Honeytrap: Part 1 Read Free Page A

aware of a dull ache that could be down to the metal pin or was perhaps only psychosomatic. Whenever he thought about the blast, his leg pain came out in sympathy.
    Harry took one last look in the mirror, slicked back the dark damp hair from his forehead and pulled in a deep breath. He tapped the slim recording machine in his breast pocket and made a mental note to turn the damn thing on. With luck she’d give him the brush-off and he’d be back by nine o’clock.
    ‘Be a good girl, Caroline,’ he said. ‘Be a good girl and we can all go home happy.’
    An hour later, Harry was seated on a stool in the main bar of the hotel, with one eye on his Scotch and the other on his prey. Caroline Westwood was in a group of five occupying a corner, and from the way the staff fluttered round the women, bowing and scraping, anyone would have thought they were royalty. Hardly surprising, mind, as they were quaffing champagne and not the cheap sort either. Nothing came cheap at the Lumière. He had just finished eating a sandwich, the cost of which would have fed a family of four for the day.
    Harry took a sip of the drink – his second of the evening – and wondered how to make an approach. Time was ticking by and hopes of a quick exchange were fading fast. It wasn’t easy to infiltrate a tight-knit group, to single one woman out from the rest. For the moment, there was nothing he could do but wait.
    The place was expensively chic and the bar was busy but not in an elbow-jostling kind of way; there were just enough people for it to be full without being overcrowded. The barman, a balding man in his fifties who was wearing a nametag that identified him as DENIS , wandered over, glanced at Harry’s glass and raised a querying eyebrow.
    Harry shook his head. ‘No, thanks.’ He leaned in and lowered his voice, giving it a conspiratorial edge. ‘The women in the corner, over by the palms – are they staying at the hotel?’
    Denis casually glanced over before looking back at Harry. ‘Some of them.’ His mouth curled into a sly smile. ‘Which is it? The blonde?’
    Harry shook his head again. ‘The brunette. The one in the red dress.’
    ‘Mrs Westwood.’ Denis scratched the nape of his neck and frowned. ‘You know, I had you pegged for the blonde. I’m not usually wrong. Must be losing my touch.’
    Harry shrugged his shoulders. In truth, the guy was right, the blonde was more his type – she had a cool distant look and a generous mouth – but personal preferences were off the agenda tonight. ‘Is there a Mr Westwood?’
    Denis made a show of gazing round the bar. ‘Doesn’t look like it. You want me to send over a drink to the lady?’
    Harry thought about it. ‘Not just yet. Maybe later.’
    ‘Sure, give it half an hour or so.’
    ‘Is she a regular here?’
    ‘Not what I’d call regular. Every now and again.’
    A couple of customers arrived at the bar and Denis went off to serve them. While he was busy, Harry let his eyes drift back to the women. Caroline Westwood was wearing a dress that showed off her figure to its full advantage. There was some cleavage on view, but not enough to make her look cheap. Not that anyone
could
look cheap when they had a classic string of pearls round their neck. There was something about the gleam of them, their smooth opacity, that made him sure they had come from a very exclusive jeweller.
    Harry sipped some more whisky, trying to make it last. He checked his phone for something to do. No missed calls. No messages. Yes, he really was Mr Popular. And he wasn’t making a whole lot of progress on the seduction front either. Maybe Mac was right about honing his skills; perhaps he should call Sylvie and ask her for some tips.
    Harry couldn’t recall the last time he’d deliberately set out to pick up a woman. Back in his twenties, he reckoned. His hunting skills were definitely rusty. In the past he’d usually met his partners through work or friends, but this was a completely