“And I’ve seen you two together. You look good together. She likes you, Luke. She really wants you.”
Was I that transparent?
Okay, yes, when it came to Luke, I knew I was.
There was a long silence, and then Maria sighed.
“Is this that stupid thing where you’re trying to compensate for years of childhood loneliness by making everyone want you? Because, Luke, honey,
get over it
. It’s not your fault your parents died. It’s not your fault your family was too busy for you. Stop fucking people over just because you’re a fuck-up too.”
I didn’t know his parents had died. I only knew he went to boarding school. Shit, did his family really not want him? How could you not want Luke? Talk about textbook psychology.
“I wasn’t trying to make her want me,” Luke said, his voice tight and stubborn.
“But you did. Luke, you like her. A lot. You can’t lie to me, I know you too well.”
“Okay, all right, I like her. But that’s all. Don’t try and push us together. I don’t need this.”
“You need her,” Maria said quietly. “How long has it been since you had her?”
“Five days.”
Four days, twenty hours, thirty-four minutes and about twenty seconds. Not that I was counting.
“Five days and you’re flying off the handle.”
“So?” Luke sounded angry. “It’s just sex. I could go out and find another girl—someone hotter, someone who doesn’t talk back all the time, someone who can maybe throw and catch—” Hey! Not my fault I’m clumsy —“and shag her instead. And you know what, maybe I should.”
“So go on, then. Go on, right now. Go up to the pub or into town and get a bird and shag her. If Sophie means nothing to you. Come on,” I heard her jangling keys, “I’ll even give you a lift.”
My heart rate was trying to break the Vanquish’s top speed record. I clutched the transmitter with palms that were pouring with sweat. No one was saying anything.
And then Luke spoke, quiet and distant, and I had to strain to hear him.
“I thought about her this morning,” he said. “When I woke up. Out there in Ireland with that smooth-talking bastard. You reckon she slept with him?”
I blinked. So
that’s
what this was about?
“I don’t think so,” Maria said gently.
“He tried to bloody kill her, Maria. Do you know how many years that girl has taken off my life? I can’t go and get another bloody girl because I keep thinking about
her
.”
And then, right then, my heart stopped. He really thought about me?
“How many girls do you know who are like her? Who’d get turned on by car statistics? Who’d take on a lunatic job like this? Who’d…who’d take off all her clothes and say ‘educate me’?”
“
Really
?” Maria said, and I blushed hard, hoping I wouldn’t see her any time soon.
“She’s a fucking maniac with a firearm. She brought down a master criminal five minutes after firing her first gun. She—she…” Luke gave an impatient sigh, as if he was really annoyed with himself. “Her hair smells like coconuts.”
There was a long silence, which ended when I shoved back my chair, grabbed my bag and jumped into Ted without stopping to check if the door was locked. Without a single glance out of any window or mirror, I drove straight to Luke’s where the yard was empty of Maria’s car, God bless her, abandoned Ted and raced up the stairs, kicked open Luke’s unlocked door and ran through the flat to the bathroom, where water was drumming.
I pulled back the shower curtain and stared at Luke, who froze, naked and soapy and just incredible.
“Did you mean it?” I asked, my voice husking, trying not to tremble.
“Sophie?”
The water splashed on me. It was cold. “What you said to Maria. Did you mean it?”
Another long beat, when I thought my heart was going to break right out of my chest, and then he nodded.
I pulled off my T-shirt, yanked off my shorts and kicked my shoes away. Then I ducked under the cold water, gasping, and looked up at Luke. “Prove it.”
A while ago I said that sleeping with Luke was educational, a fact that he remembered. Well, now I reckon I must have a PhD at least. I have never been so exhausted or completely, bone-deep happy in all my life.
I also never thought I’d enjoy education so bloody much.
I was woken from a well-deserved sleep by my phone trilling and bleeping. I couldn’t remember where I’d left it, and I was too knackered to move, but Luke swung out of bed and padded into the bathroom, coming back out and chucking my bag at me.
“Ow.”
“I can’t believe you have the Bond theme on your phone.”
I wasn’t going to tell him I’d downloaded the Darth Vadar theme for when he called me. “I thought it was topical.”
He got back into bed and snuggled up behind me as I pulled out the phone, glanced at the display, and said a sleepy, “Hello?” to Maria.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
“I’m very okay,” I said happily as Luke stroked my hair away from the back of my neck, strand by damp strand.
“Really?” She sounded surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
“Did I wake you?”
“Mmm. Yes.” I glanced at the clock. Just before midnight. “But it’s okay. I’ve been asleep for a while.”
“Speak for yourself,” Luke murmured against the back of my neck.
“Is there someone with you?”
“Erm, yes.” Now I was surprised. I’d always thought Maria was quite bright. “Luke, remember?”
“Really?” She sounded thoroughly confused. “But— I don’t understand. After what he said—”
“I’m never getting out of this bed,” I finished happily, and Luke started licking my shoulder.
“But—Sophie—was the transmitter malfunctioning? Did you miss it?”
“Miss what?” I said, a little icy trickle of uneasiness cutting through my warm, happy fug.
“What he said about you.”
“No, I heard it. That’s why I’m here.”
“Heard what?” Luke mumbled against my neck. “Tell her to sod off.”
“But if you’re there… I mean, Sophie, I thought you wanted…”
I pushed Luke away and sat up, frowning. “Tell me.”
Maria paused and gave an uneasy sigh. “He said… Oh God, Soph, he said he didn’t love you. He said he could never love you. He said there could never…”
The icy trickle was a big stream now. “What, Maria? What did he say?”
She sniffed. “He said there could never be anything more than just sex between you.”
I stared down at Luke, lying there looking so beautiful, the source of all my happiness, and my mind went blank of everything but a hideous, numbing pain.
How could I have been so fucking stupid?
Listen, Sophie, don’t go off half-cocked, use your brain and
listen
.
“I—” I croaked, and Luke frowned.
“What is it? Are you okay? Is Maria—”
“I have to go,” I said, and dropped the phone and scrambled out of bed, away from him. My clothes were in the bathroom, my underwear soaked through from the shower, so I left it and just stepped into my shorts and T-shirt, shaking and shivering, no idea of what to say or do in my head.
And when I went back out the bedroom was empty, the sheets crumpled, both Luke and my phone gone and I realised with hot, heavy dread that I had never ended the call to Maria.
Luke was sitting out on the chesterfield, wearing only his jeans, staring at the phone he held in his lovely hands. My phone. He turned to look at me, and I knew Maria had told him the truth.
“You wanted to end it,” I said, before he could speak.
“You spied on me,” he replied, his voice as flat as mine.
“I’m a spy, Luke.”
“Not a very good one.”
I stared at him, winded for a few seconds.
Bastard.
And then I found my voice.
“You know, I knew you had no respect for me as an agent,” I said. “I always knew that. And I minded, but I didn’t mind so much because I thought you had a little bit of respect for me as a person. Just a little,” I said, my voice breaking, treacherous tears starting to spill down my face. “But now I can see you don’t—”
“Hey,” Luke stood up, tall and strong and more than a little scary, “you can’t talk about respect when you bugged that whole conversation. You set her up, didn’t you? You sent Maria in here to suss me out—”
“Well, you never told me how you felt! And I can’t believe you…I can’t believe you let me…let me do all that,” I waved a distraught hand at the bedroom, choking on my own stupid tears, “when you knew I wanted more, you tricked me…”
Damn, look at me. Standing there crying like a pathetic loser, when what I’d wanted to do was make a dignified exit, some smart quip, get on with my life. I didn’t need him.
But he’d made me so bloody happy, just for a few hours, and I thought it might last. Despite all the severe weather warnings, I thought it might last.
God, Sophie Green, you really are so fucking stupid.
I made two steps towards him, took my phone without touching him or looking at him—quite a feat, really—and left. He didn’t try to stop me.
What followed should have been the sort of episode you usually get in films, where the heroine, looking wan but beautiful, drives home in the rain, her tears matching the rivers of water falling artistically down her windscreen, lets herself in and watches a mournful black and white film on the telly, eating ice cream
that will never make her fat
, while her faithful pet licks up her salty tears with an expression of adoring sympathy, and the soundtrack plays Sheryl Crow’s “No One Said It Would Be Easy”, or Chris Isaak’s “I Wonder”, or anything by the Cranberries.
But what actually happened was that it was dark and chilly and I nearly crashed several times on the way home, because I never stopped to wipe the condensation from the windscreen and anyway, I couldn’t see for crying. My nose was running, my throat was aching, and when I got in Tammy just gave me a reproachful look and whined for food. I forked some out, feeling guilty for not feeding her properly, uselessness overwhelming me. I couldn’t even look after a cat properly. My face was pink and puffy and my hair was doing strange things because it hadn’t dried properly and I was so damn depressed, and you might hardly believe this, but I couldn’t even watch
Buffy
.
I just sat there talking to myself over it, trying to find something mournful on the stereo but stopping as soon as I got a sad song, bursting into fresh floods of tears, wailing out conversations I should have had, things I should have said, what I was going to say when I saw him again.
If I could ever bring myself to see him again. Probably I’d just dissolve under a fresh flood of tears. I’d melt away like the Wicked Witch of the North, steaming and screeching, but correcting myself as I went, because it always annoyed me that really, she dissolved, even when she kept yelling out that she was melting. Stupid bint.
Eventually Tammy crawled over, looking worried, and licked my hand helpfully, and I wailed even more, because Tammy’s so nervous she never, ever licks anyone, she hardly even purrs, and it was just so sweet of her to worry about me like this.
If I wasn’t on the Pill I’d think I was getting my period. I was being truly, record-breakingly pathetic.
“Why doesn’t he love me?” I asked Tammy tearfully, and she licked my nose in anxious reply.
“Because he’s a shallow and unappreciative bastard,” came a dark voice from the little front door lobby, and I nearly had a heart attack, because Docherty was standing there.
“How did you get in?” I croaked.
“Your door was unlocked.”
Of course. Somebody please slap the miserable blonde on the sofa.
Docherty stood there in the doorway, looking dark and forbidding. “Where did you go?”
“Go?” When? Jesus, had he been following me?
“I thought you’d been blown up.”
I stared at him for a second. So I’d been right.
“No,” I said, rather unnecessarily.
“How do you think he knew we were there?”
I paused for a few seconds, my heart thumping madly (at this rate I’d be having a coronary next week), then I lifted Tammy carefully off my lap, stood up and crossed to my bag, which was lying on the kitchen counter.
Then I lifted out Petr’s gun and aimed it at Docherty.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Could it be because you told him?”
For a long second, we looked at each other. Docherty moved very slightly to the left and I waved the gun.
“No,” I said, “no moving. Take your coat off. Slowly.”
He didn’t move, and I realised the hammer of the revolver was in the uncocked position. Slap me again. I pushed it into place with my thumb and was rewarded with a lovely click. I lifted my chin and levelled my gaze at Docherty. I’d tasted him. He’d had his hand inside my bra. And then he’d tried to kill me.
In deference to his excellent kissing, however, I thought I should be at least a little bit fair to him.
“I think maybe you ought to know that I’ve been having what is possibly the worst day of my life so far,” I said. “So if you do anything to piss me off, I’ll put a bullet right between your eyes. Take. Your. Goddamned. Coat. Off.”
He did, his eyes on mine. He had a double gun brace with a pistol for each hand and I walked over, my heart threatening to smash right through my breastbone, and took both guns. Matching Heckler Koch pistols. Nice.
I wanted to unload them, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to do that, so I just put them both behind me on the unit, my gun still aimed at Docherty.
“Sophie,” he began, but I shook my head.
“Was it right from the start?” I said, beyond frightened now, just really pissed off. “You must have been jumping for joy when Luke called you to take care of Angel.”
Docherty said nothing and I regarded his dark eyes and impassive face. “No,” I amended, “no jumping. Did you really think I was dead?”
He nodded, his eyes on mine. “I thought Janulevic had blown you up.”
“No,” I said, waving the revolver, “you didn’t, because it wasn’t Janulevic at all. You blew the house up.”
“I—”
“Why did you even bother to take me to Ireland? Just so you could make it look like an accident? Kill us all at the same time? Three birds with one bomb. What were you going to tell Luke?” A cold shiver ran up my back. “Or were you going to kill him, too?”
A really awful thought occurred to me. Maybe Luke was already dead.
“Sophie,” Docherty said, his voice low, “listen to me. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“God, Docherty, I
know
you’re lying. You’ve been lying all the time. It all makes sense. I realised this morning. You didn’t find Petr here, you brought him here. You shot at me and Luke and Harvey. You left the Scoobie in the road.”
“Why would I drive a piece of Jap crap when I have an Aston Martin?”
“Because you didn’t want to trash the Aston.” I narrowed my eyes. “Is it outside?”
He gave a very brief nod.
“Mind if I borrow it?”
He stared at me. I stared back, fearless and numb.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” I said, aiming the gun at him. “And you know what? I’m going to, too.”
I shot him in the shoulder, then I pulled back the hammer, like they do in Westerns, and shot him again, in the leg this time. And when he was on the floor, curled over and bleeding on my faux-pine boards, I bashed the back of his head with the revolver, watched him go still, then staggered back to the sofa, stunned and crying.
Morning came, and I’d hardly slept. I’d called Karen in the middle of the night and, although she was not happy, she’d come out to my flat and helped me take Docherty to the lockup in the lab. She said he’d probably come through the bullet wounds without any serious complications and told me to get some sleep, because I had to drive down to Cornwall tomorrow. But sleep didn’t come. The day had been exhausting, mentally and emotionally exhausting, and all I wanted to do was cry, even when my eyes were dry.
Eventually I dragged myself out of bed and ate a large bar of chocolate for breakfast, washed down with coffee so strong the spoon nearly stood up. I hate those books and films where the heroine gets so depressed she can’t eat and gets really thin, but still looks fab. When I get depressed I want to eat the entire Cadbury factory. Nuts and bolts and all.
I called the hospital and told them I’d be coming to pick Harvey up, and then I went out to the car. I started the engine, then remembered about the twin Heckler Koch pistols I’d shoved in a drawer away from Karen’s eyes. She’d not said a word about my unorthodox takedown, just that she was impressed I’d caught him before he did any serious damage. I wanted to tell her that Éibhlís Kennedy might have something to say about serious damage, but I was too tired and said nothing.
I retrieved the guns and put them in my big heavy handbag. Now armed with three guns, none of which were mine, I felt slightly better equipped to face the day.
Watch out, world, I’m here and I’m really pissed off.
But just as I came around the corner back into the little car park, I saw someone standing by Ted’s crumpled passenger door. A middle-aged man with brown hair, wearing jeans and a polo shirt.
“Can I help you?” I asked, and he took one look at me, raised a gun and fired.
I ducked, and the bullet buried itself in the wall behind me. I fumbled for one of my bloody millions of guns, but by the time I’d got my finger on the trigger of the revolver, the guy was in my car, over in the driver’s seat, and Ted was being reversed out of the slot at a speed I’d never be able to replicate.
“You fucking, fucking bastard,” I said, firing off a shot that did nothing but break the driver’s window. “Come back!”
Yeah, right. Why did I even say it? I fired another shot, aiming for the wheels, but hit the ground instead. I was so bad at this. And I was running out of bullets, too.
But the shot alarmed Tammy, who’d been in a tree across the car park, and she bolted down to the ground and over to the house. Right in the path of the car. I saw it all in slow motion—the guy saw her, looked right at me and rammed his foot on the pedal.
There was an awful crunch, a sound I’ll never, ever forget, and then a screech, and then Ted was gone and Tammy was a bloody mess of bones and fur.