I, Spy? (Sophie Green Mysteries, No. 1) (Sophie Green Mystery)

trains, and cars. Wanted to be a transport magnate. Buy up something small and expand it. Kill the competition.”
    I had a feeling that wasn’t a metaphor.
    “That was it? He just wanted transport companies?”
    “Plane, trains and automobiles. Like a little boy.”
    “And you were his partner?”
    “I was his bloody puppet master. He couldn’t even fasten his fly without my help.”
    Charming image.
    “And now you can’t fasten it either. Did you have to kill all those people?”
    “I didn’t kill them. It was an accident.”
    “The whole crash was a complete accident?”
    Alexa shrugged. She was sitting on a piece of wood now, most of her body covered with blood from her hand. “I may have loosened a few screws. Sven did most of it.”
    “How long was he involved in this?”
    “What is this, twenty questions? Since he started at Ace. We needed someone on the inside. I had my pass but he knew people. He was trusted. He was David’s nephew, you know. Not Norwegian at all.” Figured. From now on I was going to ask all foreigners for proof of nationality before believing they weren’t faking it. “Is he dead?”
    I wasn’t sure. “Yes.”
    “Did you ever fuck him?”
    “No.”
    “Nah.” She shrugged again. “You weren’t missing much. He wanted you, though. He wanted you so much he tried to drug you.”
    “I know.”
    “Yeah. Should have been you in that cell. Well, not that cell, wouldn’t want Luke to find you.” She dragged in a deep breath. “Are we going to be here all night? Can’t you call an ambulance or something?”
    She didn’t deserve one. “Like you called an ambulance for One?”
    She slumped. “One was an interfering old bugger. I ran SO17, not him.”
    I believed her. “Did you have to kill him?”
    “He saw me getting Sven out. He had to die. Look, Sophie, I’m sorry. Just put the bloody gun down and call me a bloody ambulance. I could die from blood loss.”
    “Don’t you think you deserve it?”
    She stared at me. “I was paralysed,” she said. “I couldn’t move my legs for thirteen bloody months! They told me I would never walk again and if it hadn’t been for David, I never would have.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Reconstructive surgery isn’t cheap, you know. Neurosurgeons and the like. Funny thing was, I could have done it myself if I hadn’t been paralysed.”
    Yeah, that was funny.
    “Sophie.” She looked so small and broken. “I’ve confessed. Lock me up. Put me in that manky car of yours and take me away. But please don't let me bleed to death.”
    “You deserve it.” Mostly for calling Ted manky.
    “No, I deserve an eternity of torment in Holloway.”
    She had a point. Transferring the gun to one hand, I walked forward carefully, holding out my free hand to pull her to her feet. She looked up at me, smiled gratefully, then slammed a piece of splintered wood into my leg.
    I yelped and screamed and went down to the ground. The gun went off and I honestly don’t know who pulled the trigger, just that there was blood on my face, blood everywhere, pain everywhere, I thought I was dead or dying, and then another shot rang out, and another, and Alexa suddenly went still, and I blinked up to see Luke and Harvey looking down at me.

Chapter Eighteen
     
    For a second, nobody spoke. I narrowed down the pain to my head and my leg. I wasn’t dying. Go figure.
    “Where did you go?”
    Harvey nodded at Luke. “Backup.”
    “You went for backup? You left me alone with all these psychos?”
    “And two other special agents.” Harvey dropped down by Macbeth. “Hey. Are you okay?”
    To my amazement, Macbeth opened his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “I was faking it.” He winked at me. Good grief. “Got a lot of muscle to hide a bullet in. Maria?”
    Luke ran over to her. “Alive,” he said, “but only just. She needs medical help. Urgently.”
    I somehow pulled myself to my feet. If I thought about Maria lying there dying, my leg didn’t hurt so much. “I’ll go,” I said. “I have my car. The Princess Alexandra isn’t too far.”
    Harvey tilted my face up. “Is that your blood?”
    “I—I don’t think so. I think it’s hers.” We both looked down at Alexa, still and bloody. She looked small and vulnerable, innocent, maybe. But I was shaking with anger at what she’d done. Or maybe I was in shock.
    “She confessed everything,” Macbeth said, hauling himself to his feet. “Sophie was wicked.”
    I’m afraid I