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Emilia hurried away from the Westquay, marching fast towards her battered Corsa.

After the Dutchman had left their meeting, she’d remained in position for a full twenty minutes, checking out the other occupants of the café, keeping a beady eye out for hired thugs blocking her route to the lift or escalator, but the scene in front of her seemed utterly unremarkable.

Nattering friends, boisterous families and the odd pensioner eking out a pot of tea.

Peaceful, workaday and completely unthreatening.

Still, Emilia had kept her wits about her as she hurried down the escalator and along the concourse, using the tall shop windows to check for any signs of pursuit.

Reaching the main entrance, she’d finally reduced her pace, casting one searching look back along the main concourse.

Satisfied she wasn’t being followed, she rose and departed.

There was no logical reason why she should be in danger – her nemesis had his gold – and yet Emilia was determined to take no chances.

Could you apply logic to vicious thugs who threw acid in young girls’ faces?

Would her power over him have aggravated the seasoned Dutch smuggler?

Would he have raged internally as a woman quizzed him over his actions, his morals, his soul?

On the flip side, if he was only interested in money, Emilia wanted to give him plenty of time to get well clear of the Westquay.

She had no idea of the provenance of that gold and if for any reason her nemesis was stopped by security guards or a passing police officer, curious to know what was inside the tatty holdall, she wanted to be well clear of the whole thing.

She was done with the gold and, in truth, she was done with her dad too.

The same could not be said of her Dutch friend.

She had meant every word when she warned him that their story wasn’t over, which is why she needed to exercise extreme caution now.

If he sensed that he’d been tricked, then the consequences for her could be dire, which is why she kept a close eye on those around her as she scurried down the street.

She avoided passing vans or trucks, anything she might be bundled into, and crossed the road to avoid a couple of shaven-headed louts who approached at speed.

Happily, they sailed by and speeding up, Emilia swiftly made it to her Corsa.

Only once she was inside, with the doors safely locked, did she breathe a sigh of relief.

Her body was still tense, however, as the moment of truth was now upon her.

Plucking her phone from her pocket, she swiped swiftly to her tracking App.

Her nemesis was no fool and would presumably have transferred the gold to another bag as soon as possible, the holdall being the most obvious place for Emilia to conceal a tracking device.

Which is why she had decided on a bolder strategy.

Grabbing the Dutchman by the lapels had been fun for the shock factor alone, his face a picture of surprise and anger, but her actions had concealed a darker purpose.

Grasping his jacket, she had taken the opportunity to attach a tiny tracking pin to the underside of his collar, only releasing the surprised trafficker once she was sure it was firmly attached.

But was it transmitting? Had her wild plan actually worked ?

The app now provided the answer, the flashing blue circle on her screen moving steadily east, as her enemy raced from the city.

Emilia let out a bark of triumph, her body pulsing with adrenaline.

Letting his love of money override the need for caution, he had walked into the trap and swallowed the bait.

Hook, line and sinker.