StillWaters:Book4oftheSophieGreenMysteries (12 page)

“But not a normal dog-walking route.”

He thought I’d been going to his house.

“I went to pick some things up,” I said. “From my flat. Well,” I was horrified to hear myself sniff, “the flat.”

“‘The’? It’s not yours any more?”

“Not for long.”

Luke frowned. I kept walking.

“You’re moving? Sophie—?”

“You might want to update your address book,” I said.

“But—where are you going? You can’t move. You live just around the corner…”

“I’m not going far. Just my parents’.”

“But—why?”

“Because I can’t afford my rent.”

“But they’re your
parents
.”

“Parents with a very expensive holiday to pay off. Mum can get twice my rent for that place. At least.”

“But—”

“It makes sense, Luke,” I snapped, walking even faster. I don’t know why. Maybe to leave him behind, although I don’t know how I expected that to happen. Our legs are exactly the same length, and his are a damn sight fitter than mine.

“But—Sophie.” He stood in front of me. “Can’t you get another job?”

This time sniffing wouldn’t help. I was crying, right and proper.

“I tried,” I said, sounding more petulant than I’d meant to, shoving past him and keeping my eyes on Norma Jean’s blonde back. “I reapplied for the Ace job but they don’t want me.” I attempted a smile. “I think I’m unemployable.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am. Name one useful skill I have.”

Luke was silent a little too long.

“See? I can’t do anything.”

“You could always, I don’t know, work in a shop or something…”

I stopped a second and glared at him. “Would
you
work in a shop?”

His face twisted with disgust. “Well, I—”

“There you go. You can’t go from spy to shop. And besides, what am I going to put on my CV? Previous experience: I’ve killed two people.”

“Think of them as executions.”

“Cheers, now I feel better.” We were halfway there. Only a mile or so to go now.

Luke was silent a while, walking beside me. Not in front or behind, so I could have let my tears cry themselves out, but right beside me.

“I got Dr. Denver’s number,” he said eventually.

“Really.”

“She said you’d already called her. She’s e-mailed you a bunch of stuff.”

“I’ll check when I get back.”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m not following. I’m walking with you.”

“Okay, then, why are you walking with me?”

Luke shrugged. “Felt like talking to you.”

“Well, I don’t feel like talking to you.”

“Whoa, harsh.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m really not having the best of days here. I lost my job—two jobs—and pretty soon I’ll lose my flat too, and I’ll have to live with my
parents
again, and work in a
shop
, at
Tesco
or something, and Angel’s miserable and you hate me—”

“I don’t hate you! Why did you think I hate you?”

“You called me an evil cow. And a vicious bitch.”

“Maybe because you’d just poured boiling hot coffee all over me.”

I couldn’t help feeling a small victory. Go me.

“Do you have any idea how unpleasant
you
are when you’re hung over? Or ill? Or in a bad mood?” Luke asked.

I chose not to answer that.

He sighed. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said, and the apology sounded dragged out.

“All the times you yelled at me?”

“Well, most of them.” He gave me a sideways look, and I realised that this gorgeous, clever, complicated man was trying to make me feel better. And I was a bitch for shunning him.

“I have cupcakes,” I said.

Luke looked slightly taken aback. “I’m really hoping that’s not an imaginative disease,” he ventured.

“No. Little chocolate cakes. With fat icing on them. Like I had in New York.”

“The Buttercup Bakery?” Luke said, valiantly keeping up.

“Magnolia. Xander told you?”

“From what I gather, he eats nothing else.”

We shared a smile.

“Me and Angel made them,” I said.

Luke winced. “I’m sure they’ll be lovely.”

“Once more, with feeling.”

“Did you remember to sieve the cocoa powder?” he asked, referring to an incident a while ago when I spread rather spotty icing on a cake.

“Yes.” Honesty made me add, “Well, Angel did. Look, do you want a cake or are you happy to just stand there insulting me?”

“I’d love a cupcake,” Luke said, looking right at me.

I was glad it was dark so he wouldn’t see me blush.

It was cold in the house and I twirled up the heating dial to sauna temperatures. The vodka was in the fridge (frozen vodka having been a little too cold to drink) and I offered Luke some.

“I see you fell off the wagon.”

“Yes. Luckily there was a big pile of cupcakes to land on.”

“Vodka and cupcakes.” He shook his head.

“It made sense at the time.”

“That should be your catchphrase.”

“What, not, ‘I hardly ever shoot people’?”

“Or, ‘I hardly ever kick people in the head.’ That’s my personal favourite.”

“Well, I have to warm up first.”

Luke grinned. “You’re a weird girl, Sophie.”

I chose to take that as a compliment.

Out of habit, I put a Buffy video on (the first thing I brought up here. I need Buffy like I need moisturiser), and we sat down on the sofa, barely paying attention. Luke had taken a vodka & orange, to be polite I think, but he wasn’t drinking it.

“Never again?” I teased.

“Let me ask you this: planning on any swimming trips in the near future?”

I made a face.

“There you go. I’m not big on repeating humiliation.”

“Aw, you weren’t that bad. It’s not like you threw up or anything.”

“Did I say anything really stupid?”

I smiled. How much should I tell him?

“And don’t you go making anything up. I can tell when you’re lying,” Luke warned.

“Okay, all right, spoil my fun. Do you remember threatening to withhold your lock combination unless I had sex with you?”

He covered his face. “Say it isn’t so!”

“Can’t you tell I’m being genuine?”

“But we didn’t…”

“I’m ashamed you can’t remember.”

Luke looked at me between his fingers. “Sorry,” he ventured.

“And maybe we should make that your catchphrase.” I stood up. “I have e-mail to check. Will you bring the cupcakes? And the drinks?”

“Can’t you carry anything?”

“This is your penance for trying to bargain with sex.” I went out of the room, actually smiling properly for what felt like the first time ever, and switched on the light in the dining room.

Well, it used to be the dining room. But since we only ever used it at Christmas, it sort of got filled up with other stuff, mostly Chalker’s. Leaving Luke the piano stool to perch on, I settled into the desk chair and booted up my brother’s laptop.

Luke handed me his untouched drink and I looked at it uncertainly.

Note to self: do not get drunk when a) feeling sorry for oneself, and b) ex-boyfriend is sitting very close, looking very fine.

I put the drink down.

There was an e-mail from Xander in my inbox, entitled Big Trouble. I hastily opened another page. I wasn’t ready to tell Luke about the collapse of Angel and Harvey’s perfect relationship. Not yet.

Finding an e-mail from a long and complicated address that had so many abbreviations in it I could barely make out what they were, I opened it up to find it kicking off with, “Hope this is some use to you, Lucy Denver.”

Excellent. I put down the drink that had somehow found its way back into my hand and downloaded all the files.

“Remind me why you’re so interested in this dead girl?” Luke asked.

“Because whoever killed her tried to kill me.”

“You sure about that? I didn’t see a rope around your neck.”

“Maybe he was caught unawares.”

“He? Why do you always assume it’s a he? Might I remind you that in six months with SO17 we came up against three female murderers? Two of them still at school?”

I scowled. “Don’t you get all equality with me. I just reckon it was a he because I think it might have been the boyfriend.”

“There was a boyfriend?”

“Yes,” I said smugly. “And they’d been arguing.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Indeed.

“But,” Luke said, as the printer gurgled into life, spitting out a few dead spiders as it went, “we used to argue all the time. And we never tried to kill each other.”

Speak for yourself, I thought. I wanted to kill you plenty of times.

“This may come as a surprise to you, Luke, but we weren’t the most normal of couples.”

“No?”

“No.”

“In what way?”

God, did he have to? I glanced round at him and he was looking mischievous.

“Normal couples talk. They don’t just have sex and argue.”

“We talked! We used to talk all the time.”

“We used to argue, Luke. I’d say something and you’d argue with it.”

“And you never do that to me? Look, you’re doing it now.”

“I am—” I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t do this, Luke.”

“See? You never listen. You just argue.”

“I—” I opened my mouth and shut it again. “I listen. I listen all the time. I am a great listener.”

Luke’s eyebrows flickered up and down, but he said nothing.

“I’m going to get another drink.” I stood and took the cupcakes with me. They were too sweet, anyway.

In the kitchen, I glared at my reflection in the shiny oven door. I listen. I’m always listening. And if I argue, then it’s an argument based on what I’ve heard.

He was just being a stupid bastard because I told him he was embarrassing last night. Why was he even here, anyway? Getting in my way, saying stupid things. I needed to be alone. I had to work this out by myself.

But when I went back in the dining room, he wasn’t there. I found the computer and printer switched off, the sheaf of paper removed, the light turned out. Confused, I went back into the sitting room and found him sitting there, looking through the printouts.

“Did it ever occur to you that the name on the top of that e-mail was mine?” I asked, closing the door.

“And did it occur to you that you wouldn’t have this at all had I not called Dr. Denver on Wednesday?” Luke replied.

I scowled, suddenly feeling very tired. I’d not exactly slept well last night. Luke’s chesterfield was too short and too squeaky to get comfortable, and I’d been cold even with the spare blanket I’d fetched from the airing cupboard. I wanted my bed, my sweet, warm bed. This house was so cold. I think the heating was broken.

I sat down beside Luke, feeling weary, and picked up some papers. But my eyes were blurring, and there was too much jargon, and I rested my head back on the sofa, just for a second…

“Sophie, wake up,” Luke said, stroking my cheek. “You’re snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do when you sleep sitting up.”

I opened my eyes. “Did I snore on the helicopter?”

He shook his head, smiling. “I think you need to go to bed.”

I nodded, not wanting to move. “I’m so tired.”

“Me too.”

“You slept all day!”

“Yeah, well, hangovers are exhausting,” Luke said defensively. “We can look at this tomorrow.”

“We?”

He looked hurt. “You don’t want my help?”

I sighed, too tired to argue. “No, I—of course. Thanks.” I dragged myself to my feet. “Are you staying?” A split second when he met my eyes. “The spare bed is…”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Not in itself an erotic gesture, but there was something so sweet and intimate about it. On impulse I kissed his cheek, and that was a mistake, because as soon as my lips touched his skin, my blood rose and I moved to his mouth, actually kissing him for the first time in God knows how long, instead of just being kissed.

Luke put his arms around me and kissed me in return and we stood locked like that, kissing sweetly in the middle of my parents’ sitting room, case notes all over the table.

“Oh, Sophie,” Luke said, and started lifting up the edge of my sweater, and something inside me said in a very small, regretful voice,
You know you can’t do this
.

Shut up
, I told it.
I want to
.

Really? You want to do this? You’ve seen how distracted he gets by personal matters. You can’t do this to him
, the voice said.

Oh sure, because you’re that much of a distraction. Take it and run!

And what? Fall in love with him, because you know you’re halfway there, and then watch him choose his career over you? Worry about him risking his life? Watch him walk away, because he loves his job more than you?

The horny voice was silent.

Don’t expect rainbows and butterflies
, said my sad, rational self.
Not from Luke. You don’t need to hurt yourself like this.

And I knew that voice was right. I was flattering myself that
I
could hurt
him
. I knew what I was really afraid of.

Coward, Sophie Green. You’re such a damn coward.

I pulled away, and he followed me, trying to catch me for another kiss, and then I said, “No, Luke. We can’t.”

“Shh, yes, we can—”

“No.” I needed to stop this before he talked me into it. Frantically, I searched for an excuse but all I could come up with was, “It’s not safe. Unprotected. It’s not. For me. And you.” I was babbling now. “I’m still—they said I shouldn’t—”

Luke ran his hands over his face. “I could go and get—” he looked at his watch. The shops would all be shut now, even the garages. “Damn,” he said, quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Luke took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh.

“Nothing. Never mind. Time to go to bed.”

And with that he turned and left the room, leaving me feeling cold and stupid and…cowardly.

Chapter Seven

I was sleeping in my parents’ room, the better to take advantage of their double bed. It was really cold. All the windows were shut, but the heating, such as it was, had been switched off because it was noisy. I shivered under the duvet, frustrated because I couldn’t sleep, and when I did I was tormented by dreams that clung to me, dreams about Molly Stanton’s killer, about the Ace people laughing at my pathetic application, about MI6 calling me a pathetic excuse for a secret agent, about Luke getting a fabulous new job and sneering at me for being useless, and some strangers ripping up my flat, my lovely flat, and chasing Tammy, running her over, blood and bones and fur, hurting my precious baby—