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

hadn’t called or come by or anything. Not even a text. I even went online to see if he’d somehow got my e-mail address and messaged me that way, but no. There was nothing.
    Maybe Maria was right. Maybe he totally separated sex from emotion. Maybe I truly meant absolutely nothing to him. My memories of the night before were hazy, to say the least—especially after all my painkillers—but I couldn’t remember any cuddling or nice, sweet words.
    The bastard used me. I was concussed and he seduced me. He’s an arsehole!
    Eventually, at about eight-thirty, the phone rang, and I ignored it. I hardly ever pick up anyway—that’s what the answer phone is for. And I was supposed to have flu, which, as I remember, traps you in bed for a week with a body that feels like a building has fallen down on it.
    Hmm.
    The message rang out, clear and pissed off. “Sophie Green, you had better not be sitting there listening to this. I thought someone had fucking kidnapped you. I’m going to try your mobile and so help me, if you don’t answer in thirty seconds, I’ll blow your bloody apartment up myself.”
    Uh-oh. Did I forget to lock the door or something? Had he found out about the gun?
    Quickly—well, as quickly as my crippled body would allow—I ran to the bedroom and shoved the revolver under the mattress. Then I hobbled back into the living room and picked up the Nokia, which was shrieking madly.
    Is it my imagination, or does it sound more frantic when the call is important?
    “Where the hell are you?” Luke snarled.
    “At home.”
    “Why the hell are you at home?”
    I recoiled from the phone. I sure was glad Luke was on my side.
    “I—I didn’t feel safe at your house. I like my flat.”
    “My house is significantly bloody safer than yours! Jesus, Sophie, whoever it is that’s been sending you those fingers knows where you live. They were there yesterday. They’ll probably be back tonight. They will probably try to kill you. And I for one am half inclined to let them.”
    I glared at the phone. “What did I do?”
    “How did you even get home?”
    “I walked. It’s not far.”
    “How did you—”
    “I’ve lived in this bloody village since I was two, Luke, I know where things are.”
    He was silent for a few seconds, but I could hear him fuming.
    “I’m sending Maria over to keep an eye on you. I have things to do,” he said eventually, and then clicked off before I could reply.
    I stared at the phone in my hand. What was all that about? He’d have mentioned the gun if he knew that was missing. Why was he so mad?
    Maria turned up ten minutes later, looking as perfect as always, dressed down in gym clothes, her hair shiny and perky. I shuffled back to let her in, feeling like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
    “Bloody hell—” she shook her head at me, “—he wasn’t kidding.”
    “What?”
    “You look like shit,” she said frankly. “Sorry, but you do.”
    “I’m fine,” I said. “Just bruised. I’ll be fine. Really, you don’t need to be here.”
    “Either me or Macbeth,” she said, slinging her bag off her shoulder, “take your pick.”
    Maria was looking like the better option. Nothing against Macbeth, but he didn’t look like he’d appreciate Ben & Jerry’s and angry girl music.
    “Do you know why Luke’s in such a bad mood with me?” I ventured as she kicked off her sparkling trainers.
    She shrugged. “I guess because he’s worried about you. He’s been at the office all day looking up stuff on Wright and some American guy, bugging the hell out of his FBI contacts and all. He said he was going back there later. I’m surprised he didn’t come here himself…”
    I was beginning to get the feeling Luke hadn’t come in person because he didn’t want to have to fill in all the paperwork that would follow killing me.
    “Hey,” Maria said. “I like your hair like that.”
    I touched it, remembering that it was dark. “Disguise,” I mumbled. “You want to watch some TV?”
    She nodded and looked over the mess of videos and DVDs on the floor. “Whatever you want.”
    As always in times of emotional insecurity, I turned to Buffy . Series four, that glorious episode where you get Angel and Riley and Spike all in one juicy bunch. Man, I want to live in Sunnydale, land of fit men and perfect hair.
    “So…” Maria said after a while, digging into the ice cream with her spoon, “this is after Angel’s left, right?”
    “Yeah. But he comes back for a