‘Is that Rick?’

‘Who’s this?’ he said suspiciously. His voice had the raspy edge of East London going on Essex.

‘I’m enquiring about the furniture.’

A pause.

‘What furniture?’

‘The Victorian oak dining set.’

A long silence. Her heart thumping hard. Her mouth suddenly dry. This was it. If Rick knew that his brother had been an informant, then he’d more than likely hang up on her right now because he’d suspect she was an undercover police officer.

She sat there nervously awaiting his response, one part of her almost wanting him to hang up so she didn’t have to go through with it. Finally he spoke.

‘I was wondering when I’d hear from you,’ he said tersely.

A tiny burst of elation shot through her. It looked like the job was on.

‘As luck would have it, we’re in town this afternoon,’ he continued. ‘Come to a pub called The Admiral in Canning Town. Meet me there at three thirty. Ask for Rick.’

Bailey swallowed. Wow. These people moved fast.

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘See you there.’

He ended the call. She realised he hadn’t even asked her name. He sure did like to keep business talk to a minimum over the phone, just like Dale had said. Well, she was certain they’d want to know all about her once she got there. She felt a flush of excitement.

Looking at her watch, she saw that it was two forty-five. She gulped. She had three-quarters of an hour to get there. That wasn’t much time. Clearly these people worked to their own schedule and expected her to adhere to it.

Her phone still in her hand, she immediately called Frank to let him know.

‘It’s great to hear you’ve got the ball rolling,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to organise a back-up team for you?’

‘There’s no time for that.’ She paused. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she added, suppressing a pre-emptive twinge of trepidation.

There was a brief silence at the other end of the line.

‘If you say so,’ he said, a slight waver of uncertainty in his voice. Her safety was his responsibility and she knew he took it seriously.

She terminated the call.

Jumping to her feet, she went into the bedroom and hurriedly pulled on her undercover outfit. For this particular identity, along with the Hugo Boss black leather coat, she’d opted for classic straight-cut blue jeans, a white collared man’s shirt and a pair of sleek leather boots with a discreet heel. As for the scar on her face, she decided to display it openly in a vaguely piratical manner, tying back the loose lock of hair which normally covered it.

Grabbing her bag and picking up her car keys, she made her way to the front door, praying that there wouldn’t be too much traffic. It wouldn’t do to be late to an appointment with people like these.

But she stopped then in front of the large gold-framed mirror by the hallway. She just had one last important thing to do before she left. She had to put on her game face.