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Her gut told her it wasn’t Alex.
Sarah knew she had a precious few seconds’ advantage before the assailant’s senses adjusted to the darkened launderette. She shifted off the wall and silently glided to her right towards the wall of dryers, stepping behind them and emerging in the center of the space. Shielded by the machines, she had a better view of the doorway and beyond.
The gun entered the room ahead of the dark-haired stranger. Was he with The Devils? Or someone else with a score to settle? The assailant kept moving to his left, his boots barely audible as he stepped softly.
‘Sarah? You should have locked the door if you didn’t want to be found.’
Hearing her name jolted her momentarily. Why hadn’t she thought to lock the door?
Stupid.
Sarah waited until her assailant had moved far enough into the room so that he couldn’t detect any movement in the reflection in the shop window. Without a sound, she stepped forward and pressed her gun into the base of his neck, just below the skull. The way Alex had shown her.
She forced her breath to stay in a slow, even rhythm and willed her hand not to shake. The assailant was not much taller than her. She didn’t have to stand on her toes and stretch her arm up as she had when practicing this stance on Alex.
‘Who are you?’ she hissed.
Adrenaline kept the chill, almost spring air at bay. Her side radiated a dull ache from her healing bullet wound. She strained to hear past the ticking of the clock, wanting to be sure he was alone. It would be foolish not to remain on alert for a second gun-man.
Her eyes never left the assailant. She stood squarely behind him, her right hand gripping the gun as her finger caressed the trigger. Her left arm was raised, just centimeters from the middle of his back, ready to fend off any sudden movements.
He wore black cargo pants and a black jacket. The smell of sweat and old leather betrayed its age. No patches on the back. Not a Devil? Or a Devil incognito?
‘You don’t have the balls to pull that trigger.’ The accent was English.
Sarah cocked her gun in response, trying to swallow the fear rising in her throat.
How long would they stand here? The longer this stalemate continued, the more advantage she conceded. Sarah was certain this was not the first time her assailant had used a gun. She was running out of options.
Pull the trigger.
‘Who are you?’ She asked again, stalling for time.
Just flick the switch and pull the trigger.
‘No one you know.’
Sarah gripped the gun with both hands now. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. Trying to find a comfortable stance.
‘Who sent you?’ Her gun had started to tremble. She tried to steady her hand, so she didn’t give herself away. The fear kept creeping up from her gut.
‘The Devil’s needed a trigger man and the price was right.’
Suddenly, her blood ran cold. How could she have been so stupid? He called her Sarah. He knew who she was. Her family—were they safe? What about Heather and her other flatmates in London?
Her heart began to race.
Focus! Stay focused.
If he moves, can I pull the trigger?
Too late. He swung around, grabbing her right arm and knocking her gun from her hand. Now she was staring into the barrel of his gun.
‘Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?’ He stepped forward, forcing Sarah back. She felt the washing machine behind and grabbed it for support.
The man smirked. His gun was pointed directly in her face, those cold, dark eyes never left hers.
‘Got no gun. Got no boyfriend. You’re out of options, love. No one’s coming to save you now.’
