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

visit.”
    “Right. And Spike’s been chipped…?”
    “Yes. And Buffy’s sleeping with Riley.”
    “Which one do you prefer?”
    I considered it. “Well, Buffy’s really not my type. Too short.”
    Maria laughed. “I think I’d go for Riley.”
    “Really?” He reminded me of Harvey, all shiny hair and nice teeth. Oh God, Harvey. I’d forgotten about that part of last night. “I’d have to go with Spike. I need a certain amount of sarcasm in my life.”
    Maria went after a cow-shaped chunk of chocolate. “Hmm. Bad accent. If we’re talking sharp teeth, I’d go for Angel. I like ’em dark and brooding.”
    “Well, I’m not saying I’d kick him out of bed—” I took the ice cream from her and chased a white chocolate cow, “—but I like blonds. Even peroxide blonds.”
    “He does have good cheekbones,” Maria conceded, licking her spoon.
    “Mmm.”
    We watched Spike strut around in some caves, all black leather and sexy sneer.
    “He looks sort of like Luke,” Maria said after a while.
    I said nothing.
    “Don’t you think? With the cheekbones and the smirk?”
    Luke looked better. “I guess,” I shrugged.
    Maria took the ice cream off me and gave me a sly look. “Sophie, what are you not telling me?”
    I stared at the screen. “Nothing.”
    “Why is Luke so concerned about you? What happened last night?”
    “Someone fired a shot at me and the building site collapsed on me. He probably just doesn’t want to find another partner.”
    She had her head on one side and was considering me carefully. “Sophie,” she said seriously, and I looked up at her guiltily. “When we were talking about Luke on Wednesday and you said he’d made a pass at you, that’s all, right? He hasn’t been trying it on since then?”
    I said nothing.
    “Oh Jesus,” Maria sighed, putting down the Ben & Jerry’s. “What happened?”
    I mumbled it very quietly.
    “What?”
    “We sort of had sex.”
    She stared. “Sort of?”
    “Well, sort of properly. Orgasm and everything.”
    She was shaking her head. “When did this happen?”
    “Last night.”
    “Before or after the building fell down?”
    “After.”
    “Bloody hell.” We stared at the end credits of Buffy . “Well, no wonder he’s angry.”
    I frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “He’s feeling guilty. He totally took advantage of you, Sophie, don’t you see? God, I thought he had a bit more self control than that.”
    I felt compelled to defend him a little. After all, he taped Buffy for me. “Well, I didn’t exactly protest too much.”
    “Well, no, you wouldn’t. I mean, it’s Luke. Who’d protest?”
    I had to ask. “Did you?”
    “Did I what?”
    “Did you and Luke… You know. Were you ever…”
    “Ever more than just professional?” Maria’s eyes went distant, and her perfect mouth curved into a smile. “I’ll never tell,” she said serenely.
    Bloody hell.
     
    I eventually crawled off to bed, painkillers and exhaustion overwhelming me, while Maria curled up on the sofa under my sleeping bag. But I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about what she’d said. If a building falls down on someone you fancy, you get them off to the A&E pretty sharpish. You check for concussion straight away. You don’t stop for a quick shag.
    God, now I felt like one of those Victorian heroines in the sort of melodramatic novels I have always despised, like they used to make us read at school. Marianne Dashwood. Tess of the d’Urbervilles. “Taken advantage of.” Jesus.
    I was a modern woman. I could take care of myself. I could go out and have sex with whoever I want. In theory, anyway. People did not take advantage of me.
    Right, when I saw Luke I was going to kick him in the head. Hard. With stilettos.
    When I wasn’t so crippled, obviously.
    I guess I must have eventually fallen asleep, my pillow wet (what was wrong with my hormones? Was my Pill malfunctioning?), because you have to be asleep to be woken up. And I was woken. Very rudely.
    There was a smash, a crash, then Maria’s voice—“Jesus fucking Christ!”
    I stumbled out of bed, groggy and frightened, to see her stamping on my sleeping bag. It was smoking.
    She looked up. “Do people often throw Molotov cocktails through your window?”
    I’m afraid at that point I fainted.
     
    When I woke up again, I was in a dark car going at lightning speed. “Maria?”
    She was driving. “Nice to see you.”
    I wiped a bit of drool from my mouth. Very sexy.