Luke nodded. "He was pretty pissed off. Says you owe him an apology." I grimaced. "And a new car."
"Doesn't he have insurance for that kind of thing?"
Luke looked at me like I was mad. Not that I wasn't used to it.
"Okay, so probably not. But he's not getting a hundred and fifty grand off me."
"I think he was looking for a different kind of payoff."
I met Luke's eyes. "He's not getting that, either."
He was silent a bit, looking at me. Then, "Do I get it?"
My fingers started trembling. The vet's ward smelled of disinfectant and cat food, and the faint, warm scent of Luke's skin. "Don't you know the answer to that?"
"No."
Me neither. Truth was, if he asked me again I'd give in. I'm weak, okay?
Luke sighed. "So where did we go wrong?"
"I wanted a grown-up relationship and you wanted casual, filthy sex."
Luke was silent a while longer. Then he said, "Maybe we could work on that."
"I don't think-"
"How about a grown-up relationship with a not-so grown-up man, and not-so casual but still reassuringly filthy sex?"
Now what am I supposed to say to that?
About the Author.
To learn more about Kate Johnson, please visit www.katejohnson.co.uk. If you have a MySpace, please look up Sophie (Yes, she really does have her own Space.) and add her as a friend at www.myspace.com/sophiesuperspy. Send an email to Kate at [email protected] or join her Yahoo! group for news about Kate and her alter-ego Cat Marsters at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/catmarsters.
Look for these titles by Kate Johnson.
Now Available:.
The Twelve Lies of Christmas.
I, Spy?
Coming Soon:.
A is for Apple.
Cosmos, gays and guns, it's murder on a girl's love life.
A is for Apple.
2007 Kate Johnson.
Coming Fall 2007 from Samhain Publishing.
Book Three in the Sophie Green series.
Cosmically inept spy Sophie Green is dispatched to the Big Apple on the trail of an invisible man. What she finds is an artist, a conspiracy, and some very large men with guns.
Meanwhile, her gorgeous partner, Luke, is getting worryingly intimate. Can it really be time for him to meet her parents?
Sophie, spy extraordinaire, isn't overwhelmed just yet. Until she's informed of the new terms of her assignment. No longer Sophie Green: Spy, now she'll become Sophie Green: Teenager.
Yep, she's being sent to the scariest place on earth. Back to school.
Enjoy the following excerpt for A is for Apple: Karen was waiting for me, looking her usual immaculate self even in the middle of the night. "Good trip?" she asked curtly.
"Yeah, great," I said. "Really relaxi-"
"Good," Karen said. "Now it's back to work."
"I haven't even got home yet!"
"This is not an issue. You are aware, are you not, Four, that Five is currently working in America, tracking a businessman with bad connections?"
Five was Macbeth, who started at SO17 the same time as me, and fast-tracked his way to Competent Agent in about half a day. I, on the other hand, still usually need someone to baby-sit me. "What kind of bad connections?"
"Mafiosi. His name is Don Shapiro-short for Donald, but not many people know that. He's actually British and we're trying to, shall we say, discourage him from coming home."
She looked up at me and I, feeling something was needed, nodded seriously.
"Where do I come in?"
"Bait."
Oh, Jesus. I hate being bait. Luke is always making me do this. Just because I'm blonde and have big boobs, I'm always the decoy. We never seem to investigate women. Or gay men. I would so love to see Luke making a fool of himself the way I usually do.
"The case is in Five's hands, but I presume you know the drill by now?"
I nodded disconsolately and she handed me a file. "I suggest you familiarise yourself with this."
"Now?"
She gave me a penetrating look. "Do you have a more pressing appointment?"
Yes, with my bed. I was knackered.
"No," I sighed, and took the file out to the outer office, kicked off my sandals and flumped down in the desk chair to read.
Don Shapiro was of Italian-American descent. He had been brought up in the UK. His wife and his son were British. Well, actually, she was his ex-wife. They'd been divorced for ten years and the kid only saw his father in the school holidays. He went to boarding school in Scotland.
Mr. Shapiro was officially in the import/export business. I say officially, because I once had to shadow a banker who turned out to be trying to rule the world. People are never what they seem.
I can personally vouch for that.
I read the file through about four times, but I hardly absorbed any information. My brain was broken. Words were swimming. By the time Karen breezed through the office, on her way home, the sky was getting light and my eyelids were getting very heavy.
"Shouldn't you be on your way?" she said, and I blinked.
"Yes. Tired. Very tired."
"Not home," she said. "To the airport."
I stared in horror.
Karen flipped to the last page of the report. There was an airline ticket tucked in there. British Airways, Heathrow to JFK. In two hours.
"Best get a move on," she said briskly. "Don't want to miss the flight."
Wouldn't that be a tragedy?
I'd like to say that my job is all about glamour. Fast cars, slinky dresses, lethal cocktails... But in reality here I was, trundling down the M11 in the skinny hours of the morning, wiping sleep from my eyes and shivering in the cold. Ted's heater had never been particularly efficient, and since I crashed him a couple of months ago, keeping warm has meant wearing a jumper. Or a boyfriend.
And right now I was a bit short on both.
I was halfway round the M25, trying to remember how to get to the hell that is Heathrow airport and suspecting I'd gone the wrong way, when my phone started bleeping and buzzing in my lap. I jumped, nearly swerved into the middle lane and managed to get the hands-free extension in before I answered with a very sleepy, "Hello?"
"Where the hell are you?"
I blinked tiredly at the road signs and started the overcomplicated procedure of changing lanes. Well, it's complicated for me, anyway. I'm not terribly bright.
"Hello, Luke," I said.
"Where are you?"
"On my way to the airport."
There was a pause. "You'd better not mean Fuerteventura airport."
"Of course not."
"Oh, good."
"I mean Heathrow airport."
Another pause. "Why are you on your way to Heathrow?" Luke asked wearily.
"Because that's where my flight's going from."
"What? From? Sophie, you're not making any sense."
"I'm going to New York."
This time the pause was longer. Then the man I'm sleeping with asked me, "Are you on drugs?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Why are you going to New York?"
"Karen sent me."
"Something wrong with Macbeth?"
"Apparently Don Shapiro isn't partial to fifteen stone black men."
"She's sending you out there as bait?" Luke asked incredulously, and I scowled at the Mondeo in front.
"That's the impression I got."
Luke was silent a bit. Then he said, "How long will you be?"
"I don't know." I hoped not long. I wanted to see the Big Apple, but something told me I'd not have much time for sightseeing. I'd been bait before, and it had never ended well. "Not long. Probably Macbeth just wants to get Shapiro out of the way so he can scope out his hotel room." I yawned and nearly missed my exit. "Shit!"
"What?"
"Four Weddings moment."
"Tell me you didn't just reverse into the traffic?"
"Do you want me to? I think Ted could take it."
There was a longer silence. I could imagine a lot of expressions on Luke's face, none of them very complimentary.
"I'll let you concentrate on your driving," he said eventually. "Call me when you get there?"
"I will," I said, touched.
"Just so I know you're not in Johannesburg or something."
I wrinkled my nose, less touched.
"I'll speak to you later."