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

unofficially…?”
    “Unofficially, you have to come back here pretty early to think of something to do with our Nordic friend.”
    “Not my friend,” I said with feeling.
    “Glad you realised that.”
     
    Luke went back to his place to pick up a fire extinguisher and his other overnight essentials, and I called my mother to say I’d be staying with her because they were starting building work again over the car park.
    I really hoped that one wouldn’t come true. And if it did, I really hoped I wouldn’t be there when it did.
    I got home and shoved some things into a bag. I wrapped the revolver up in my pyjamas and shoved it under my comfort copy of Gone with the Wind , heart beating fast, hoping Luke wouldn’t turn up before I’d left.
    But of course he did, standing there looking sexy while I rushed around trying to make the kitchen look as if a bomb hadn’t exploded nearby. The fact that one nearly had wasn’t much comfort to me.
    “I’m going to follow you up to your parents’,” Luke announced as I picked up my bag and keys. “Make sure you don’t go anywhere you shouldn’t on the way.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “No sneaking off to Smith’s Guns and trying to break in. Joe is strongly against people trying to break into his shop.”
    “Would I?” I tried to flutter my eyelashes but I was too tired.
    Luke just grinned.
    “Can you do something for me?” I asked, and he looked interested.
    I held out my hand.
    “Can you get rid of this damn bracelet?”
    Luke looked vaguely disappointed, but he unlocked the cuff and I flexed my wrist gratefully, got in my car and drove off, Luke in my rear-view.
    The ground was dry and he managed to follow me up the muddy drive to my parents’ front door. There were lights on in all the downstairs rooms and I could see the TV through the window and Norma Jean was barking hysterically because there was someone outside.
    Ah, home.
    Then my mother opened the door, wearing a striped apron, a wineglass in her hand, and reached out to me.
    “Love! What happened to you?”
    I touched the bruise on my temple. “Oh, I just, I just walked into the bathroom door. It’s nothing. Looks worse than it is.”
    The hell. It smarted constantly.
    “Oh, love.” She put down the wineglass and put her arms around me, and I nearly cried, because nothing in the world could make you feel as loved and protected as a hug from your mother.
    Luke stood there in the darkness, holding my bag. “Where’s your stuff?” Mum asked, and he held the bag up.
    My mother gave me a look of great interest. “And who’s this?”
    “He’s just a friend, Mum. Works at the airport.” I tried to think of a reason why he might have followed me here but failed, and glanced back at Luke for help.
    “Luke Sharpe.” He held out a hand, and my mother shook it in delight. “Sophie’s been a bit down, so I said I’d see her up here safely.”
    My mother looked very amused. “Well. Isn’t that kind of him, Sophie?”
    I nodded tiredly. “Thanks, Luke. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
    He nodded and, after a second’s hesitation, kissed my cheek. He smelled really good. “Eight o’clock. Sleep tight.”
    After that? Fat chance.
    My mother wanted to know all about Luke, but I said I was tired and ran off to bed, feeling mean. She was interested, and who wouldn’t be? Here was I, treating her house like a hotel, turning up whenever I felt like it, dumping Tammy on her for nearly a week, and refusing to tell her anything.
    I am never having kids. We’re horrible.
    Tammy ignored me when I came in, running away and being all catty and aloof, but half an hour after I switched out my bedroom light and lay there awake in the moonlight, the door opened. She slunk onto the bed, nosed under the duvet, and curled up in a tiny ball on my chest, purring loudly.
    “Have you forgiven me, Tammy Girl?”
    She licked my fingers and tucked her nose under her paw. Aww. Little baby Tammy. Sod kids, I’ll have cats instead. Tammy’s like a baby anyway—whiny, demanding, noisy and sometimes smelly, but ultimately adorable and loved unconditionally.
    I must have finally fallen asleep, because I was woken up by Tammy’s Pavlovian response to my dad’s alarm clock, which is to leap out of bed, scarring me as she flies, and rush downstairs to be ready and waiting with her cute starved kitten look when he comes down to make tea.
    I looked at the clock. Six-thirty. I’d said I’d meet Luke at