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

position was Special Agent.
    Oh.
    Holy.
    Bollocks.
    For quite a long while I stared at the pass, my head totally empty. I really couldn’t think of a single thing to say or do.
    Eventually Luke put out his hand. “I’ll need that back,” he said with a faint smile, releasing his hold on Brown.
    I handed over the plastic pocket and watched him clip it back into place. Then he reached for something inside his jacket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He fastened Brown’s wrist to his own and picked up the holdall.
    “Sophie,” he said, “I’m going to take him down to the station, and then I’m going to meet you in Ponti’s, okay? Go straight there.”
    I stared at him.
    “Sophie? Go straight there. I’ll explain this when I get there. Don’t go anywhere else or say anything about this to anyone, okay?”
    Do not pass Go, do not collect £200.
    I nodded dumbly and stumbled through the doors, swiping my card three times before I got it right, nearly dropping it twice, having to go back for my bag when I realized there was nothing heavy over my shoulder.
    But I didn’t go to the coffee shop. I walked back to the terminal, as fast as I always did, keeping my eyes away from everyone else. BAA had cameras all over the place: surely they’d seen what went on? Surely they’d know and they’d do something about it?
    I walked up the steps to the office behind the check-in desks, put my gate report in the tray and turned to Tem, the assistant supervisor, another huge flirt.
    “Hey, baby,” he said. “You okay?”
    I blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
    “You look really white.”
    I shrugged, relaxing. I have pale skin and the Mediterranean staff is always asking if I’m okay.
    “I always look really white, Tem. Where’d you want me?”
    He grinned. “Anywhere, baby.” He peered over the wall above the desks. “Just open up another desk, will you? It’s pretty quiet.”
    So I opened up another desk, sitting there feeling almost normal, and even checked someone in without freaking out too much. But I’m pretty sure I hardly checked the passport and barely looked at the seat map as I did it. I don’t know what weight I put in the system for the bag. I read out a totally inaccurate boarding time and sent the passenger away with a dazed smile.
    Then the phone rang.
    I almost didn’t answer it. I was sweating all over. I was icy cold and nearly crying with terror.
    “Soph, can you close down and come up?”
    It was Tem. I stammered a reply and lifted my bag, which suddenly felt like the heaviest thing in the world. Fifty kilos at least.
    When I got to the top of the steps Luca—no, fuckit, Luke—was waiting there, looking pissed off, his eye turning a shade of damson that clashed with his shirt. A uniformed policeman stood next to him.
    “Hey,” I squeaked.
    “Hey,” Luke replied, glaring at me.
    Tem smirked. “You are in big trouble, baby,” he said. “Look.” He showed me the supervisor’s log, which had Sophie is wanted by the police in big letters. Red ones.
    “Cheers,” I muttered, my teeth chattering.
    “If you could just come with me,” the copper said.
    “Am I in trouble?”
    He shook his head. “Just come with me, please.”
    Shaking, I tripped after him, looking down at the baggage belt as I crossed the catwalk over it, wondering if I could chuck myself on it and escape.
    Luke nodded to the policeman as we left the Ace desks and the copper walked away, leaving me with Luke, feeling rather vulnerable.
    He walked me over to Ponti’s and asked me what I wanted to drink.
    I stared at him. Was this like a last meal? Better make it good, then.
    “Coffee,” I whispered. “Black.”
    He got one for me and another for himself and we went to sit down at the table behind the serving station, where we were hidden from public view.
    God, he could kill me , and no one would see. No one . I wished the uniform was still with us.
    “Look, Sophie,” Luke said, “this isn’t really easy to explain.”
    “Am I really in trouble?” I whispered, visions of courtroom trials and prison sentences flashing through my head. What would I wear in court? I didn’t have anything respectable enough.
    Oh, though. That suit I had for Nannan’s funeral. That was quite sober. And my pink blouse—no, the white one. Or would I need more than one? Those things went on for days. It could be really expensive. I wonder if the court would give me a clothing allowance?
    “No,” Luke sighed. “But you