The Trap

Evie Hunter

Description

Brand new from the bestselling author of The Fall.

Callie Devereux has it all – a successful career, a beautiful home and an attentive, loving partner. Until one day, she wakes up to discover that the man she thought she loved has taken everything from her, leaving her penniless. Desperate to get answers, Callie goes after the man she once trusted and discovers a world built on secrets and lies...

Jack Carlisle has never heard of the man Callie Devereaux claims to have once loved, but he has a good idea who it is – his business partner and old friend, Logan Armitage. Jack can’t believe Logan would steal, but as he helps Callie to find his old friend, Jack discovers money missing too…

But with Logan missing without trace, there is only option left to catch this thief – to set a trap.

A gripping revenge thriller, perfect for fans of Gemma Rogers!

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Psychological
• Women Sleuths
• Thrillers
• Women
• Coming of Age
• Suspenso
• Street crime
• Domestic
• Woman
• Psychology
• Organized crime
• The Women
• Crime
• Suspense
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 22 février 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781802802542
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE TRAP


EVIE HUNTER
For my lovely friend Lynne Harris, who saved my sanity and was there for me when I was drowning in sorrow. You are loved!
CONTENTS



Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue


Acknowledgments

More from Evie Hunter

About the Author

About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE

As the wedding planner of the moment, all the big days blurred into one for Callie Devereaux. With the notable exception of the Blakely wedding, which was when her life changed forever.
It was the day she met and fell heavily for Mike.
Of course, that wasn’t his real name; she knew that now and it probably explained why she’d had troubling equating the exotic and sophisticated man she’d fallen for with such a pedestrian name. But then, hindsight can be bloody irritating.
Callie closed her eyes, recalling the impressive figure he’d cut as he strode into the pre-wedding reception in his Savile Row suit as though he owned the hotel it was being staged in. Fashionably late. Callie suspected, when she thought about it later, that his timing had been deliberate. Mike liked to make an entrance, to say nothing of an impression.
Callie watched the other women at the wedding reception drinking in the sight of him like they’d never seen a handsome man in the last decade. She idly wondered who the lucky lady would be, instinctively knowing that he would score before the bride and groom took to the floor for the first dance.
It hadn’t occurred to her that she would be his choice.
1

‘No, not there!’
In a strident tone worthy of a sergeant major, the bride’s mother’s voice cut effectively through the activity of preparation. Callie, whose patience had already been worn gossamer-thin by the impossible woman’s equally impossible demands, winced. She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath, counted to ten and reminded herself that she needed – really needed – this commission.
‘The pedestal has to be there, Marion,’ Callie said into the ensuing crystalline silence, as she moved the floral display back into its assigned position, ‘or it will block the cinematographer’s view when the couple exchange their vows.’
‘A moment that must definitely be preserved,’ Jason, Callie’s assistant, added with a saccharine smile.
Marion Blakely sniffed and looked set to argue the point, just as she had argued over every minor detail with Callie throughout the interminable planning for a wedding that was costing a ridiculous amount of money. Callie breathed a sigh of relief when Jason’s charm appeared to work its magic and another battle of wills was averted.
‘Oh, of course you’re right, Jason,’ she said, turning her attention to the menus and tutting. ‘No, no, this won’t do at all. I specifically said that I wanted Scottish wild salmon, not some cheap substitute that’s probably farmed and…’
She bustled off with menu in hand, presumably to berate some hapless chef.
Callie drew in another deep breath, reminded herself just how much she would benefit financially if everything went off without a hitch – which it would, if only Marion would stop interfering – and turned her attention to the next item on her to-do list.
‘Why does she bother to employ us if she wants to manage everything herself?’ Jason asked, sotto voce .
‘Brides get a bad press,’ Callie replied. ‘But trust me, they aren’t the ones who make our lives difficult.’
She glanced at Marion’s ramrod-straight back and was convinced she could sense the antagonism radiating from the woman. Even by mother-of-the-bride standards, this one was especially difficult, giving Callie instructions and then undermining them at every turn. The bride and her soon-to-be husband looked petrified of her, barely opened their mouths and would likely have preferred to run off to the nearest registry office.
‘Tomorrow will be the happiest day of her daughter’s life,’ Jason, who enjoyed nothing more than a good gossip, remarked, ‘but not because she’s marrying that gorgeous hunk of manhood,’ he added, going all gooey-eyed. ‘Anyway, little Maddy would likely marry the Hunchback of Notre Dame if it got her out from under her thumb.’
Callie stifled a smile as she consulted the endless to-do list on her tablet. ‘I dare say little Maddy has a healthy trust fund so could be independent now if she wanted to be.’
‘I shall be hearing that strident voice in my nightmares for the rest of my days and will likely need therapy to get past it,’ Jason said, shuddering.
‘Make yourself useful and check that the table plan is being adhered to before she finds fault with it.’
Jason sashayed off in his skinny white jeans – one of the few people of either sex who could pull the unforgiving look off – and fluttered his fingers at the handsome barman polishing glasses. Callie stood back to examine the bower decorated with trailing flowers, beneath which the couple would stand in this sumptuous ballroom to pledge themselves to one another for the rest of their lives.
Or until one of them strayed, Callie thought cynically.
There was a problem with the caterers, whose van had broken down on the motorway. The florist hadn’t received Marion’s email changing the design of the bridesmaids’ bouquets at the eleventh hour and that created another almighty argument that Callie was required to arbitrate.
‘You should apply to the United Nations,’ Jason said in her ear as he floated past, trailing ribbons destined for the top table, which Callie knew his talented fingers would weave into a glorious festoon with consummate ease. His artistic flair was one of the reasons why she had employed him. That and his wicked sense of humour and unswerving loyalty in a profession that was known for its bitchiness and underhand tactics. ‘With you mediating, the Middle East would be at peace within weeks.’
Callie barely had time to smile before her mobile buzzed and she was immersed in yet more conciliatory negotiations with the beautician. The woman had had it up to the neck with Marion Blakely’s unreasonable demands and felt inclined to withdraw her services on the grounds that she did not, as she bluntly pointed out to Callie, need all this crap. Who did, Callie wondered, as she calmed the girl down, reminding her just how well she was being paid to endure the crap in question. A mantra that Callie was obliged to repeat to herself at regular intervals in her line of work.
‘Ah, this must be the mysterious daddy,’ Jason said, as a tall, elegant man in his fifties with a sweep of thick, greying hair and a sophisticated air strode into the room. The trophy wife on his arm couldn’t have been older than the bride but was a good twenty years younger than his former wife, which explained a lot, Callie decided.
‘Well, well,’ Jason muttered. ‘If looks could kill then Daddy dearest would be six feet under by now. He just pulled up in a Lamborghini, by the way. Nothing like being ostentatious. But still, who am I to argue? If you’ve got it, flaunt it, that’s what I always say.’
‘I almost feel sorry for Marion,’ Callie said, sensing the animosity coming off her in waves. ‘It can’t be easy for someone so aware of her appearance to be replaced by a much younger model.’
‘If you want to feel sorry for anyone, spare a thought for our mousy little bride. It’s supposed to be her big day, but Mummy and Daddy are in danger of turning it into World War Three.’
‘Mummy is. Daddy appears oblivious to Marion, which must infuriate her. No wonder she’s spending so lavishly on this shindig. Her ex is footing the bill.’
‘Hit him where it hurts.’
‘Are we going to get this started?’ Marion demanded imperiously.
Robert Blakeley made a show out of kissing his young wife, escorted her to a prominent chair in the front row, and then offered his daughter his arm.
‘Shall we show them how to make an entrance, darling?’ he asked.
‘You know I’m not good at that sort of thing, Daddy.’
‘Don’t worry about it, buttercup. I am.’
The bride gave an uncertain smile and fell into line, just as she had likely been doing for her entire life.
‘How did he make all that luscious loot for his ex to fritter away?’ Jason asked, as he and Callie stood to the side, watching proceedings.
‘Property, I think. Exclusive pads for the rich and deserving,’ Callie replied, smiling.
‘Hmm.’ Jason had been brought up in care, never knew either of his parents, and had gone through some tough times. Precocious and fun for the most part, he understandably had a massive chip on his shoulder when it came to those who made money out of other people’s misery.



* * *
‘Gin,’ Callie told Jason emphatically when the rehearsal came to an end, with the bride’s mother mercifully concentrating the majority of her venom on her ex-husband. ‘I need a hot bath, scented candles and gin, not necessarily in that order.’
‘Sorry, darling, no can do. I have plans.’
‘Well, then, go and have fun and I’ll make do with Jinx for company. At least he never disagrees with me.’
‘He’s a cat, darling, so don’t assume that he likes you. He simply tolerates you because you feed him.’
‘I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for the fun and games.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’ Jason grabbed his bag, blew Callie an exaggerated air kiss and headed for the door. ‘Toodles.’
Shaking her head at her irrepressible assistant’s style, Callie gathered up her belongings and headed for her ageing Beetle, tucked in the corner of the car park, well away from the showy red Lamborghini that had been parked directly in front of the entrance to the hotel, blocking the steps.
She drove home to her isolated cottage, buried deep in the countryside near Chichester. It had belonged to her grandmother and represented a safe haven from Callie’s otherwise disjointed childhood. Small and in need of