by Kate Johnson
‘Is it important?’ I asked, frowning. Mentally, I was counting up past jobs. Before the airport there had been the lab, and before that the video place, and before that …
All right, so there had been a lot of jobs. Temporary things while I worked out what to do next. Fillers, to tide me over. Keep money in the bank. The airport was the longest I’d ever stuck it out, and even that was only two years.
I didn’t finish university. I just kind of … assumed I’d work out what to do after a while. And all of a sudden, half-a-million temp jobs later, I’m not twenty-one any more. All of a sudden, thirty isn’t far away, and I still don’t have a proper job. Or a proper flat. Being my mother’s tenant doesn’t count. The most adult thing I have to my name is an arrest warrant.
Well … crap.
While I pondered this, my phone rang again.
‘You’re popular,’ Rachel said. ‘I heard it ringing in the middle of the night.’
‘Yeah,’ I said vaguely, scrabbling in my pocket for it. ‘British time.’
But when I got the phone out it wasn’t showing Luke’s name, or Docherty’s, or anyone’s. Again. That UK mobile number.
I let it go onto voicemail. At least, this was the plan, but I hadn’t damn well set up voicemail, so it just carried on ringing.
‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Rachel asked.
If it just rang out, would anyone be able to trace me on it? Did I have to answer for that to work?
I hit the ‘ignore’ button and the bleeping mercifully ceased.
‘Whatever,’ Rachel said, and went back to the computer. I opened my mouth to tell her she really ought to be in school, but in my heart of hearts I knew no school in the world would teach her how to track down criminals. Besides, I also knew she was in a Gifted & Talented programme which basically boiled down to a More Homework plan. Let the kid have fun for a day.
I wandered outside into the sunshine and poked around on my phone, setting up voicemail. I let the machine do its own automated message – no way was I setting myself up for a fall. I called Luke about the names Rachel had found, but only got his message service. Being that I was calling his secret phone, the message had been tailored to me.
‘Even the best of boyfriends has to sleep occasionally. Even the ones who are secret agents. Either that, or I’ve been shot or thrown into a woodchipper or something. I’ll call you back as soon as I find all my fingers.’
I smiled and left a message, then sat listening to the birds, a car occasionally swooshing by on the road, the distant drone of a plane far above. Teresa talking quietly on the phone.
‘… no sir, and I know this isn’t your area, but I believe she’s a dangerous criminal.’
Every muscle I had tightened.
‘Yes, she has at least one handgun. No, sir, she hasn’t threatened us, but –’
Fuck. I was on my feet, moving back through the house as quickly and quietly as possible. Ducked into the den, where Rachel was still studying data.
‘Anything new?’ I asked, trying to sound casual.
‘No. I can’t link any of these guys together.’
‘Okay, well, let me have what you’ve got and I’ll, er, I’ll, er … thanks,’ I babbled, and backed away. Smooth, Sophie, smooth.
I made it up to my room, heart pounding, and leaned against the door.
She’d turned me in. The bitch had turned me in!
I began shoving things back into my bag. The folded printouts went in the side pocket. Damn it, she’d let Rachel help me out – to what end? Gathering information she could give to the police? Why allow me to stay in the first place? Why turn me in?
But I knew the answer to that, and I couldn’t stay angry with her for it. Simply by being here I was endangering Teresa’s family. She’d already lost a daughter, and now I was putting her beloved grandchild at risk.
I sat down on the bed. Rachel’s genius help or not, I shouldn’t have come.
I was beginning to run out of places to hide.
I got out my phone and found a flight booking app. Looked up flights out of Cincinnati. How far could I get without changing planes?
Then I shoved the rest of my belongings into my bag and made my way downstairs. Teresa passed by in the hall and I pushed my bag behind the turn of the stairs so she wouldn’t see. Dammit. How to get it into the car without arousing her suspicions?
‘Teresa,’ I said, going down the rest of the way, ‘is there a mall or something around here? A high street? I could use some new clothes, I can’t just keep wearing these.’
‘I can wash them for you,’ she offered, face pleasantly unthreatening.
‘No, that’s fine. I could just use a couple more t-shirts, some more underwear, that kind of thing.’
She regarded me a moment. Then she said, ‘There’s one not far from here. When my husband gets home from work I’ll take you there.’
‘Well, why don’t we go now?’ I said, rapidly calculating how easy it would be to lose her in a busy mall.
‘I can’t leave Rachel home alone.’
The hell you can’t, I thought. Rachel would make Kevin McCallister look like an amateur.
‘She can come with us.’
‘No, if she’s seen I could get into trouble for letting her skip school. To help you,’ she added, and I winced.
‘Well, then, I’ll go by myself. I don’t want to trouble you,’ I added, and Teresa’s face stayed carefully immobile.
‘Well, all right then,’ she said, and gave me directions. I thanked her, smiled, went upstairs to retrieve my wallet, and scooped up the bag on the way. Went into my bedroom and closed the door noisily.
I waited a few seconds, then as quietly as I possibly could, tiptoed out of my room and into Rachel’s. Her window overlooked the drive at the side of the house where my hire car was parked. Cautiously, I opened it, leaned out as far as I could, and let the bag drop down between the car and the house. I flinched as it hit the ground, but I reminded myself that as I’d already packed with the violence of an airport baggage belt in mind, a fifteen-foot drop would be nothing in comparison.
I sauntered down the stairs, poked my head into the den to tell Rachel I was going shopping, and tried not to let my goodbye show in my face.
‘Laters,’ she said, not looking up.
So much for goodbyes.
I walked out of the house, calling to Teresa, ‘I won’t be long!’ and scuttled round to the driver’s side of the car, which luckily was also where the bag was. Opened the door. Chucked the bag in. Then I scuttled back, because that was the damn passenger side.
‘Drive on the right,’ I told myself out loud, just in case Teresa had seen me, although she’d have had to be hiding behind the curtains to do so.
Then I got behind the wheel, slid out of the drive, and got the hell out of Dodge.
‘Quite unbelievably lucky,’ said the surgeon crisply. ‘I hope you realise that.’
‘Every damn day,’ Luke said. ‘Can I go home now?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You most certainly can not. Do you know what the chances are of the bullet missing the scapular?’
‘Low,’ Luke said, smothering a yawn. He’d been there all day, in and out of consciousness, and now the pain meds were really beginning to kick in and he was starting to feel woozy.
‘Didn’t even nick the artery. No significant muscle damage …’ She actually sounded annoyed with him. ‘Mr Sharpe, you must have a guardian angel, that’s all I can say.’
Luke didn’t dignify that with an answer.
‘You’re very, very lucky.’ And she walked away. Luke watched her go, considering as he did that a year or so ago he’d probably have flirted with her a little more. An attractive woman, clearly skilled with her hands, who already knew what he looked like with his shirt off. He’d have done it automatically. A year ago.
He twisted to look at the heavy bandaging and hugely confining sling on his right arm.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I feel lucky.’
/> His head rested against the pillows propping him up. He’d been hurt before, of course he had, but never in his own home. The place was supposed to be a fortress. He had lasers on the windows and steel-reinforced doors. Yeah, so he also had a trapdoor exit, maybe he needed to secure that a bit better. But judging by the professionalism of the hit, the intruder probably had as much training in disabling locks and alarms as Luke himself had. God knew enough people had broken into his flat lately.
Who the hell had shot him? Who’d be breaking in like that? MI5 had no reason to shoot him. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Sunita he’d have been in a much worse state. People died from injuries like this. Bullet goes half an inch one way or the other and the artery explodes. Death in minutes. Could have shattered the bone. Or there was the risk of lung injury. A shot to the body was a shot to kill.
Sophie still charmingly believed in the idea that sometimes a person might shoot to wound, not to kill. But Luke had taken firearms training from the best. He knew that if you were shooting at someone, you meant to kill them.
The person who’d shot him knew what they were doing. The automatic, unpanicked, easy movements spoke of someone with years of training. That shot to the body would have killed him if he hadn’t moved.
It wasn’t 5. It wasn’t 6. Probably. Who else? A foreign agent? That deal he’d been working on in Kyrgyzstan? Unlikely. A personal enemy? He’d never considered that he had any.
Wait. What about Jack?
Could he have followed Luke home? But why interrogate him? He’d been perfectly willing to co-operate with Jack earlier and he hadn’t hidden the fact. Maybe Jack was a bit insane. In which case sending him off to help Sophie wasn’t a smart thing to do.
No, it couldn’t have been Jack. He had no reason to shoot Luke. Hell, if he’d wanted to he could have done it with Luke’s own gun.
‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ he muttered.
‘People trying to shoot you?’ came a voice from the doorway, and he looked over to see Evelyn standing there, immaculate as always.
‘He didn’t try to shoot me, he succeeded. He tried to kill me,’ Luke corrected tiredly.
‘He?’
‘Or she. Couldn’t tell.’
‘Luke Sharpe, unable to tell a man from a woman.’ She came forward into the room. ‘Forensics have been checking your flat.’
‘Is nowhere sacred?’
‘Looks like two rounds, one that hit you and one in the floor that must have missed by a few inches. Low-calibre gun. Yours hit a cupboard. You’ll need new glassware.’
‘Well then, get me to John Lewis, there’s not a moment to lose.’ He covered his face with his good arm.
‘On the counter …’ Evelyn hesitated.
Luke moved his arm and looked up at her. A tiny frown wrinkled her flawless forehead.
‘On the counter …?’
‘Coffee. Grains everywhere.’
He stared. ‘My intruder was making coffee?’
‘No. Your intruder was drugging your coffee. Barbiturates.’ She hesitated again. ‘I’ve seen the way you drink coffee. Strong and black, straight down. Doesn’t even touch the sides. I’d hazard a guess it’s the first thing you consume in the morning, too.’
He shrugged his left shoulder. ‘Not an unusual habit, is it?’
‘No, but … most people sip their coffee. You down yours so fast you’d have no idea there was anything wrong with it. This is someone who knows you, Luke.’
His head began to throb. Bit by bit, the truth invaded his foggy, medicated brain.
‘Think about it. You wake up in the morning, first thing you do is make yourself some coffee. Half-an-hour later you’re out cold. This person would even know when to come back and – well, do whatever they planned to do.’
Someone who knows you. ‘What do you think they planned to do?’ His voice sounded scratchy.
Evelyn shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe they were after information. They thought you knew something, or had something they wanted? After all, you do have access to some pretty sensitive information.’
‘No more than anyone else. I’m not even on a current case.’
Evelyn’s neat white teeth bit into her plump lower lip. ‘Well, you sort of are,’ she said.
‘No, you were there,’ he began tiredly.
‘Not an official case. Luke, what are you spending all your time doing?’
‘None of your business.’
‘You’re looking for Sophie. You’re trying to clear her name. Don’t you think it’s possible the two things are connected? Your girlfriend goes on the run and someone tries to drug you?’
‘Are you saying someone has it in for both of us?’
‘Maybe. Or maybe they wanted to know what you know. Do you know where she is?’
‘No.’ No, dammit.
‘You’re gathering evidence for her, aren’t you? Harrington would probably love to get his hands on what you know.’
‘Harrington can fuck off.’ He didn’t for a minute think Harrington had been the one breaking in. He wouldn’t do it like that, secret and underhand. He’d get a warrant and drag Luke in for questioning. He’d probably be doing that any day now.
He closed his eyes, overwhelmingly tired. ‘Did Forensics find anything else?’ His trapdoor? The illegally strong absinthe in the liquor cabinet? Photos he’d taken of Sophie naked?
‘Haven’t heard. I’ll tell you if they do.’ She took something from her pocket and laid it on the table by his bed. It was his phone. His official phone.
Then, her eyes steady on him, she took his unofficial phone from her other pocket and laid that down, too. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. Luke was damn lucky she’d picked up both before 5 found them.
‘You’re being watched,’ she said. ‘Sheila has someone here, and I’d be amazed if Harrington doesn’t, too. Possibly there’s someone from CID loitering about.’
‘I should sell tickets.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘What about Tammy?’
Evelyn looked blank.
‘Tammy, the cat. Sophie’s cat. I’m supposed to be looking after her. Tell me she hasn’t been let out of the flat.’
Evelyn narrowed her eyes and held out her hand. Marring her expensive manicure were a collection of small, angry red scratches.
‘Charming creature,’ she said.
‘Someone needs to look after her.’
‘It won’t be me. I am not a cat person.’ She said it with a delicate shudder, and Luke knew that if Sophie were here she’d be consigning Evelyn to a low circle of hell. Sophie claimed she could never get along with people who didn’t like cats. She said it was a fundamental difference in life philosophies, like trying to get along with a racist or someone who enjoyed The X Factor.
Angel had overheard her and replied, ‘That’s a bit offensive to people who like The X Factor, Sophie.’
‘The X Factor is offensive to me,’ Sophie had replied. ‘What’s your point?’
‘What are you smiling at?’ Evelyn said now, sounding annoyed that he could find anything to be amused about.
‘Nothing. Can you do me a favour?’
‘Of course.’ She smoothed down her jacket, which was perfect already.
‘Can you pick up Tammy and take her to Sophie’s parents? I’ll give you the address.’
‘I know where they live, everyone in the Service knows where they live,’ Evelyn said irritably, ‘but I am not picking that cat up.’
‘Come on, Evelyn.’ He tried to look weak and injured. ‘I can’t look after her, she’ll be scared and hungry; she’s only a small cat.’
‘A small cat with claws.’
‘If Sophie comes home and finds anything’s happened to her cat, I’ll tell her it’s your fault,’ Luke said, and enjoyed the brief expression of fear on her face.
‘All right, I’ll do it. But you owe me,’ she warned. ‘Is there a travelling case for it?’
It. Just because of that, Luke said, ‘No, sorry. Try wra
pping her up in a towel or something.’ Besides, Tammy’s travelling case was in the hall cupboard, right by his emergency trapdoor. Probably it wouldn’t go unnoticed much longer, but he’d rather Evelyn didn’t think he was a complete idiot just yet.
Evelyn let out an irritated breath. ‘If I get tetanus from this, I’m blaming you.’
‘Thank you, Evelyn. I’m in your debt, Evelyn. You’re very kind, Evelyn.’
‘I’m keeping score,’ she said, and left.
I was waiting for my flight when my phone rang. I flinched automatically – was it Rachel? – before I remembered she didn’t have this number. It was Docherty.
‘Hey. Did your gun arrive okay?’
‘Yes. Brilliant. Can’t thank you enough.’
‘I’m sure you could try,’ Docherty said silkily. ‘I can send the other two on if you want?’
My fingers tensed at the thought of what he might require in return for that. ‘I’ll get back to you on that,’ I said. ‘Hey, Docherty? Did you know Sir Theodore?’
‘A little. Did some protection work at BBC&H a while back.’
‘And Irene Shepherd?’
‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘Why did they need protecting?’
‘The firm represented Thom Cooper.’
I winced in recollection. Thom Cooper had been accused of raping and murdering a teenage girl. He’d hanged himself before he was finally sentenced, due in no small part to the massive hate campaign conducted by the tabloids.
‘Have you heard about the security guard?’ Docherty asked.
I frowned. ‘What security guard?’
‘The one at the office block where Sir Theodore was killed. He’d vanished, yes?’
‘Why does this leave me thinking he didn’t turn up at home with the flu?’
‘Because he turned up in the Thames. With a bullet in his head.’
‘Oh.’
‘One of your bullets.’
‘Oh.’
‘So that’s two murders you’re wanted for.’
‘Oh.’
‘As well as bashing that taxi feller in the head.’
‘Um.’
‘Sophie?’
‘Mmm?’
‘You okay?’
‘Two.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh.’ I shook myself. ‘Any more news?’