A Is for Apple (5 page)

“So where do you live?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s sort of Tribeca, SoHo, East Village-ish,” he said vaguely.

“In a Brownstone?”

“Yeah.”

Yeah, and I lived in Buck House.

We got on the subway back to the Philadelphia Hotel and stopped for junk food on the way.

“I am going to be so fat,” I wailed, looking at the bags of seriously addictive Lay’s potato chips that Xander was piling into the shopping basket. He, of course, was all nicely defined muscle. No fat at all.

Bastard.

“Hey, you wanna see fat, you’re in the right place,” Xander said. “You think you’re the only one who eats too many potato chips?”

He had a point. In the hotel lobby had been a guy oozing over the sides of his wheelchair. I’d never seen a person that fat before in real life. He’d been complaining the doors were too narrow. I’d wondered if he was fat because he couldn’t walk, or if he couldn’t walk because he was so fat.

Either way, I felt wonderfully skinny.

We took the bag of junk back into the hotel and made our way over to the lifts. I still wasn’t sure why I was letting him come with me. I guess it was the little lost puppy thing. Xander was cute and helpless, and besides, he knew a lot about junk food.

Who am I kidding, little and helpless! He was about six inches taller than me, and I’m actually the average height for a bloke.

Speaking of tall…

There was usually a security guy at a desk by the bank of lifts, and I was rummaging in my bag for my key card to show him when Xander suddenly grabbed me and said in a low voice, “Okay, don’t panic, but that’s one of Shapiro’s goons over there and he looks pissed.”

“He’s drunk?”

“No, pissed
off
. I think he’s—shit, Sophie, reverse, reverse!”

He started walking very quickly back towards the entrance, spotted someone else and tugged me back over to the lifts again. The goon—a big guy in a shiny suit, marching towards us and looking mad—was closing in, and then suddenly Xander took hold of me, swung me round and kissed me.

Now, I don’t have a huge frame of reference here. I’ve really only been kissed properly by four guys, and one of them was my cheating college boyfriend Pete the Philanderer. He was a crap kisser, and I used to spend my kissing time with him wondering what the hell all the fuss was about. The second is a shady guy called Docherty who’s worked with SO17 once or twice. He scared the hell out of me. I kissed Harvey once or twice, but they were sort of polite, passionless kisses.

And then there’s Luke, and when he kisses me the entire world ceases to be.

Xander’s kiss was definitely in the first category.

I could figure out why he was doing it, and as a distraction it worked pretty well, because through half-closed eyes, over Xander’s shoulder, I could see the goon looking puzzled, saying something into a mouthpiece and retreating. But it wasn’t a very interesting kiss. I was quite bored until— Until, oh shit, oh crap, the lift doors opened, and a familiar blond head turned to face me, a familiar pair of blue eyes looked right at me, and a familiar scowl shot right through me.

“Oh shit,” I said against Xander’s mouth.

“What? Did it work?”

“Yeah, it worked,” I said, heart sinking. “It worked a little too well.”

“What do you—” Xander began, pulling back and looking around in fear.

“What the
fuck
,” came a very familiar voice, “are you doing with my girlfriend?”

Luke strode across the lobby and grabbed Xander by the shoulder and punched him in the face.

The security guy rushed over, as did a lot of spectators.

“What the hell is going on here?” yelled the security guy, suddenly looking very big and threatening, and there was a bulge under his jacket I thought might be a gun. Great,
now
he turned up.

Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.

Xander and Luke were staring at each other.

“You?” Luke said in disbelief, glaring hard at Xander.

“No, Luke, this isn’t—” I began shakily, horrified. “It’s not what it looks like—”

“So what the hell is it? Does Angel know?”

I think my eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. “Angel? What—? No.” I began to laugh, and immediately wished I hadn’t. “Luke, this isn’t Harvey, he’s—”

Then in the corner of my eye I saw Shapiro’s goon coming over to see what the commotion was, and I had a horrible image of him getting out a gun and shooting all three of us.

“Luke, get in the lift,” I said. “You too.” I grabbed Xander’s arm. He had his hand on his nose, which was bleeding.

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what the
fuck
is going on,” Luke yelled.

The goon was getting closer.

I made a split second decision and grabbed Luke and said in his ear, “There’s man over there with a gun who wants to kill us both. Get in the goddamned lift or I’ll shoot you myself.”
Oh, and by the way, what the fuck happened to your goddamn spy training? Blowing up over a personal matter. Yep, that’s in the handbook
.

“You haven’t got your—” Luke began, but I gave him my best don’t-fuck-with-me glare and he glowered back and stalked off to the lift.

I gave a weak smile to the security man and the watching crowd. “Little misunderstanding,” I said, making a
teensy
gesture with my fingers. “Really nothing. Just a lover’s tiff. Come on, darling,” I said, taking Xander’s arm and wincing when I felt Luke’s eyes—and ears—on me, “let’s go and sort this out.”

“I could call the cops,” the security guy said, and I wasn’t sure if it was an offer or a threat.

“No, no need,” I trilled gaily, shoving Xander into the lift. “It’s all under control.”

I rammed my fist repeatedly against the button for my floor until the door slid shut, and then I leaned against it, my eyes closed.

“Don’t ostrich me, Sophie,” Luke said, and I opened my eyes again. Damn. They were both still there.

“Look,” I said, in as calm a voice as I could manage—which is to say, vibrating on the Richter scale, “this really is just nothing like it looks—”

“And how does it look?” Luke spat.

I like this man very much
, I told myself.
I am sleeping with him. He has saved my life. There is a small possibility—now almost certainly expired—that he may be a little bit in love with me
.

Fuck it.

“It looked like someone was after Xander with a gun and we were just stalling,” I said desperately. “Xander, tell him—”

“I think you broke my nose,” Xander said.

“Good,” Luke said savagely. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Luke, this isn’t Harvey. I thought it was.” I tried to smile, but Luke cut me off.

“Is that why you were kissing him?”

“No! No, I was kissing him because, er—”

“A distraction,” Xander muttered through the blood pouring out of his nose. “The guy in the shiny suit’s been tailing me for days.”

“He’s what?” I said.

“He works for Shapiro. It’s a long story…”

“No doubt. Xander, does he really owe you money?”

“Well, yes—”

“I don’t give a fuck who owes who what,” Luke broke in irritably. The lift slid to a halt and the doors opened, and yours truly fell back flat on her arse.

“Ow,” I said, lying there with my knickers showing, slightly winded. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

“No,” Luke said, and stepped over me, slouching off down to hall towards my room.

Xander extended his least bloody hand and pulled me to my feet.

“He seems like a nice guy,” he said. “Really.”

“Xander,” I turned to him helplessly, “look, I’m really sorry about this. I told you he was jealous.” I winced. That was no excuse. “I’ll try and sort this out—can you maybe go home and get some ice on your nose?”

He shook his head. “You don’t think they’ll be waiting for me at home?”

“They’re really tailing you?”

He nodded painfully. “For two days now. They think I know something about Shapiro.”

“Do you?”

“He owes me five grand. I haven’t seen him since he came to pick up the portrait.”

“Which was…?”

“Three days ago.”

“And they’ve been after you since?”

“Yep.”

Bollocks. This was all too much at once.

“Look, I have a boyfriend who’s possibly armed and definitely really pissed off with me. And I have to try and figure out this Shapiro thing. And you being here will just—just complicate things,” I said, looking up at him pleadingly. “Look,” I grabbed his arm and tugged him around the corner where there was an alcove and machines vending drinks and ice, “get some ice, I’ll try and get back to you…”

I left him and dashed down the hall. Luke was leaning against my door, kicking it moodily.

“Still here?” I asked, looking in my bag for my key.

“You owe me an explanation.”

“I’m glad you’re being reasonable.” God, I’d forgotten how hot he was.

“Just while we’re in public.”

“You mean you can get less reasonable?” Jesus.

I was having trouble getting the key into the slot. I kept jamming it in and it kept refusing to bleep and let me turn the handle.

“I’m not going to do this in public,” Luke said evenly.

“’Cos downstairs was so private.”
Open, damn you!

He eyed my efforts with the key. “You need help with that?”

“No.”

I struggled a bit longer, then Luke snatched the key out of my hand, turned it over and opened the door in a second.

I stalked in without looking at him. To be truthful, I was a little bit afraid. I don’t think Luke would ever get violent with me—well, not without my consent—but boy, did he look mad. He gets jealous very easily.

He followed me in and the door swung shut. I avoided his gaze and sat down on the bed to take off my shoes and give my poor, poor feet some air.

“So,” Luke said into the silence.

“So,” I replied stubbornly.

“Why the hell were you kissing him?”

I sighed and peeled off a plaster on my heel. “Did you see the guy with the shiny suit?”

“No.”

Figures. I have a feeling he didn’t see anything but me and Xander.

“There were two of them but I think one left. They work for Shapiro. They’re after Xander.”

“Xander? Who the fuck is Xander?”

“Xander Harvard. He’s Harvey’s brother.”

“What, he’s got a twin?” Luke snorted.

“Yes.”

“A completely identical twin?”

“Apparently so.”

“Sophie, do you have any idea how ridiculous—”

“Fine.” I threw up my hands, which would have been a much grander gesture if I hadn’t had a bloody plaster stuck to my left little finger. “Don’t believe me. I’m only your girlfriend and your damn colleague. Go out there and ask him, if you think he’s Harvey—ask him what kind of car he drives, or what kind of shampoo Angel uses—”

“’Cos he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know any of that stuff,” Luke snarled.

“Ask him for ID! He has a driving licence. It has his name on it.”

“You’ve seen his driving licence?”

“Yes! I didn’t believe him either! But I was rational about it!”

“You call this being rational?” Luke yelled.

“I’m not yelling as loud as you,” I shrieked.

“Fine,” Luke bellowed.

“Fine,” I screamed and jumped up, my feet still half-swaddled, grabbed my purse and my key card and wrenched the door open.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Away from you,” I snarled.

“Back to him?”

“No, not back to fucking him,” I hollered. “Just—”

A door opened further down the corridor.

“Could you keep it down?” whined an American voice.

“No,” Luke and I snapped at the same time, “fuck off.”

The door shut pretty sharpish. I turned on my sore heel and stomped as hard as I could in bare feet, down the corridor to the vending alcove. It was empty, Xander was gone, although there was a bloody fingerprint on the ice machine.

I stomped past and hammered at the button for the lift. My eyes were stinging. I hated fighting with Luke. It always made me so frightened, although I don’t know what of. Maybe I thought he might hit me. Maybe I thought he might leave me. I don’t know. I hate confrontations. Why the hell am I a bloody spy?

“I could have been a vet,” I muttered, sniffing, as I got into the lift and pressed the lobby button. “I could have been a lawyer or an architect. I could have stuck at the bloody airport, but no, I had to go and work for the sodding
government
.”

The doors opened and a middle-aged couple got in. They eyed me curiously, but I rooted my eyes on the little CNN screen in the corner and tried to focus on a news item about a car chase in Florida.

The lift doors opened and I stumbled out into the lobby, the marble floor cold under my aching feet. I made to go past the security desk, but I was beckoned over.

“Hey, lady, you okay?”

I nodded and tried not to sniff pathetically.

“I’m fine. It was just a—just a misunderstanding.” I attempted a smile.

“One of those guys your boyfriend?”

“The blond one. The other one was just, er, he’s a friend.”

The security guy raised his eyebrows. “You greet all your friends like that?”

I blushed and shook my head. “It was a misunderstanding,” I repeated lamely, and backed away. “Thanks…”

He nodded and waved me goodbye. I tripped through the lobby to the gimmicky bar by the front door and threw myself at a bar stool and whined miserably, “Can I have a—” wait, what
did
they drink over here? “—a Guinness, please?”

Eyebrows were raised but my drink was fetched, and when I tried to pay I was gently told, “We’ll put it on a tab for you, ma’am.”

I sniffed and nodded, and the bartender, who was quite cute, asked, “Are you okay?”

I shrugged. “Fight with my boyfriend.”

Even that phrase made me perk up a little bit. I’d been boyfriendless for so long before Luke that I thought I’d never be able to use the word again.

“Were you the girl fighting by the elevators?”

“I wasn’t fighting!” I turned to the couple next to me, who were earwagging. “I was
not
fighting.”