Former DI Lorne Simpkins chases her nemesis through France.
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After suffering a breakdown and quitting the force, former Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins is contacted by a friend at MI6 to help in a covert operation. Against her will, Lorne is convinced to help track down an old enemy, a sadistic and calculating criminal whose ambition is to become the world's richest man. It's up to Lorne and the agent to prevent him, which results in a chase through France.
A Chateau in Normandy
A smug satisfied smile stretched across Baldwin’s handsome but menacing features as he surveyed his lavish surroundings, self-congratulation exuding from every pore. Tonight would be all about him, his ability to manipulate others, as months of meticulous planning came to fruition.
A couple of the scantily clad girls, all of Eastern-European extraction, giggled in the corner. He scowled at them when he realised they’d been helping themselves to the potent punch, intended for his esteemed guests.
With its final tune-up complete the band drifted off to get changed. Meanwhile, the experienced agency waiting staff tinkered, adding the finishing touches to the thirty-foot table laden with some of the world’s finest food, specially imported for tonight’s soiree.
His gaze drifted out over the large terrace and he took in the incredible view; the view that had sold the chateau to him. A view that took in thirty acres of manicured lawns, bordered by hedges shaped like animals; luxurious surroundings more suited to royalty than a lad brought up, or rather dragged up, in the boarded-up slums of Salford, Manchester. A lad with a rap sheet longer than the Seine.
Most of his men were already standing in position, their weapons safely concealed beneath their smart tuxedos. They would be joined by the others once the limos arrived.
Baldwin glanced at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, his irritation bubbling just below the surface. The guests should have arrived at seven, a full ten minutes ago; where the bloody hell were they? He marched over to the window and craned his neck to look up the long tree-lined drive. Nothing, not a limo in sight, nothing but the grey gravel, glistening in the evening sun. It didn’t bode well, not in his book, anyway. His blood pumped harder, faster, so much so that the vein in his temple jutted out, just as it always did when something didn’t go according to plan. His plans.
‘Well?’ he asked, when Julio his second in command, joined him at the window.
‘Nothing as yet, boss. Everything’s ready though.’
‘That much I can see, you bloody moron. Now go and see what the fucking hold-up is. I want this evening to go smoothly. You understand, Julio, no cock-ups.’
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