by Kate Johnson
‘Apart from when she was on Her Majesty’s official business and had been authorised to use extreme force. Killing in self-defence isn’t the same as murder.’
‘But it’s hardly going to convince a judge she’s harmless, is it? Two confirmed kills. It’s on her record.’
‘They were both –’ Luke began, then stopped. What was the point? He had more than that on his own record. And unlike Sophie’s panicked, inaccurate shots, fired in defence not just of her own life but those of innocents, of colleagues, even of himself – unlike Sophie, he’d killed cleanly and coldly. He’d shot unarmed men before they could become armed. He’d taken lives in the dead of night, anonymously. It was his job.
‘It’s three a.m.,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m not having this argument with you, Evelyn.’
‘But,’ she began, and he ended the call.
He lay in the darkness, on a narrow and uncomfortable bed, thinking of Sophie and the first time she’d fired a gun. Faced with an armed criminal, a vicious murderer. She hadn’t gone in alone, but her two colleagues had already been shot down. Wounded, frightened, armed with a gun she had no idea how to use, she’d fired blindly. He’d seen the body. Any fool could tell it wasn’t a deliberate hit.
He’d gone to her afterwards, slipped into her bed and made her smile, made her laugh, praised her bravery and cleverness. He’d made love to her and she’d fallen asleep in his arms for the first time, soft and warm and trusting.
She’d cried in her sleep, kicked and thrashed and gasped, ‘No,’ over and over, and Luke had remained silent. Stroked her hair, calmed her, and never said a word about it.
The second time had been even worse. She’d woken, tear-streaked and miserable from her nightmare, and whispered, ‘I thought I was losing my soul.’
People like Sophie didn’t kill cleanly and coldly. They didn’t take lives anonymously, in the dead of night.
People like Luke did.
He went to sleep, and dreamed of shooting dead every person who was chasing his girlfriend.
So I spent another night in the arms of another man who wasn’t my boyfriend. If Luke ever found out he’d go mental.
If I ever saw Luke again. In my present sorry state I wasn’t counting on it.
The scent of coffee woke me, and in the background I could hear the low babble of a radio. My back ached and my stomach growled and I stumbled out of bed, pulled my clothes on and made an expedition to the living room.
Xander was sitting at what might, under all the mess, be the kitchen table, reading a paper. ‘Morning,’ he said, and glanced at his watch. ‘I mean, afternoon.’
‘Mergh,’ I said. ‘Bathroom?’
He pointed, I gathered my things and locked myself in for a nice long, hot shower. The rest of Xander’s flat – sorry, apartment – was in a horrible state, but his bathroom was presentable and I borrowed a clean towel from the warm rail, wrapping myself up and feeling more human. Clean clothes, make-up and toothpaste added to the illusion of normality, and when I emerged about half-an-hour later, the coffee smell was even richer and more yummy.
There was a bakery bag of deliciousness on the coffee table, and Xander sat there looking pleased with himself.
‘You got me breakfast?’
‘Dialled for it myself.’ He opened the bag and handed me a cupcake smothered in fat icing. ‘I know how much you like them.’
The cupcake lasted about ten seconds. It was followed by a doughnut (custard cream with chocolate icing and sprinkles: for the terminally indecisive) and a bran muffin that had been warming in the oven, spread with butter. Xander had ordered coffee from the deli, as well as making a big pot to back it up.
Sometimes I wondered why I didn’t just cut my losses and become a fag hag.
Replete, I flopped on the sofa and Xander handed me my phone. ‘Luke called.’
I stared in horror. ‘You didn’t answer?’
‘No. I’m not stupid, sweetie. I looked at the display.’
The voicemail icon was flashing, and after a comic couple of minutes trying to figure out how to retrieve it, I eventually listened to the message.
‘Hi, it’s me. (pause) I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days so I’m just calling to see how you are. (pause) Apparently you made a big splash in London on Saturday night. They added kidnapping and robbery to your rap sheet. (pause) Armed robbery. (pause) Anyway. I hope you’re okay. (pause) Give me a call, stop me imagining you in a ditch with your brains blown out. (pause) I’ll try the other phone you called me on. Probably you got this one blown up. (pause) Bye.’
Harold Pinter couldn’t have put more pauses in there.
‘What’s he want?’ Xander asked.
‘Just checking I haven’t got myself blown up.’
‘Angel told me about the car you totalled.’
It’s good to know I’m providing my friends with gossip.
I scrunched up my nose. ‘Angel has a big mouth for someone who knows so many secrets.’
‘Honey, it was an exploding car. These things tend to make the news.’
‘With my name attached?’
Xander just laughed. ‘A car gets blown up, and it’s either going to be Al Qaeda or Sophie Green.’
‘Thanks for that.’
I took my coffee and the remains of the bakery bag into Xander’s studio – the largest room in the apartment with big windows and massive floodlights – and called Luke’s number.
‘I’m not exploded,’ I said when he picked up.
‘That’s nice. Where have you been for three days?’
‘Not London. Well, I mean I was there, but now I’m not.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Somewhere else.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I – I had things to do.’ I ran my hand over my face, feeling horribly tired. Not for the first time, and not for the last, I wanted to crawl back into bed. Preferably Luke’s bed. ‘I have to find Sarah Wilde.’
‘I thought she didn’t exist?’
‘She does. We found someone who remembered her.’
‘Who?’
I might as well tell him. He’d probably found out from the source anyway.
‘Someone from BBC&H.’
‘The one you kidnapped?’
‘We did not kidnap her! We didn’t. She was in her own home, and we were very nice, and we –’
‘Stole her wallet.’
‘It’s expensive, being on the run.’
‘Yeah. You know, I could lend you some money …’
‘I’m still not telling you where I am.’
‘Sophie. Please promise me you won’t do something like this again. Armed robbery, for Christ’s sake!’
‘It wasn’t armed robbery,’ I began, but he cut me off.
‘You threatened her with a gun and took her wallet. How would you describe it?’
‘Desperation!’ All right, clearly I was more tired and frustrated than I’d realised. I was starting to shout. ‘Look, we just needed answers and she wasn’t going to give them to us without a little bit of … coercion, and I might add that hitting her over the head wasn’t my idea. I didn’t intend to hurt her. I still didn’t hurt her,’ I corrected. ‘Look, I just took money. Credit cards. They’re all covered by insurance.’
‘It’s still illegal. Look, Sophie …’
He sounded tired. He sounded worried. A wave of affection swept over me.
‘I can take care of myself,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘Sophie, this isn’t like playground games where the worst that can happen is you might get a detention. These might be minor crimes but they can still get you for them. Al Capone was done for tax evasion. Dick Turpin was done for stealing a sheep.’
‘It was a horse, actually,’ I said, the affection ebbing a bit.
‘I’m just asking you to be careful. Not do anything that might draw attention to yourself. Anything … stupid.’
My nostrils flared.
All right, so sometimes I do things that are irrational and, er, maybe a bit hasty, but I’m not stupid. The aptitude tests I did when I applied for the job with Sir Theo actually proved that. But being tall and big-busted and blonde kind of moulds a girl. It’s easy to put on the Dumb Blonde mask, and a whole lot harder to take it off.
What I’m saying is … I’m kind of sensitive about the whole ‘stupid’ issue.
‘I’m not being stupid,’ I said evenly, my temperature rising. I stared at the picture opposite, a multicoloured canvas that seemed to depict three naked men dancing. I squinted closer. At least, I thought they were dancing.
‘These people are dangerous, Soph.’
‘I know they’re bloody dangerous,’ I yelled. ‘They blew up your car and tried to kill Jack.’ I tried to calm myself. ‘Although maybe whoever it was had a point there.’
‘What do you mean? What’s he done?’
‘Nothing, he’s just – he’s really, really annoying, and sometimes I think …’
Sometimes I think I can’t trust him. Sometimes I think he’s the only person I can trust. And sometimes I think he’s the biggest threat to me right now.
‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s stormed off in a huff. I’m on my own again.’
‘What?’ Luke said, and there was something behind the incredulity in his voice that gave me pause. ‘Oh, come on, Sophie, he’s only been back with you – can’t have been more than … what, four days? Three?’
I gazed at the naked men, an awful suspicion stealing over me. ‘How,’ I said, ‘do you know how long it’s been?’
He hesitated a fraction too long. ‘Oh, what you said when you called me,’ he said, but I was already shaking my head.
‘You’re supposed to be a spy, Luke,’ I said. ‘You can lie better than that.’
‘What – why would – what do I even have to lie about?’
‘I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?’
Silence.
‘How did you know how long it’s been since Jack and I teamed up again? And why did you sound so … put out, when I said he’d gone again? Why are you so keen for me to be with him?’
Even as I said the words, my insides turned to ice.
Are you breaking up with me?
The words rose inside my mind but I couldn’t form them.
‘I just,’ Luke paused again, ‘I just don’t think you should be alone right now. I don’t think … look, this is a big thing and it’s frightening and dangerous and you shouldn’t be in it alone.’
I stared at the naked men, eyes wide and dry with horror.
‘I just don’t think you can do it alone,’ Luke said, and I registered the pain in his voice, but it was nothing compared to the pain inside me. Or the anger. The sudden, angry blonde, I-don’t-need-you, don’t-call-me-stupid, vicious anger that the fear had only temporarily suppressed.
‘You know what, Luke Sharpe?’ I said. ‘I was taking care of myself all by me onesie for a long time before you, or Jack, or anyone else came along to help me. And the way I see it, my life might have been boring but it was safe, and no one ever tried to kill me. So I think from here on out I’ll take care of myself, thanks. I’m actually pretty good at it.’
‘Sophie –’
‘Screw you,’ I said, and jabbed at the screen to end the call. This wasn’t nearly satisfying enough, so I went over to a cupboard and punched it.
That was better.
I love Luke. I really, really do. I love the way he looks and smells and tastes, but I also love the way he cares and thinks and laughs and cries and holds me and loves me. I love him because I know him, although sometimes he can really, really piss me off.
I didn’t know why he wanted to send Jack out to help me, or even if he had. Maybe I was putting two and two together and getting purple. Wouldn’t be the first time.
But something wasn’t right, and the very best of it that I could make out was that Luke thought I was incompetent.
The worst was that he wanted to break up with me, and thought pushing me together with Jack might soften the blow. I wondered if I should tell him that Jack had kissed me. That I could easily have had sex with him that night. I wondered if I should pretend I actually had.
Then I caught myself, and sagged against the wall.
What if he was simply looking out for me?
I’d alienated my boyfriend, and two of my best allies. Well, that’s some nice going, Sophie.
I sniffed and tilted my head back so the tears gathering under my lids wouldn’t spill out and mess up my mascara, then I shook myself and went back out into the living room, where at least I still had one friend left.
‘Your friend Jack,’ Xander held up a section of the New York Times, the biggest fattest paper in all existence, trees get ready to be scared, ‘was spotted in London yesterday.’
I snatched the paper, almost tearing it. There was a tiny filler article about him – apparently the Chesshyre and Shepherd story was still under wraps, and Jack was just wanted ‘for questioning in connection with’ Maura’s kidnapping – and a long-range shot of someone who could have been him, leaving a café. I scoured the picture, but couldn’t see myself in it. So if Luke knew I’d been involved in it, the Service knew about it – but the police didn’t. Or at least they weren’t letting on that they did.
Then I read, ‘British police are checking the credit card stolen by de Valera and hope to trace his whereabouts soon.’
Oh crap. Jack couldn’t have been stupid enough to use Maura’s card to book the flights, could he? I thought he’d used cash from her account. Goddamn it, why did I let him do the booking?
I ran my hand over my face. If Harrington found our flights charged to Maura’s card, he’d have our IDs in seconds flat. Hell, even if Jack hadn’t used the credit card, they’d probably figure we were in New York just by talking to Maura.
They’d probably be staking out David-John’s practice right now.
I was only half-a-step ahead now.
Dilemma. I needed to see the doctor. I needed to warn Jack about the doctor.
Or did I? Did I need to warn the selfish, moody bastard? Did he deserve it? He could be working for the FBI or the CIA or the NSA or MI5 or CID or the bloody RSPCA for all I knew.
Instincts, Sophie. If you can’t trust anyone else, trust your instincts.
Yeah, because they’d been doing so well for me lately.
I ran my hands through my wet hair and blew out a sigh.
‘Between you and me, sweetie, that cut doesn’t do very much for your face shape,’ Xander said, and I gave him a look that has floored lesser men. ‘Well, it doesn’t,’ he defended weakly.
‘It’s a disguise,’ I said wearily. ‘Look. Xander. I need to get an appointment with a top orthopaedic surgeon.’
He looked confused. ‘You have a back problem? Uh, is this really the time –’
‘He’s a lead,’ I said.
‘Oh. Oh. A lead. Right. Is he a suspect?’
‘Nope. But he has treated one.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Leonard David-John. Lexington Avenue.’
‘Lexington?’ Xander whistled. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘Uh,’ I grabbed my bag and consulted my notes. ‘Between seventy-first and -second.’
‘Damn expensive. When do you want this appointment?’
‘Um, today?’
Xander looked at me like I was insane. ‘Are you nuts? It’ll take months to get an appointment.’
‘What if it was an emergency?’
‘An orthopaedic emergency?’
‘Fine. I’ll kidnap him, too.’
Xander sighed. ‘Okay, all right,’ he said. ‘Do you have a phone number?’
I grinned childishly and handed over the number. Xander dialled, waited, and made a face at me. ‘After this we’re even.’
I smiled a bit more. He might be gay, but I could still get him to do whatever I wanted.
‘Hi,’ he said, and he was
using the actor’s trick of smiling as he spoke. ‘Who am I speaking to? Sherlindria?’ He made a dreadful face at me. ‘That is the prettiest name. Where did that name come from? Uh-huh … Uh-huh … Well, that is the most fascinating story,’ he mimed a gigantic yawn. ‘What was that, honey? Well, yes, as a matter of fact, there is something you could do for me.’
Oh, please.
‘I am trying to track down an old, old friend of mine, I’ve known him since I was a little boy, and the last I heard, he was earning godzillions as a doctor. His name? Lenny. Leonard. Leonard David-John, I always thought that sounded like he was three people … He does? Well, that is fabulous. Now, I know there’s a huge long waiting list at places like yours, but do you think – oh, no, is he? Well, that is so disappointing.’
‘What, what?’ I mimed furiously.
‘Well, I guess he works hard enough to deserve a vacation.’
Dammit.
‘Where?’ I mouthed.
‘You know, we once went on vacation together, we went to the Grand Canyon … But then I suppose little trips like that are below Lenny now, huh? What sort of place does a top orthopaedic surgeon go to on holiday?’
Please be Barbados, please be Barbados.
‘New England? Oh, that is just sooo Lenny. Whereabouts? Vermont? There was this little town – Maine? Oh, I see, yes, that would be funny. Uh-huh? Oh, yes, of course! I’d forgotten she lived there. How incredibly dense of me. You can see why it was him who became the doctor, not me. Well, then I shall give her a call … You are a doll, Sherlindria. What? Oh, yes, you tell him Luke Sharpe called. No, you have a nice day.’
He put the phone down. ‘I need to call the police. Whoever named that child Sherlindria is guilty of child abuse.’
‘Her name’s probably Sharon.’
‘Yeah. So, what did you think?’ He struck a pose.
‘You missed your calling.’
‘Didn’t I just? Momma always said they should put me on the stage.’
‘Probably the stagecoach,’ I said, but I was genuinely pleased with him. ‘So? Whereabouts in Maine is he?’
‘Not far from Old Town. Sherlindria thought that was hilarious, because she thought there should be a New Town …’
‘Hilarious,’ I said dryly.
‘Precisely. He’s staying with his sister, whose name is Belinda Marple, and she lives in a little town called East Penobscot off the river of the same name.’ Xander fluttered his long eyelashes at me. ‘You can thank me later.’