by Kate Johnson
I kept my gun in my hand, but out of friendship I lowered it a bit.
‘Don’t trust me?’
‘Don’t really trust anyone right now. And I’m not sure I can honestly believe you don’t have another gun about your person.’
Harvey inclined his head in a little nod. He’s a good-looking bloke, taller than Luke and broader, too. He makes tiny little Angel look like a child sometimes. He’s almost identical to Xander, only without the little scar Xander has across his eyebrow. The same glossy light brown hair, kind hazel eyes and square jaw that had greeted me in New York.
‘Why did you tell Consuela Sanchez you were called Alice Robinson?’
‘You really think I’d give my real name?’
‘You’re in a lot of trouble.’
‘Yep.’ And not just with the CIA.
He stayed standing, looking down at me.
‘You gonna arrest me?’ I asked.
He looked surprised. ‘Why would I arrest you?’
‘Um, I’m part of the whole case you’re investigating? And, um. Well, I know I’m not your favourite person right now.’
Harvey scrubbed his hands over his face. He sat down on the bed. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘About that.’
I winced, but when he took his hands from his face he didn’t look like he wanted an apology.
‘I’m really sorry about that,’ he said.
Wait. What?
‘Rachel chewed me out for it. And I mean, that girl can get … angry. I don’t know how the hell she ended up such a firebrand. Her mother was fairly normal. But she just went insane on me and told me if I went after you I’d be betraying a friend.’
‘Rachel did?’ I said, shocked.
‘Yeah. And you don’t want to know what she said to her grandmother. I have never seen Teresa Cortes so lost for words in my life. Rachel threatened to run away, and you know Rachel. She could be on another continent before you even realised her passport was missing.’
‘She’s a very smart girl,’ I croaked.
‘I know she is. I didn’t know she was so … loyal. She’s decided you’re her friend, Sophie, and nothing you can do can ever be wrong in her eyes.’
I stared at him, utterly flummoxed.
‘So I guess the only threat I have to make to you from now on is not to do anything to disappoint her. Like get shot or arrested for murder.’
‘I’m working on it,’ I said faintly.
Harvey gave me a bit of a smile. ‘Why are you sniffing around Irene Shepherd?’
I sighed. ‘Do you have several hours?’
‘Nutshell version please.’
‘She … has something to do with a lead I’m chasing up.’
‘That lead wouldn’t be a Tommy Canolti, would it?’
My fingers tightened around the butt of my gun.
‘You’re after Canolti, too?’
‘Yeah.’ Harvey sighed. He looked tired.
‘Who is he?’
‘He is someone wanted for numerous crimes. Not really connected to anything I’m doing – or wasn’t, until I got a report he’d been sniffing around Shepherd’s house. You wanna know how I knew he’d been there?’
‘Why do I have the feeling this isn’t going to be a happy ending?’
‘He left a phone number with the housekeeper. And you know who else left a number with the housekeeper?’
I tried out a meek expression. It wasn’t a good look for me.
‘And do you want to know how I know she had both your numbers?’
‘Surprise me,’ I said heavily.
‘She was found clutching them in her hand.’
I scrunched up my face. I knew what was coming.
‘And just to accessorise the pieces of paper, she also had a bullet in her back.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yep.’
Shit. Bugger, bollocks and arse, in that order.
‘So … you figured it had to be either me or him who killed her …’
‘Canolti skipped town. I ran a search on Alice Robinson and found you right here.’
‘I didn’t kill her,’ I said pre-emptively, and Harvey gave me a little smile. Then the smile faded.
‘Did you kill Sir Theodore Chesshyre?’
‘No.’
‘Just checking.’
‘I suppose you have to.’
‘I suppose I do.’ Harvey ran a hand across his face. He looked exhausted.
‘So,’ I said, ‘why are you on this case? The Irene Shepherd case.’
‘How do you know I am?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t you get all CIA on me. I know you are. It’s not your bag, is all.’
‘Not my bag?’ Harvey looked amused.
‘I watched Austin Powers on the flight from … somewhere.’ There’d been so many flights I just couldn’t remember any more.
‘Look, I wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for you.’
I raised my eyebrows.
‘Supreme Court Judge gets shot, well, that raises a few alarms. Shot by a foreign national, that raises a few more. Especially when we find out said foreign national has a sister in the British Service. Then we hear this case is connected to the death of an MI5 officer, and that the major suspect for that is another British Service agent named Sophie Green.’
‘Former British Service agent,’ I stressed.
Harvey gave a ghost of a smile, then went on, ‘Truth be told, Sophie, I volunteered for this. I didn’t really think it was you, I thought …’
What, Harvey? You thought what? But his face had gone blank again.
‘Everyone’s gunning for you. I just figured if I got here first I could at least ask questions before shooting.’
‘Are you going to?’ I asked. ‘Shoot me?’
‘Did you kill Shepherd?’ I shook my head. ‘Chesshyre?’ Another shake. ‘Then no, I’m not gonna shoot you.’
‘So …what happens now?’ I ventured.
Harvey groaned and flopped back on the bed. ‘I don’t even know any more. Jesus, Sophie, don’t you ever get tired of all this?’
What a question.
‘Can you keep a secret?’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘I’m so tired of this I – I was actually considering going home and turning myself in.’
He sat up straight and looked right at me. I looked right back. I had my gun in my lap and a weight in my head that made my brain ache and my eyes sting. I was tired, still pretty cold, depressed and rather frightened.
‘I’ve been on the run for weeks,’ I said. ‘And I’m no closer to figuring this out than I was before. In fact I’m more confused than ever, because all I’ve been able to find out is that my main lead doesn’t actually exist. She’s a bloody ghost. And I’ve got no help from –’ I stopped suddenly, remembering that Harvey was trying to find Jack.
I could drop him right in it, right now. I could tell Harvey where Jack was – or used to be. I knew his alias. I knew his leads and I knew how his mind worked. Well, sort of. I could probably figure out where he was going next.
Probably here. Right where Harvey was.
‘From who?’ Harvey asked.
‘I, er – from anyone. You, even. Do you know who killed Irene Shepherd?’
He shrugged. ‘There’s a suspect …’
‘Right, the guy you think is a secret assassin. Has he killed anyone else?’
‘Not so far. Although I could probably pin Consuela Sanchez on him.’
‘Do you know what kind of gun it was? What kind of bullet?’
‘Nah. Only found her a couple hours ago. I mean, I’ll know probably by tomorrow, but …’
I nodded. Of course, it was perfectly feasible that Jack actually had killed Sanchez. Just as it was possible he’d killed Shepherd.
He wouldn’t tell me how many people he’d killed.
I opened my mouth, about to say that Jack de Valera was in East Penobscot, Maine, and did he want directions, when something hit the back of my head. I t
hink it was my conscience.
I looked at Harvey’s kind, tired face, and saw the same fierce intelligence that burned behind his daughter’s eyes. Harvey had just apologised to me for something that was my fault, all to appease the beliefs of a nine-year-old girl. A girl who thought I was her friend. A girl who valued loyalty.
If I told her I’d turned Jack in, she’d never forgive me.
‘Will I be needing to get out of town?’ I said instead.
‘Yeah. I called Alice Robinson’s name in, so she’s a suspect now. Jesus, Sophie, I didn’t think it’d be you. I thought I’d found another suspect.’
I closed my eyes. So, basically, I was screwed. No more plane travel.
‘Can’t you tell them it was a mistake? That it was actually Alison Robinson, or Robins, or you couldn’t find anyone by that name, or you made it up, or …’
Harvey’s gaze was steady, the blank look I was so used to getting from Luke when he was Not Allowed To Talk About It.
‘Right.’
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’ I stood up. My gun was still in my hand. ‘Going to arrest me?’
Harvey gave me a long look, and his eyes narrowed slightly. ‘When I arrived at the scene,’ he said, as if reading out a report, ‘the window was open and the hotel room empty. Although I searched the vicinity, the suspect had escaped.’
I exhaled in relief. ‘I need to get out of town. Without giving anyone my name.’
‘No flying.’
‘Nope.’
‘If it helps, I won’t tell MI5.’
‘Cheers.’
‘You want a ride?’
‘Depends where you’re going.’
‘Can you afford to be picky?’
I guessed not.
‘How’s the train system in America?’ I asked.
Ten a.m. and his head was pounding like an executioner’s drum. Luke leaned back against the spiked railings opposite Thames House and asked himself if he was about to do something really, really stupid.
Yes, he answered back. Really, really stupid.
He considered the situation from all angles. Sophie was tired, desperate, and beyond caring if she revealed her location to him. She’d sent a text last night asking him about a man who didn’t, officially, exist. There was no record anywhere of Irene Shepherd having a regular gardener, although when he’d looked up Tommy Canolti he’d found a man with fingers in lots of pies, all of them unsavoury. Could be the killer. Could be an accomplice. Either way, he was after Sophie.
Then there was this Sarah Wilde woman. He still doubted she even existed, but he couldn’t deny that someone was using her name to travel around. Sophie was convinced a woman was after her. He’d had nightmares last night about Alexa Martin and had even called the Home Office again to see if they were absolutely, a hundred-percent sure she was still in jail. They wouldn’t even speak to him.
He’d talked to Maria about her brother, but she hadn’t heard from him at all for days. ‘He can take care of himself, Luke. And he’ll take care of Sophie.’
He hadn’t told her Jack and Sophie had gone their separate ways. No need to worry her any more.
So, he recapped to himself. The woman you love has been accused of pretty much every crime bar arson in a naval dockyard. She may even be guilty of them. MI5 are after her but they don’t seem to know where she is or what her alias is. At least one killer, possibly two, are also after her, and they definitely do know where she is. If you go after her you will be followed, even if you use a fake passport because the bastard things were issued by MI6 in the first place. Docherty, good though he is, simply can’t get you a replacement in time to get you out there.
There wasn’t any time to lose. Someone needed to get to Sophie before the killer did. Someone with greater resources and a vested interest in getting her back in the country, and in one piece.
Docherty might be able to retrieve her, but she’d still be a wanted criminal. He didn’t trust Harvey not to turn her over to the American authorities. Maria, much like himself, was under lockdown while her brother was a wanted criminal. Jack had proved a dud. There was only one person Luke could trust to get Sophie back alive, and he really, really hated the bastard.
He stared up at the grand portico of Thames House and dialled a number with fingers that felt like lead.
‘Harrington,’ he said. ‘Let’s make a deal.’
Chapter Sixteen
Harvey very kindly called up somebody (rail enquiries, CIA personal travel planner, who knows?) and found out that the next train from Hartford going anywhere near Maine wasn’t leaving for about another seven hours. If I hadn’t had hypothermia before, I’d get it waiting for that.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘and I’m only doing this because you set me up with my wife, but how about I drive you to Springfield and you get the next train from there?’
I threw my arms around him. ‘When will that be?’
He made another call.
‘Eight-thirty a.m. I can get you there by then.’
What an adorable, wonderful man. Had I been less tired and confused, I might have suspected an ulterior motive from him. But by that point, he could have driven me direct to Langley and shackled me in irons, and I wouldn’t have minded so long as I got a nice warm blanket and people stopped aiming guns at me.
I dozed off in his warm, fast car, and he woke me less than an hour later. I still had ages to wait, but it was a much faster trip than waiting for the train.
‘Have I told you lately that I love you?’ I said as I got out of the car, pulling my bag into the cold morning air.
He grinned. ‘No, but you can tell me when this is all over.’
I liked his use of ‘when’ as opposed to ‘if’.
I bit my lip. ‘Um, and Harvey? You couldn’t lend me a few bucks, could you?’
Harvey covered his face and started laughing, but he handed me a few notes, and I pledged to adore him for all eternity.
I hugged him close, knowing this little interlude of friendship was over. As soon as he drove away, he’d be Agent Harvard again, and I’d be a fugitive. ‘You’re a good friend, Harvey.’
‘I know.’
‘Give my love to Angel and Rachel.’
‘I will.’
‘And to Luke.’
He hesitated. ‘Okay, but not in the same way.’
I smiled. ‘And remember, you didn’t see me.’
‘Interesting train of thought. Take care, Sophie.’
‘It’s Alice. No, it’s not. It’s, uh …’
He kissed my cheek. ‘I’ll call you if I hear anything.’
‘Ditto.’
He got back in the car, and I walked into the station, and we both knew the other was lying. Harvey was a good friend. He wasn’t an idiot.
I made it with time to spare, changed trains with no problem, and as lunchtime approached found myself on a train travelling through Vermont, which was beautiful.
My stomach rumbled, and I realised I’d eaten nothing since that pizza on Tuesday night. It was now Thursday afternoon. Alighting in Portland, Maine, I had a couple of hours before catching my bus, so I found a fast-food restaurant, dug out one of the paperbacks I’d bought on the trip, and tried to stay awake.
Traffic was bad, and it was dark when I alighted in Bangor. Too tired to think about getting to East Penobscot by bus or train or taxi or foot or even sodding wing, I called Information, got a taxi service and told the driver to take me to the nearest hotel. He did, and I checked in as Ms Sara Lee Gateau. You can tell where my mind was. I just had enough about me to switch my phone off before I crashed out and fell fast asleep.
I couldn’t bear the thought of any more travelling. This was the last place I’d be going. If anyone wants me, I’ll be in Maine, and I will not be sodding leaving until they clear me of all charges, bung me in an oubliette, or shoot me.
Right now, it’s only the last one that’s looking likely.
Luke woke for the second
time in the immaculate spare bedroom of Evelyn’s flat. This time recollection didn’t hit him like a train, but reversed over him several times.
Harrington had invited him in, but instead of going to his office and discussing what information Luke had to share, like a civilised person would, he took him to a windowless room and got a big guy with far too many muscles to beat seven kinds of hell out of him.
‘Where is she?’ Thump. ‘What’s her alias?’ Kick. ‘How is she moving around?’ Bit of light dismemberment.
All right, it was possible he’d hallucinated the last one. He’d fought back, but it had been a while since he’d been in a knockdown, dirty fight, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t damaged so much as the pride of the big man. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t ache or throb or pound with pain.
The door opened and Evelyn came in, carrying a glass of water and a bottle of pills. ‘Good morning, sunshine,’ she said.
‘What’s good about it?’ His voice was a groan.
‘Well, you’re alive. Although I’ve honestly no idea how. Or why. What did you do to Harrington?’
Luke raised an arm and pressed it over his eyes. It hurt to move. It hurt not to.
‘Offered to turn Queen’s Evidence.’
Evelyn said nothing. Luke moved his arm and peeked at her.
‘Did you say Queen’s Evidence?’
He nodded. That hurt, too.
Evelyn sat down a little heavily on the chair by the bed. It was the first time he’d seen her do anything without perfect catlike grace. ‘In return for what? As far as I know you haven’t been accused of anything, although I’m going to level a charge of Acute Stupidity at you.’
‘For bringing Sophie back safe. There’s a killer after her.’
‘Besides Harrington you mean? Did you tell him where she is?’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t strike bargains with violent thugs.’
‘Well, that’s one thing.’ She reached into her pocket and took out his secret phone, the one he used for calling Sophie. ‘And at least he didn’t get his hands on this.’
‘Thanks for looking after it.’