A Body in the Lakes by Graham Smith (great books of all time .TXT) 📕

presumably used to come to terms with the injury and its lasting effects was unknown to him, but he marvelled at her fortitude.

He knew he’d stared at her scar when he’d first met her, but she’d ignored the lapse in manners and kept her focus on the matter at hand.

Forster knew that he’d only scratched the surface with her, but from what he’d seen, he’d learned that she was very smart, determined and imbued with a passion for justice that he’d rarely witnessed in anyone before. The word ‘driven’ was bandied about a lot, but in the case of DC Young, it was the best word he could think of to describe her.

As he climbed to his feet and patted his pockets to check for his car keys, Forster was trying to work out what attracted him to her the most. Her brain, her strength or the way she looked.

It was only as he gunned the engine of his Range Rover that he realised what was really driving his feelings. It was the simple fact that she wasn’t one of the women that thrust themselves upon him. DC Young carried the indifferent air of the disinterested. She’d admitted that she was single, and while there was a considerable age gap between them, he’d dated younger women than her before.

DC Young not showing attraction to him was the key to his feelings. She was a challenge. If he could bed her, it would be an experience far better than sleeping with the women who offered themselves to him without any qualms.

Seducing her wouldn’t be easy. It would take tact, charm and more than the odd nice dinner.

He could play the long game. After all, the longer the chase, the sweeter the kill.

Thirty-Eight

Beth walked into the Stoneybrook Inn and cast her eyes around the room. Forster was sitting at the bar and Tattoo Neck was nowhere to be seen, not that she expected him to be here. The mayor was engaged in conversation with the barman, but his body was half turned so he could survey the room and keep an eye on the door.

His hand raised in a wave when he saw her.

As she’d expected he was well turned out. The shirt he wore was a designer one and it was crisp with a sharp collar, his tan chinos a good match for his shirt, and the cologne he wore was strong and manly.

He’d made an effort.

So had she, after a fashion. By the time she’d got home after the press conference and a short yet blistering reprimand from O’Dowd, she’d had forty-five minutes to shower, dry her hair and throw on some clothes.

Beth had spent little time deciding what she should wear and had gone for practicality over fashion. The weather had turned humid and as she’d spent most of the day perspiring, she’d grabbed a long skirt and a fitted T-shirt. Normally she would have preferred to have worn a shorter, knee-length skirt but she didn’t want Forster getting the wrong idea, so she’d picked a floral one that hung to her ankles. The one concession she made to fashion over comfort was a pair of wedged sandals.

When she saw the way Forster instinctively slid his eyes down her body, she was glad she’d went for demure rather than cool. He was a predator and she knew that she’d have to keep her wits about her if she was to avoid becoming his prey.

‘I see you’ve come prepared.’ Forster pointed at the folder which hung from her left hand, then at the briefcase perched against the leg of his barstool. ‘Me too.’

As one of the waiting staff showed them to a table, Beth glanced round the room. A former coaching inn, Stoneybrook Inn had morphed into a bar and restaurant. Sited a mile north of Penrith, it survived by serving up good food at reasonable prices. It might never win a Michelin star, but it was homely and had a friendly atmosphere which enticed customers to return on a regular basis.

Forster took the menu offered to him by a young waitress wearing a branded T-shirt and skinny jeans. ‘Shall we order first and then talk business while the chef does his stuff?’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Beth ordered herself a glass of iced tap water from the waitress, along with a glass of house wine. ‘Is that the voice of experience speaking?’

Forster gave an easy smile and a self-deprecating shrug. ‘You got me. I’ve had many a dinner meeting and I’ve found it best to order first then talk shop. We can also get a bit of thinking space as we eat each course.’

‘That makes sense.’

Beth fell silent and looked at the menu. It wasn’t that she was deciding what to have: she had no intention of having anything more than one course, and it was too hot for anything more than a salad anyway.

Now that she was here with Forster she was torn by differing emotions. If he was serious about setting up the charity, then he deserved plaudits, but what if he was using it as a smokescreen to get close to her so he could learn about the investigation, or indeed to mask his own guilt for whatever he’d done to instigate the framer’s campaign against him?

She couldn’t quell her suspicions about the mayor being a player, largely because of Forster’s propensity to surround himself with good-looking women. The three secretaries in his mayoral office were all attractive, as were Claire and Inga. And the picture she’d seen of Donna Waddington, who’d left SimpleBooker to found EdenData, had shown her to be quite beautiful.

Then there were his girlfriends. The women he’d dated and those he associated with. Louise Jones too. All of them were attractive.

It made her wonder at his interest in her. Objectively Beth knew that she had once had a pretty face, although the disfiguring scar on her cheek had changed that.

After her thoughts were interrupted by the waitress taking their order, Beth wondered