I, Spy? (24 page)

Hmm.

Eventually I picked out a pair of tight jeans and a low-cut top, and spent half an hour covering my bruises with make-up. Then I tarted up my face and hair, added stilettos, and tottered out to face Luke, who was watching cartoons on TV.

“Will I do?” I posed.

“You look like a fashion victim.”

That was sort of the idea. “Is it too much?”

“No. Very sexy. Can you walk in those shoes?”

“I can walk in any shoes.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Come on. We’ll get my car, it’s more anonymous.”

I got my bag, filled with all my useful crap, and stumbled after him, my heels clattering on the floorboards. Probably I was making dents. I looked behind me to see, and then walked straight into Luke.

“Sophie,” he sighed, “did you check the post this morning?”

I shook my head. “There wasn’t any when I left.”

“And when we got in?”

“Let me think. You were complaining about how cold it was in here and then how slow my computer was.”

He gave me a slow, sarcastic look, then pulled something out of the letterbox. “You’ve got mail,” he said, handing me a pretty pink envelope with a teddy bear on it. I opened it resignedly, and sure enough, there was a finger inside. Along with a birthday card that matched the pretty pink envelope.

“This is new,” I said.

“Is it your birthday?”

I shook my head. “I don’t usually get fingers for my birthday.” I opened the card. A printed rhyme was stuck inside.

One, two, three, four, five,

Once I caught a Chris alive.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten

Quit or you’ll be joining him
.

“Nice,” Luke said.

“I’m not sure if it’s the finger or the bad poetry that’s making me nauseous.”

“What’s with the numbers?”

“This,” I held up the plastic-wrapped finger, which was yukky beyond belief, “is number five. I can only assume they’ll be sending me the other five over the course of the week.”

“He still had two.”

“But none of his toes. So, actually, there are…” I added it up quickly—I’m crap at maths, okay?—“thirteen more digits to come.” I put the card and the finger back in the envelope. “Do you want to go up to the office?”

“No. I had a text from Lexy, she’s not feeling too good. I don’t think another finger will do her much good. Or two fingers—did you say you had another one on Saturday?”

I nodded and crossed to the freezer. “Here. You missed it when you took the others.”

“I didn’t look in the chip drawer.”

“Shame on you.”

“I can’t believe you have a chip drawer.”

I stuck my tongue out at him.

I put the pink envelope in a bag, sealed it and added it to the collection. Then I disinfected my hands. Then I wrote
freezer bags
on my shopping list. If I was going to be getting more fingers, it was only sensible. Maybe I should call the post office and ask them to redirect bulky and/or bloody envelopes to Flight Services Inc. so Alexa could have the pleasure of examining them firsthand.

“Now are we ready to go?”

Luke was looking at a Mastercard envelope. “Don’t you want to pay this?”

“Most certainly not. That’s what credit is for.”

We made a stop at Luke’s house for his car and a few tiny electrical things. “Your wire.” He handed it to me and clipped his own to the inside of his shirt.

“Oh, great, so if I have to seduce him, you can listen in?”

“I’m going to be in his room. If you seduce him, I can watch.”

Pervert.

“Speaking of which,” I said, “where’s that red dress?”

“Why? You want to try it on for me again?”

It was obscene that I should find such a comment sexy. Totally obscene. “No, I have to give it back. It’s not mine.”

Luke made a face. “I wouldn’t hold out much hope of that. It’s at the cleaner’s, but it’s pretty manky.”

Marvellous.

“What about the diamonds?”

“In the safe.”

He had a safe? Talk about paranoid. “Where’s that?”

He gave me a look. “I’m not telling you. You can have them later.”

He’s so
mean
. I sent a text to Ella to tell her the dress was a little bit of a mess, but I was having it cleaned and would bring it back soon (I hoped). She replied that her Ladyboat would hardly notice. She’d had the dress a few months, so it’d be old hat by now.

I have to admit to feeling bloody nervous when we walked through the lobby of the Hilton. Harvey’s room was on the first floor and I walked along the corridor, Luke loitering in the stairwell, with my heart beating so hard I swear it must have been deafening him. I had the microphone clipped inside my bra, the transmitter in my bag, and the earpiece in place.

“How do I get him downstairs?” I asked Luke as I stood outside Harvey’s door, tapping my feet nervously.

“Tell him they make a great Manhattan.”

“Do they?”

“How the hell should I know? Actually, no, he’s from Ohio. Tell him the beer is ice cold.”

“Isn’t that unfair generalisation?”

“Yep. Just knock on his bloody door, Sophie. I’m getting strange looks here.”

“My heart bleeds for you.” My fist knocked on the door. My knees knocked on each other.

There was no reply.

“Try again,” Luke suggested, and I did, but there was still no reply.

“Okay,” he said, “go down to the bar and wait for him. Keep a good view of the lobby so you can see him come in. If you can’t stop him coming up then for God’s sake alert me.”

I was still shaking as I went down the stairs and I tripped and fell into Luke.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

God, it felt good to be in his arms. He was all warm and hard and, damn him, he smelled glorious. I really had to find out what brand of deodorant and aftershave he used and buy some shares in it. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

That’s because you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever met in real life, and I really just want to go back to your flat or my flat or break into Harvey’s room and rip all your goddamned clothes off and bite you all over.

I blinked. This was not good. I had a job to do, I didn’t need the distraction, I needed to prove myself and not act like a silly twittery cliché and I needed to get the hell away from the sexiest man I’d ever seen in real life before I did something really stupid.

Strong, independent woman. Strong. Independent.

I needed a drink.

“That Manhattan sounds like a good idea.”

Luke grinned. “Atta girl. Only one, though, for Christ’s sake don’t get drunk.”

“Would I?”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, chucked me under the chin, and sprinted off up the stairs.

I went to reception and asked if James Harvard was still in residence.

“Yes,” I was told, “but he’s not in right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

Déjà vu kicked in and I suddenly remembered the first time I’d met Harvey. He’d been so polite and charming. He couldn’t be a bad guy. He just really couldn’t.

“Um, yes,” I said. “Tell him I’ll be waiting in the bar for him. Sophie Green.”

Then I tottered away to get my Manhattan.

Four hours later and I was learning all sorts of things about cocktails. A Manhattan was nice. A Cosmopolitan was pink. A Blue Lagoon made my tongue go all blue and the bartender thought I was a lush.

I switched to water a while ago, but I was still feeling sort of fuzzy. Luke had been up in Harvey’s room all this time. He started telling me off for ordering so much so I took my earpiece out. It was making my ear hurt anyway.

Once or twice I wobbled over to reception to ask if Harvey had been by. They didn’t know who Harvey was and I couldn’t remember his real name, so I had to wobble back and wait. And while I waited, I experimented with cocktails.

Sex on the Beach wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And I think a Slippery Nipple was aimed at the men.

I mean… Oh, you know what I mean.

Truth is, I was so appalled at my body’s blatant reaction to Luke that I needed to get drunk. Really drunk. I wanted to stop wanting him, because it could only be bad for me to get involved with a rat like him.

My body, however, didn’t understand this, and it took a heroic amount of alcohol to quiet the steady thrum of “Luke smell good. Luke feel nice. Me want bite Luke’s butt”.

By the time my hormones shut up, I was seeing three of everything.

Finally, just as I was getting fed up of drawing patterns in the pink cocktail spillage on my table, someone tapped me on the shoulder and I looked up to see Harvey watching me with eyebrows raised.

“Howdy.”

Boy, they sure made ‘em cute in Ohio.

“Harvey!” I leapt to my feet, nearly breaking my ankle in the process. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“They told me at reception you’d been asking for me.”

Shit. “I, er, one of the girls said she saw you here. I thought I’d pop by and say hello. Hello.”

“Hello.” He looked at the collection of cocktail umbrellas I’d amassed. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh. A while.”

“Checking out the cocktail list?”

“Yeah. Making sure it’s up to scratch. Sometimes people don’t make them properly.” What was I talking about?

“Is that so?” Harvey took a seat beside me on the banquette and signalled the waiter. “Budweiser. Sophie? Another cocktail?”

The waiter gave the umbrellas a long, slow look, then did the same to me.

“Mineral water,” I summoned an angelic smile. “Still.”

“So how’d you know so much about cocktails?” Harvey asked, smiling, as the waiter minced away.

“Oh, I, er, I used to be a cocktail waitress.” Who was this woman inside my head and what was she saying?

“Really? Before you got the call to the skies?”

The what? Oh, right, the stewardess thing. “Yeah. It’s a calling.”

He nodded. “What happened to your face?”

My hand flew up to the bruise, slightly more enthusiastically than I’d told it to, and prodded my temple painfully. “Oh, I, er, I, er… you know those overhead lockers? Don’t walk into them.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. It looks painful.”

“Yeah. I’m on painkillers.”

“Should you be drinking on top of painkillers?”

The waiter arrived and I pointed to my water. “I’m not drinking,” I said.

Harvey blinked at the cocktail umbrellas. “Er, no,” he said. “Of course not. So, how’ve you been? I haven’t seen you since that night in London.”

Oh, Jesus.
That
night.

“I’ve been okay.” He was going to ask me about Luke.

“Did you sort things out with that guy? Uh, Lewis, Leo…”

“Luke. Yes. Sorted.”

“So are you…?”

I stared. “Am I what?”

“Are you…involved with him? I was sort of unclear on that on Friday.”

I took a long, contemplative sip of my water. I was still sort of unclear on that, too. Still, Luke wasn’t here. Nothing had really happened since Friday.

“No,” I said, looking straight at Harvey. “Not involved.”

He nodded, smiled, and took a swig of his beer. “’Cos it looked a little like you were.”

“What? No. That was just Luke messing around.”

“He seemed jealous.”

“Well.” I looked him over. Nice teeth, kind eyes, good body under his suit. “Of course he is.”

Like Kate Moss would be jealous of me.

“So you’re single?”

I nodded.

“Can I…” He dropped his eyes and drummed his fingers on the table. Then he looked up at me. “Can I get your phone number?”

Deliriously happy, I reeled off my Siemens number. “How long are you staying here?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I have to fly off up to Edinburgh tomorrow, but I’m back in the evening. Maybe we could have dinner?”

I nodded so enthusiastically my head nearly fell off. I was starting to feel dizzy.

“Great. I can’t promise anything like the trattoria in Rome. Do you know any nice places around here?”

My head whirled. If I wanted to eat out, I went to Pizza Hut. “Erm, no,” I said carefully, “I don’t know the area well.”

“Okay, well, I’ll ask at Reception.” He peered at me. “Are you okay?”

The dizziness was starting to set in big time. I looked down at the pile of cocktail umbrellas and tried to count them but they all blurred into one smudgy blob. “Erm,” I slurred, trying to focus on Harvey, “yeah, I’m fine, but I, er, I think I could do with maybe freshening up?”

“My room’s just on the second floor,” Harvey offered, and I blurted out, “No, it’s not!”

He looked surprised. Shit. Bugger. “I mean, I asked at reception. It’s on the first floor.”

Harvey frowned, then he laughed. “Yeah, like this is the ground floor, not the first. I don’t get that about Britain.”

Me neither, I wanted to say as I stood up and wove after him through the bar, but I couldn’t concentrate on talking and walking at the same time.

We were halfway up the stairs when I realised that Luke was still in Harvey’s room. Oh, bollocks! And I hadn’t warned him! I’d taken out my earpiece!

“Oh,” I said, stopping. “I just need to, I just need to, erm, make a phone call.” I was swaying in place. These steps were awfully narrow. And very steep. A person could hurt herself if she wasn’t extra, super-duper careful. I clutched at the railing as I rummaged in my bag for my phone, feeling slightly sick. I got out the Siemens and stared at it.

“Something wrong?” Harvey asked, coming back down a few steps and taking my arm.

“This is the wrong phone,” I muttered.

“How many do you have?”

“I, er…” He was looking very blurry. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that second Blue Lagoon. And probably the pitcher of Margaritas was not a good idea.

“Sophie, are you sure you’re okay? How much did you have to drink?”

I had no idea. I could only remember the first half-dozen cocktails. The rest were hazy.

“Sophie?”

I looked up and the phone slipped from my hand. I stooped to pick it up, lost my balance, and then everything went sort of swirly and nauseous and black.

And when I awoke, I was alone. This bird had flown.

My head was in agony. I felt sick and dizzy even without moving. My eyelids felt like they’d been glued together. No, scratch that; they’d been lined with ponyskin, then stapled together.

I moaned.

“Sophie?”

I peeled open one eyelid and eventually focused on Harvey, looming over me, something white in his hand.

“How’re you feeling?”

I thought about it. “Blegh,” I said.

The white thing was a damp cloth and he pressed it to my forehead. “I think you had a little too much to drink.”

Really
.

I opened the other eye, because they were both starting to ache from the effort. “I know this is a really trite question, but where am I?”

He smiled a lovely gentle reassuring smile. “My room. You threw up on the stairs. And then you passed out.”

How attractive.

“Have I… Have I been here long?”

“About ten minutes. You want some water?”

I thought about it. Right now my oesophagus only seemed to want to operate one way.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I mumbled, and stumbled from the bed.

Sick I was, but I at least managed to get into the bathroom and lock the door first. Huddled on the floor, wiping vomit from my mouth, I sat and shivered, feeling pathetic. I hadn’t got this drunk since my eighteenth birthday, when I drank multi-coloured cocktails and threw up all over.

Hmm.

There was a knock on the door. “Sophie? You all right?”

Peachy. “I’m okay,” I croaked.

“Your cell-phone’s ringing.”

I crawled to the door, unlocked it, and accepted my bag from Harvey. Then I locked the door again and shuffled back to my hideout under the sink to pull the phone from my bag. The Nokia. Luke.

Bollocks.

“What?” I mumbled.

“Several things. You have the James Bond theme tune on your phone?”

How the hell did he know that? “How the hell do you know that?”

“The wire. Remember? Sophie, did I hear that jockstrap saying you’d passed out?”

“Mmm.” Where was the damn earpiece? My bag? My pocket? Christ, it was in my cleavage. Oh God, I was such a loser.

“And threw up?” He made a noise of disgust. “Twice?”

“I think I’m allergic to grenadine.”

“Jesus, Sophie. What were you thinking?”

“I was bored.”

“You were pissed. Really, majorly pissed. Are you still in his room?”

“The bathroom.”

“Get out. Now. Get your arse down to the car. And put your fucking earpiece back in.”

I ended the call, hands shaking, and hauled myself to my feet. I looked appalling. Worse than Sven had this morning.

Jesus, Sven! What if he’d somehow spiked my drinks here? Maybe he was working with Harvey! Maybe Harvey really was the bad guy.

Or maybe I’d really just had too much to drink.

I glugged down a lot of water and half a packet of Smints to try and take away the taste of vomit, and opened the door. Harvey was sitting on the bed, tie loosened, shirtsleeves rolled up. He stood up when I appeared.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied, quietly.

“Feeling better?”

You know what I felt like? One of those zombies on the “Thriller” video. At least there was no vomit on my clothes, although there was some on my shoe. And they were nice shoes, too.

I shrugged. “Ih.”

“Never again, huh?”

“I have a blue tongue.”

He grinned. “I know. Look, Sophie—”

“I have to go,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Go? Where? You can’t drive like that—”

“I have a lift.” I hefted my bag on my shoulder. “Thanks, Harvey. You’ve been really nice.” God, I was still pissed.

“Any time.”

We both frowned.

“Well,” he amended, “maybe not any time. Tomorrow maybe stick to mineral water?”

I nodded. Then I stopped, partly because I was still dizzy, and partly because I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Tomorrow?”

“Dinner. Remember?”

That clinched it. I knew he was evil. Or insane. Why else would he be persisting in asking me out when I’d passed out on him and thrown up in his bathroom?

“Uh, yeah. Dinner.” My brain was broken. I could think of no excuse.

“I’ll call you later.” He looked me over. “Maybe tomorrow. Get some sleep.”

I nodded. “See you, Harvey.”

He came over and kissed my cheek. I knew I was all clammy. He must be up to something.

“See you,” he said quietly, and I wobbled out of his room, down past a wet patch on the stairs, ahem, and out through the lobby where I swear everyone was looking at me. God, did I have vomit in my hair or something?

It took me a while to find Luke’s car. It was so generic. When I eventually got in, he was steaming with anger.

“Don’t,” I held up a hand. “I already know.”

“You’re such a bloody idiot.” He started the engine and reversed out of the space at about fifty miles an hour. My stomach lurched.

“I know,” I mumbled, hand to mouth.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jesus, Sophie, you’re still half-cut. You’re going home, and you’re going to bed.”

Right now, that seemed like a very good idea to me.

All the way home he yelled at me, taking every corner so fast I nearly threw up again. I had to open the window and hang my head out, taking desperately deep breaths. If I was sick in the car, Luke would probably kick me out and run me over.

I got inside the flat, peeled off my clothes on the way to the bedroom and crashed out in my underwear. I didn’t give a damn about whether Luke was watching me or not. I needed to sleep. I felt like seven kinds of shit.

It was dark when I woke up. There’d been a bottle of water by the bed and I’d half-woken several times to swig from it and stagger to the loo before falling back down onto my bed. My bed. My lovely, soft, warm comfy bed. Mmm. I never wanted to leave it.

Until I heard voices out in the living room. Male voices. Two. Laughing. And the TV was on, too. I staggered to my feet. I didn’t feel quite so bad any more. The water seemed to have worked.

There was football on my TV and Luke and Tom were sprawled on the sofa, beers in hand. Look at that, football. Didn’t know I could pick it up. Wished I couldn’t. Maybe if I call Sky they’ll take it off my TV package.

“So it’s okay for you to drink, but not me?” I said, trying to sound indignant but ending up sounding plaintive.

They both looked up at me. Luke closed his eyes and muttered something. Tom shook his head in wonder. “Sophie. Babe.”

I looked down at myself. I was sporting a g-string and a push-up bra that was slightly too small and not containing my already well-padded boobs very well.

“Shit.” I beat a hasty retreat into the bedroom, wrapped my fuzzy terry dressing gown around me as securely as possible and splashed cold water on my face. I looked horrific. Even after I’d taken my smudged, panda-ish make-up off, I looked grey and clammy. The bruise on my face no longer looked cool and sexy. It looked ugly.

I trudged back out into the living room. Tom looked disappointed at my new apparel. Luke looked relieved.

“Are you done embarrassing yourself for today?” he asked.