Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2) Read Free Page A

peasant dragged
away and executed. 
    Sarah spun around to see a
wide-shouldered security guard stomping towards her.  With his bald head and
tattoos, he looked absurd in the smart uniform they ’ d
given him.  “ You ’ ve been asked to leave, luv. ”
    “ And yet I ’ m still here.  Whatever should we do? ”
    More chuckles.  The crowd was
egging her on, eager to see what happened.  Sarah rolled her eyes.  They were happy
to let a disfigured freak entertain them for a while, but she doubted any of
them would step in and help her if she needed it.
    “ You need to leave, ” the guard commanded, giving her his best impression of
a snarling bear.
    Sarah waved a hand in front of
her face.  “ And you need to take a breath mint. ”
    The guard reached out his hand
to grab her shoulder.
    Without thinking about it,
Sarah grabbed the big man ’ s hand and twisted it.  She yanked him one way and then the other,
flipping him over his own wrist.  It was a basic Aikido throw and one that was
second-nature to her.  Like riding a rusty old bike.
    The guard hit the ground like
a sack of potatoes.  He wasn ’ t hurt, but was more than a little surprised.  Sarah stood over him
and snarled.  “ I ’ d advise against standing up, mate, or I ’ m
going to have to make a deposit up your arse with my foot. ”
    The other customers bellowed
with laughter.  Their blood lust was up and the violence had excited them. 
Sarah knew enough about mob mentality to know how people ’ s morals soon changed when their neighbours acted up.  It was time
to leave; she ’ d made her point.
    Sarah looked back at the
stunned Assisant Manager, still safe behind his glass barrier, and pointed her
finger at him.  “ Get your name badge replaced, dickhead.  It gives away how much of
an idiot you are. ”  She then strolled out of the bank and into the crisp
air of early May, wondering how the hell she was going to get by without her
cheques being cashed.  Maybe if she came back tomorrow they wouldn ’ t remember her face.
    Yeah right!
    Sarah picked up her pace and
hurried away from the bank.  If they called the police she wouldn ’ t be hard to identify.  Heavily-scarred women wearing jeans and work
boots were pretty easy to spot, and sure enough, it didn ’ t take long before Sarah was certain she was being followed.
    Her pursuer was staying back,
slipping behind other pedestrians. Every time Sarah looked back, the man would
pretended to be busy with his phone or the produce of a nearby market stall. 
He was wearing a long grey coat which made him look like a middle-class car
salesman.
    Sarah slid into an alleyway
between two estate agents and headed around the back of the high street, where
there was only a car park and a dingy hairdresser ’ s. 
She picked up speed and glanced over her shoulder.  The man could make no
secret of pursuing her now.  His footsteps echoed on the concrete behind her,
keeping pace rather than catching up.  He was apparently in no rush to catch
her.
    Sarah rounded a brick wall
that sectioned off a small parking yard belonging to the bank, of all places,
and slid herself behind a large, steel wheelie bin.  Her pursuer would ’ ve seen her sneak around the wall and into the parking yard, but he
wouldn ’ t have seen her slip behind the bin.
    The stranger approached, his
footsteps growing louder.   Sarah crouched and waited.
    Clip clop clip clop.
    Clip clop.
    Clip.
    Sarah leapt up from behind the
wheelie bin and swung her leg in a flying roundhouse.  It was a knockout blow,
designed to end the confrontation before it had chance to begin.  If the
stranger was some kind of off-duty police officer, taking his head off was
probably a bad idea, but he asked for it when he ’ d
started with the cloak-and-dagger bullshit.
    The stranger ducked Sarah ’ s leg and swept her feet out from under her as soon as she landed. 
She was so surprised, that her head struck the concrete on the way down