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

the drawer where I’d found it, slapped a little note on the kitchen counter and beamed at Macbeth.
    “I owe you big time,” I said. “Massive. Anything you want.”
    He looked at me speculatively. “Take off your shirt.”
    I gaped. “Anything but that.”
    He grinned. “I ain’t gonna do anything, I just want to see you.”
    “That’s all?”
    “Then we’re even.”
    He got me out of a securely locked house. Sure I could flash him.
    Closing my eyes, I pulled off Luke’s T-shirt.
    “Oh, baby,” Macbeth said.
    I pulled it back on. “That’s your lot.”
    “Honey, I’ll unlock a door for you any time.” He grinned. “You want me to set the alarm before we go?”
    “Please.”
    I waited at the top of the stairs. It was cold outside and I was glad I’d half-inched a sweater from Luke’s drawer.
    “So what were you doing locked in there?”
    I rolled my eyes. “He thinks it’s unsafe for me to go out.”
    “Is it?”
    “No! One firebomb doesn’t mean I’m not safe.”
    Macbeth shook his head. “Maria told me. You gotta pick the right bottle for a Molotov cocktail.”
    I’d bear that in mind.
    He offered me a lift and led me to a blue Corsa. “Tell me this is not your car.”
    “Course not. I’m undercover.”
    I hated to tell him, but the only place he’d be convincing undercover is in a cell block.
    “You got a bondage thing going on?” Macbeth glanced at the handcuffs I was still sporting.
    “No. I think this is Luke’s idea of a joke.”
    “So are you really not sleeping with him?” he asked, and he looked disappointed when I shook my head violently.
    “Luke? No. I’m not nuts.”
    Macbeth said nothing.
    We pulled up at my flat and I stared at the kitchen window which had been broken yesterday but was now fixed. “You want me to check the place over for you?”
    I started to say no, then I nodded. “Thanks.”
    “No problem.” He got a gun out of his jacket and advanced on the door. “You gonna unlock it?”
    I tried, and then I found that the key didn’t fit.
    “Son of a bloody bitch changed my locks!”
    Macbeth grinned. “No problem.” He aimed the gun at the door and shot the lock off. “I just changed them, too.”
    I added “call locksmith” to my mental to-do list and followed Macbeth inside.
    “No bodies,” he said, coming out of the bedroom. “Nothing broken. You got your TV and shit. You’re fine.”
    “Thanks,” I said again. “For everything.”
    “Hey, we’re comrades now. If I ever need to, you know…” he waved his hand as he apparently tried to think of something I could do better than him, “…accessorise or something, I’ll give you a call.”
    I tried not to smile. “And I’ll be glad to help.”
    He left, the Corsa trundling away, and I looked at my door in despair. Right. First clothes—I never thought I’d miss a bra that much. I put one on, revelling in the support, and then put a spare in my Ace bag.
    Also on my to-do list: buy a Mary Poppins bag. I really couldn’t carry the Ace one around out of uniform without looking like an idiot.
    I called an emergency locksmith. I checked on yesterday’s finger. It was there, but the other two, which had been in a different drawer (I had a lot of ice-cream to fit in that compartment, okay?) had gone. So Luke definitely had a key to my flat.
    Or at least he’d had one before Macbeth shot the lock off.
    I had to start looking up security firms in the Yellow Pages. I wanted Luke-style alarms on my front door and all my windows, especially since they were all on the ground floor. Maybe shutters, too. No more firebombs for me.
    I needed to get Angel’s jewellery back to her—I was hoping quite desperately that Luke had locked it away somewhere safe—and see what sort of state her Ladyboat’s dress was in. I also needed to haul ass up to my parents’, get the leftover flooring from the garage, and replace the burnt floorboards in the living room.
    And when I’d done all that, I needed to work out who had caused the wood to be burnt and who had shot at me the night before last.
    The first thing I did was make some more coffee and take some more painkillers. I brushed my hair and put some make-up on, grimacing at the bruise that had come up on my temple. My whole body was a collection of bruises and grazes but they were all covered up. No wonder Luke hadn’t made a move on me this morning.
    Then I got out my toolbox (yes, I have a toolbox. I am a Modern Woman. Look upon me and