Louise stood nearby, and as her eyes finally locked on those of her partner, she smirked to herself; it was never old, flustering him before a big job. Gordon noticed, and quickly averted his eyes, but not before shooting her a glance as guilty as a Boy Scout who'd forgotten to clean the latrines on a camping trip.

Discreetly slipping out her mobile from her clutch bag, the redhead rang Jim. "Paul Woolford...hitting on a blonde at table 36. In a suitably shitty lamé jacket. Fish must've kitted him out for the evening...you know how wonderful her taste is," she growled down the phone. "Seen our other target?"