspicuous if I stripped down here in the middle of the pier?” Anna thrust her chest out toward him.
    “Just put it on over the old one. It’s big enough.”
    “That kind of defeats the purpose of a clean shirt. I’m still wearing the evidence.”
    Dade’s grip tightened on her arm. “You’re not going anywhere