She reached for the large sun hat lying on the passenger seat and pulled it firmly down over her brow, hiding as much of her face as possible. A quick glance in the rear view mirror confirmed that mercifully her lip had stopped bleeding. She hastily applied a splash of garish red lipstick.
“Hello, officer,” she simpered, as the burly six-footer approached, reaching in his shirt pocket for his notepad. “Am I glad to see you! I was sure a car was tailing me when I drove out of the gas station. You hear such stories, don’t you? I’m afraid I may have gone a teensy bit over the limit. I’m ever so sorry,” she continued in a sickly-sweet drawl.
The officer looked across at his mate, winked, then leaned towards her, his face flushing a little. He tried to sound authoritative
“Okay, miss. We’ll let it go this time but watch the dial in future! Take care now.”
She watched as the police car executed a neat u-turn and disappeared out of sight. She couldn’t fall at the last hurdle. The hotel was booked, the flight arranged and, she smiled smugly to herself, she had come up with a last-minute idea smacking of pure genius. She knew that a guy called Tristan Smart was Leyland Rondel’s biggest rival. She realised she wouldn’t be able to contact him directly but she knew a man who could – Benny Razumikov. Smart was a legend. Such a smooth operator in fact that the paparazzi had dubbed him “Mr Velvet”. He would be able to make sure Leyland didn’t pursue her. She had made the call to Benny. The rest of her plan should fall nicely into place.