StillWaters:Book4oftheSophieGreenMysteries (32 page)

“She doesn’t,” Michael said, throwing the knife at me, and I clenched my spine into a ball like a woodlouse. The knife skimmed my shoulder and I grabbed at it to throw it back. The bastard had ripped my coat.

Norma Jean barked, and I threw off centre. The knife wobbled away to get stuck in the radiator grill and Michael went after it.

Suddenly thoughts flashed through my mind.
Pirates of the Caribbean
and Orlando Bloom throwing a sword into the door. Johnny Depp supporting himself on an embedded blade when he had a rope around his neck.

Molly Stanton standing on a heap of sand.

“You stood her on something that washed away,” I said. “Like the thing with the skylight and the block of ice that melts.”

Michael looked back at me. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“I have to be. Was it sand?”

He got the knife free and whirled around to face me, a bare three feet away.

“A box,” he said. “Fisherman’s crate. Went bye-bye in the waves. She drowned.”

“Why?” I asked, eyeballing the distance to the patio doors.

“Because her lungs filled with water—”

“I mean why the box and the rope and the deception?”

He shrugged. “Curiosity. Also to keep the coppers thinking about something else.”

“All that for a diversion?” The doors were only two feet away, on the other side of Norma’s basket.

“I intend to send it into the Mindtrap people for their perusal.”

“Why did you kill her?”

“She knew.”

“And Eleanor?”

“She knew too.”

And now so did I. Shit.

I scrambled for the patio door and Norma Jean, the sweet little darling that she is, stood up to get in my way. I darted the other way and Michael fell over the dog, who yelped shrilly.

God, please don’t let him have killed my dog.

I tripped on the bottom step and bit my tongue, but I made it upstairs and to the other side of the bed before Michael righted himself and came after me.

“Another big-breasted girl running up the stairs when she should be going out the door,” he mocked.

“Don’t
Scream
me,” I snapped, and turned to see him halfway up the stairs. I lifted my gun with the silencer attached and fired off a shot.

There was a satisfying little
phut
as the bullet pinged out, and then Michael fell backwards, tumbling down the stairs, and I ran down, trampling on him, to get to Luke. Norma Jean was sitting in her basket, looking very confused and scared, but not hurt.

Luke opened his eyes as I brushed the blood from his face.

“It’s raining,” he said.

“I broke the tap.”

“Ah. Why?”

“Michael Varley was trying to kill me.”

Luke nodded and swallowed. “And why am I lying on the floor?”

“He knocked you out.”

“I see.” He thought about this a moment. “Where is he?”

I stood up and looked over to where his body had been at the bottom of the stairs.

His body, which was there no longer.

“Aw, shit,” I said, and a shadow fell over me, and I turned to see Michael coming at me with his knife, bloody and pale and looking ferocious.

I fired again, aiming blindly, and he flew backwards, skidded over the dining table, and crashed through the window.

“Back in a sec,” I said to Luke, and raced out of the door after him.

He had hit our bikes outside and was lying in the tangled wreckage, looking more than a little crumpled himself. A big spreading red stain covered his shoulder, and another one was coming up on his side.

I trod on one of his hands and lifted the other. There was a faint pulse.

“I’m impressed,” I told him, but he didn’t move. “Luke, can you call for an ambulance?”

“For me or him? Or maybe the villa?”

I looked around. Water was fountaining from the tap, there was more blood on the carpet and the big front window was completely trashed.

“Call an ambulance for Michael, get some ibuprofen for yourself, and…” I regarded the devastation. “See if you can get
Changing Rooms
for the villa.”

Chapter Eighteen

Angel and Harvey’s wedding was beautiful. Well, what else would you expect?

They commandeered an Elizabethan palace belonging to the parents of one of Angel’s bridesmaids, the beautiful, skinny Livvy. In fact, all of her bridesmaids were skinny except for me. Even Rachel.

But lovely Angel, who has always had petite curves, was getting curvier by the day, although her bump hadn’t quite started to show yet. Her dress was fitted and beautiful, and more than a little lacy, but being Angel, she could wear a meringue and get away with it. Hell, she could probably wear a giant pavlova and get away with it. My dress was, thankfully, plainer, but of a similar style with a fitted waist and full skirt, unlike the sheath dresses the other bridesmaids wore.

It did, however, leave a generous amount of cleavage on show—not something which would usually bother me, but with a crisscross of scars on my chest, the effect was spoiled somewhat. Angel, being Angel, had a photographer and makeup artist from a glossy magazine in attendance, and they danced around me every five minutes, trying to get the fading scars to stay covered.

It’s kind of weird having a strange woman dabbing at your chest all the time. I did see Maria looking on speculatively, however.

The ceremony was in the little private chapel attached to the house, and Livvy had set out a banquet in the huge dining room where the table seated about a million people. I sat beside Harvey, who glowed happily, but there was a space by my side. Luke should have flown in from Saudi Arabia for the wedding, but he hadn’t turned up. I’d smiled and laughed all day, but inside I was desperately frightened and kept sneaking away to check Sky News to see if there had been any plane crashes in the Middle East.

There had not. I hadn’t seen him for months—practically since Michael Varley was arrested and taken to hospital (would they put him in with Caroline, I wondered).

Apart from one five-minute phone call on my birthday, I hadn’t even heard from Luke. He hadn’t been allowed to call me. He was in pretty deep undercover.

I’d driven him to the airport and tried not to let my feelings overwhelm me. I didn’t want to let him go. Not now. Not so soon. But I smiled, I joked, I snarked about the check-in service, and I walked with him to Security. My face was tight, my whole body ached with the effort of not breaking down into tears and begging him to stay.

It still ached. The last few months had been a whirl of activity, organising the wedding, being on call for what seemed like every single one of Angel’s million decisions. And I’d pulled up all my acting skills and smiled and laughed and thrown myself into the part of someone who
wasn’t going to make a drama
out of her boyfriend being on the other side of the world in a country where he was damn likely to get blown up.

But I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it all inside.

Across the room, Maria caught my eye. “Anything?” she mouthed.

I shook my head, shrugged, dropped eye contact. It was easier to lie that I was okay that way.

But Maria wasn’t so easily put off. She appeared at my side, touched my shoulder and bobbed down by my chair.

“He’ll be here,” she said. “He’s Luke. What’s the worst that could happen to him?”

“He could be captured, tortured, and shot in the head?” I said.

“Plane could crash,” said Harvey, ever the optimist.

“Hey, be nice,” Maria said.

“I am being nice. I invited the guy, didn’t I?”

“And how much did Angel have to lean on you for that?”

Harvey leaned closer. “I’ll let you in on a secret.”

We both gave him expectant looks.

“She didn’t have to lean on me at all. But don’t tell anyone.”

“Harvey, I’m shocked,” Maria said.

“Well, he did get me back together with Angel.”

My mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon!”

“I guess Sophie helped a
little
,” he told Maria, who grinned. “Hey, Maria?”

“Hmm?”

“The blonde you’re with?”

Maria tensed a little. This was, as far as I knew, the first time she’d ever appeared with Carly in any kind of official capacity as her girlfriend. “Yes?” she said, her voice even.

“Very hot.”

We all watched Carly telling the other guests at her table a joke. She was indeed very hot in a chocolate-brown skintight sheath.

“Thanks,” Maria said.

“You’re very lucky,” Harvey said with a smile.

She gave him a conspiratorial look. “I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“What’s what?” Harvey looked delighted at the prospect of lesbian bedroom details.

“You’re very lucky too.” She chucked him under the chin, stood up, and walked away.

I smiled down at my plate.

“Damn,” Harvey said, watching her go.

“What is it with men and lesbians?”

“We keep hoping they’ll ask us to join in. On which topic, Sophie, seeing as it’s my wedding day, how about a copy of that photo Luke took of you kissing Angel?”

My smile slipped a moment at the mention of Luke’s name, but I rallied, pretty convincingly I thought, and rolled my eyes at him. “Well, I don’t have it. You’ll have to ask him.”

“I will,” Harvey said, “when he gets here.”

His eyes were steady on me. This time, I didn’t rally so well.

“He will get here,” Harvey said, and I just nodded, because I felt if I spoke I might burst into tears.

Where the fucking fuck was fucking Luke? If he made me cry and look a mess for Angel’s magazine shoot, I’d kill him.

Assuming he ever got here, that is.

The party broke up for a while and people retired to their rooms. There were a lot of rooms. I followed Angel and Harvey and the other bridesmaids out to the front of the house, where the sun was setting, for more photos. Because there had only been a billion of them after the ceremony.

The palace was set on top of a hill in the middle of the sea, which was only joined to the mainland by a small spit of land. The photographer arranged us in front of the setting sun, the ocean glinting behind us, and snapped away happily. I’m sure it was the cold that froze my smile.

Finally we were dismissed, and Angel and Harvey posed alone. Someone tapped my shoulder and it was Xander, the groom’s twin brother. He gave me a grin.

“I noticed you didn’t try to catch the bouquet.”

“Neither did you,” I said.

“I wouldn’t look good in a white dress.”

“Not sure I could pull it off either. I’d just spill stuff on it.”

“So what was with the empty seat? You and Luke fight again?”

I shook my head, tired of people asking. “Haven’t seen him since Christmas. He’s working abroad.”

“And he didn’t come back for this?”

“I guess he must have missed the flight.”

Xander reached out a hand and traced the two pink lines on my chest. I didn’t mind. He was more likely to be interested in Luke than me.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied, and turned to go into the house.

I checked my mobile and found a message from Laura Jones. Michael Varley was pleading not guilty.

Good luck with that, I thought.

Downstairs in the ballroom Angel and Harvey took the floor for their first dance. The band—live and expensive and currently settled in the top ten of both album and single charts—started playing Elton John’s
Tiny Dancer
.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, I repeated fiercely inside my head, as I watched them twirl in each others arms, handsome Harvey and his tiny dancer. They were beautiful, and for the first time that day, I let myself cry at the loveliness of it all.

I’d once danced here with Luke, at a costume ball Angel hosted. I was Lara Croft. Luke was Spike from
Buffy
. He wore tight, black leathers and every single woman in the room drooled after him. But I was the only one he danced with.

I closed my eyes. I missed dancing with him. I missed looking at him. I missed the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed, the way they darkened when he was horny. I missed the feel of his hard body under his clothes. I missed his scent.

I missed him so much it physically hurt.

A hand touched mine and I jumped. And then I looked up to see Luke, in jeans and a sweater, looking tired and dirty and above all
here
, and I stopped breathing for a second.

Damn, even exhausted he’s hot.

“You’re late,” I said stupidly.

“ATC strike. Plane was grounded.”

He was so close. I could feel the heat from his body, smell his skin. I forced myself to breathe normally. Maids of honour do not, I’m sure, pant.

But he didn’t touch me, didn’t hug me or kiss me. He just stood there, looking like everything I’d ever wanted, making my brain soft.

“I love this song,” I said into the space, for want of any other words. The only other thing I could think of was, God, I hope my mascara is waterproof. Because in about five seconds, I’m going to erupt like a burst pipe and weep the whole palace into a flood.

“Me too,” Luke said. “Reminds me of
Almost Famous
.”

“That bit on the bus where they’re all singing…”

“And she says to him, ‘You are home.’”

I sniffed and kept my eyes trained on Angel and Harvey. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Silence, then, “You okay?”

I pressed my fingers under my eyes. “Five by five.” I managed a sort of smile. It wasn’t convincing.

Luke smiled back. His was even worse.

Silence again. Angel whispered something to Harvey and he laughed.

“They look so right,” I said.

Luke glanced out at Angel, her head hardly reaching Harvey’s shoulder, smiling up at her new husband.

“Yeah,” he said, “they do. They love each other.”

God, now really I was going to start bawling.

Luke glanced at me, saw my face, and put his arm around me. Finally, he touched me. I closed my eyes and leaned into him, pressed my face against his shirt, wrapped my arms around his waist and let my body really process that he was here with me again. He felt stronger, leaner, harder than before.

I was having trouble breathing again.