Die for You

Prologue

I pulled up outside the house, locked the Beemer and walked up to the front doors and rang the bell. I was met by a middle-aged man in a sharp suit.

"I'm here to see Mr Armstrong. I have an appointment at eleven." I'd checked the clock on my phone before I left the car. 10:50. Perfect!

"Certainly Miss Sarocha," he replied looking down his nose at me. "Follow me please. Mr Armstrong is indisposed at the moment. He has requested that you wait in the Drawing Room."

The contempt in his voice was tangible and he gave off the vibes of being a professional.

He was probably ex-army and judging by the accent, South African. He didn't like me I could tell; he probably saw me as a threat.

'Well that's just tough shit, isn't it?'

I followed him into the sumptuous room that adjoined the spacious hallway.

"If you will wait here Miss Sarocha, Mr Armstrong will be with you presently."

I watched as he walked out of the room, not bothering to close the door after him. I waited for the sound of footsteps to fade, thinking over the implications of our brief conversation. He obviously worked for the Armstrongs, from the attitude and the fact that he knew who I was without my mentioning my name. But he was lazy and complacent.

He'd let me in without verifying my identity or indeed checking me out. I was in the heart of Armstrong industries and I hadn't even been searched; unbelievably lax.

I stood by the door, running my plan through my head, this was going to be a risky strategy, but from what I'd read about Rob Armstrong it might just work to my advantage. I slipped my hand into the shoulder bag I carried and drew out the slim Walther P-99 I'd purchased last night on my way home. Hand guns are banned in the UK, but you can pick things up if you know where to go.

As I stroked the trigger, my arm loose and relaxed, I knew what I had to do. Slipping from the room, totally unobserved, I crept down the hallway, following the sound of voices, desperately trying to stop my stupid heels clicking on the tiled floor, regretting the fact that Lauren from the protection unit that hired me had convinced me to buy them. I stopped outside a large wooden door that was slightly ajar; the voices were definitely coming from here. Three voices in fact, the South African, another male and a female voice I couldn't place.

I was definitely in the right place.

I peeked through the doorway, to check my targets. I could tell that there were three people in the room; the large guy behind the desk was definitely the primary target, one Robert Armstrong. His file picture didn't do him justice; he was a hefty bloke.

It gave him a slightly menacing appearance, like a tiger shark, or a panther; Rob Armstrong was a dangerous guy. The sharply dressed South African who had let me in, and left me to prowl the house, was standing by the window staring out into the garden his back to me; if this really was Rob's bodyguard, he was sloppy, very sloppy.

The mysterious third figure that Rob Armstrong had been talking to was obscured by the back of the chair, I knew they were there, I could see a hand on the arm of the chair and I'd heard her voice as I'd approached. Who it was I didn't know, and didn't care if the truth be told. As long as I had a plan to deal with them, I would be okay.

I took another glance into the room to make sure that my initial recon was correct and adjusting my plan to accommodate the extra person. I took one last steadying breath and kicked open the door, the gun raised to my eye line, my finger on the trigger. I put two rounds into the bodyguards back and three into the back of the chair where the extra person was sat.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as the plastic ball bearings fell to the floor as they hit their targets; the airsoft gun I'd bought being as good as the retailer had said it would be.

I pointed the weapon at the chest of Rob Armstrong who had fallen silent as I had entered the room firing and was now looking at me with incredulity.

"Mr Armstrong, thank you for seeing me today, my name is Freen Sarocha. I'm a consultant from Secure365 Protection Services and as you can probably see, we need to have a long talk about your security, or lack of it as the case may be."

He opened and closed his mouth as every eye in the room turned towards me; his blue-grey eyes fixed on mine, the green eyes of the South African glaring at me and around the back of the chair came a set of the brownest eyes I'd ever seen. Wide like dinner plates they had looked at me in shock before hardening to granite and regarding me with abject contempt.

She looked nothing like she did in her file picture, she looked one hell of a lot better; she looked fucking fierce.

'Oh my fucking God; she is going to be the death of me, I just know it.'