Criminal Intent: Murder, Mayhem and... Battenberg?

Two

"Maybe this world is another planets Hell." - Aldous Huxley

Isadoras house was hard to find, hidden in the lush English countryside. She always thought of herself lucky. Many people who lives in cities never get to see the wildlife and scenery that comes with the countryside.

One hand was placed on the steering wheel, whilst the other rapidly tapped on the keyboard. Her eyes flickered from the windscreen to the laptop screen in the passenger seat. Isadora could multitask, although many said it was so unnatural, it was a superpower. She was confirming the destruction of Damiens mansion. After all, he could spill about their meeting, and then where would she be?

She was to far away to feel the blast, although in her rear mirror, Isadora could see the flash of light on the horizon. Yet again she smirked. She snapped the lid of her laptop shut, and returned her hand to the steering wheel.

The laptop was coated in stickers. Flower stickers, animal stickers, letter stickers, anything, she'd been collecting since she was young. A strange, immature habbit for a sophisticated woman.

Her manor house was large, and it looked like a old victorian style house, with the dark beams set out against the pale walls. Behind the house were different gardens, like the ones you'd find at Bodnant Gardens, ranging from water gardens to exotic mini-forests to greenhouses. Large fountains decorated the front garden, set either said of the pebbled path leading up to the door. Another path grew off to the side, leading to a long building, more modern than the main house.

Isadora drove down the second path, and as she grew near to the large doors, they opened, revealing a line of classic muscle cars. If you wanted to know, she had them all named. She drove the Shelby to it's reserved space, before parking it neatly.

Sighing, she dropped her head back, looking up at the roof. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts run free for a moment.

She opened the door and turned her legs around before yanking off her heels and placing her bare feet on the cold floor. She slammed the door shut behind her and walked outside, making sure to lock the door behind her.

Pulling open the doors dramatically, Isadora sighed once again. Usually a nice kill made her feel happy, yet today she was feeling nothing. She just felt... empty. Perhaps she was hungry. She decided that was the right answer.

As she walked in, she chucked her heels across the room, hearing it land on the marble floor. Another few steps, before she stopped. And smelt the air a little.

Somebody else was in her house.

Pulling out her gun once again, she stepped into the waiting room at the front of her house. Her house was split into many parts.

The first part was residential, purely for Isadoras use. It was full of the things you'd usually find in a house: bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, gamesrooms, a pool, a gym, a library, a massive computer hall - and I mean massive, computers were the things Isadora lives for. She claims that only computers understand her, and when people that computers are stupid, well, they won't really have another chance to share their opinions.

The second part of the house is the public area. Well, it's not really public, but it's the area she invites other criminals into. She has her waiting room, her consulting room, the office, a small kitchenette.

The third and final part was her work area. Rooms full of computers, IPads, all sorts of technology, guns, knives, ammunition, disguises, torture chambers. Although physical work wasn't really Isadoras cup of tea, she preferred the familiar job of hacking.

Right now, she made her way through the second area, her consultation rooms. First the waiting room. She peered round the door, eyes thinned and finger ready to squeeze. Empty. But the rug had been slightly moved, and the old clock on her mantle piece was now on the floor. She loved that clock.

She advanced to the door on the other side of the room, which led to the Consulting room. She peered round the second door, and was greeted with another face. He jumped back in surprise.

Immediately, the guns barrel was placed on his forehead, cold against his sweaty skin. He looked like he was in his early fifties, with a lot of scratchy stubble on his chin. His eyes were a dull brown, the edges wrinkled like his forehead. She pushed the door open all the way.

"Miss Thorne, yes?" Like all the men she had met today, his English was broken. This time a Russian accent.

"You know, you're meant to wait in the waiting room. Clue's in the name, you know, waiting room." She replied coldy, refusing to answer his question.

"But you are Miss Thorne?" He questioned again, his voice stable. Guess he must be held at gunpoint a lot. Something Isadora could relate to.

"No, I'm Sam freaking Winchester." She answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes scanned across his body. He wore a suit, sleek back - so it was buisness, he was hoping to impress. Or he just liked to wear suits casually.

"Sam Winchester?" He asked, a little confused. Isadora just rolled her eyes.

"Sit down." She said, gesturing to the sofa with her gun. He turned and he sat. Isadora moved to sit in her chair.

"So. What do you need?" Her dark lips curled into a coy smile, feeling comfortable in her seat. Pale eyes darted around, scanning the room for any cameras or bombs. None at a first glance. And for Isadora, her first glances were very thorough.

"My name is Dimintri Markovic." He introduced himself, trying hard to pronounce his English correctly. His eyebrows furrowed together in concentration.

"Right.... Annnnnd?" Isadora replied, looking bored out of her mind. Her fingers tapped impatiently on her desk, as her other hand ran over the cold metal of her gun.

"I need your help. Information was stolen from me, important information. I am needing the information back." He says, struggling. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. His hands shook slightly.

"And the information is....?"

"Classified."

"Classified? If you want me to help, you need to tell me what the information is." She demanded, her eyes thinning.

Unfortunately for Dimintri, Isadora had a very short temper. And she was in a bad mood.

Temper + Bad Mood = One dead Dimintri

"I don't have to tell you anything." He said, slightly confused as to why she wasn't helping. "You should respect the privacy of a client."

Isadora took a deep breath and smiled.

"No, you don't have to tell me." She replied softly, her face softening with her tone. "Because you'll be too dead to speak."

His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak.

There was a bullet in his brain before he could even scream.