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was expecting him to laugh. Usually people do.
    “What’s he done?”
    I stared at him. “I was joking!”
    “No, you were talking into a mic when you followed me out.” He grinned at me. “Artist, see? I’m very observant.”
    I scowled and reached inside my bra for the mic. Then I took out my earpiece and switched off the battery.
    “I can’t tell you what he’s done,” I said.
    “Why not?”
    “Because I’m not entirely sure.”
    “You’re not a very good secret agent, are you?”
    “Nope.”
    “Bet ol’ Harvey pisses you off.”
    I gave him a sharp look. He grinned again, and it was the same charming smile Harvey often gave.
    “Oh, please. We grew up in a small town, everybody knows everybody’s news. The whole town knew when Harvey went to Princeton. The whole town knew when he joined the SEALs. And then the whole town knew when he started working for the CIA.”
    “Does the whole town know about you, too?”
    “The whole town despaired of me. I was the evil twin.”
    “I’ll bet.” I drained my vodka. “More, please.”
    “Hey, if you’re gonna drink it, pay up. I’m five thousand dollars down.”
    I fetched a twenty from my wallet and held it in front of his face. “Why did you come to see Shapiro this evening? Did you have an appointment?”
    “Did you?”
    “Answer the question or you don’t get your vodka money.”
    He made a face. “I went to get my money. Figured I could talk to him about it.”
    But he still looked shifty. Maybe I’d wait until I got him more drunk to ask him again.

Chapter Three
    I was woken by the sound of doom pounding into my head. Der, der, der, derder der , derder der . Der, der, der, derder der , derderder .
    “What the fuck,” Xander groaned, “is that noise?”
    “My phone,” I mumbled, mouth full of pillow. I fumbled for the hellish device, wishing I’d never agreed to a triband phone, and groggily answered the call.
    “Hey,” Luke sounded peppy, “good morning.”
    “Meh,” I said.
    “Don’t tell me I woke you up?”
    “Blegh.”
    “Sophie, it’s four in the afternoon here. Which makes it eleven in the morning where you are. How did it go with Shapiro last night?”
    “He didn’t show. My feet hurt,” I moaned, to no one in particular.
    “Poor baby,” Luke said without a trace of sympathy. “Are you going back there tonight?”
    “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to Macbeth yet. How’s it going where you are?” I added, proud of myself for thinking to ask.
    “Okay,” Luke said boredly. “Listen, Karen said you might want to keep an eye out for Shapiro’s kid. Uh, his name’s Marc-Paul. Want me to send you a picture?”
    “Yes please. Is he cute?”
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    “I thought he was in Scotland?” I glanced over at Xander, still sprawled beautifully across my bed.
    “He was, but not now it’s summer. He came out to see his pa a week or so ago. Only just found out. He’s staying at the Park Ave. with his old man.”
    “How old is he?”
    “Seventeen.”
    “Right.” The most unreasonable age there is. “Send me the pic and I’ll keep an eye out.”
    “Okay. Let me know how tonight goes.”
    “Bye.”
    I switched off and checked to see if anyone else had left a message. They hadn’t. I rolled over and looked at Xander, who appeared to have gone back to sleep.
    “It’s a good job he doesn’t have a video phone,” I said, and he opened one eye.
    “That was your boyfriend?”
    I nodded.
    “Could he tell I was here?”
    “Don’t think so. He didn’t yell or anything.”
    “He’s a jealous type?”
    “Yep.”
    “Oh well. You’re safe with me.”
    “I guessed that.”
    He got up and wandered into the bathroom, looking unshaven but not too bad. I knew I’d look awful—hangovers made me pasty and puffy. My head felt heavy and swollen, my stomach squished uneasily and my feet were still killing me. I looked at my careful plasters. Half of them had come off.
    I heard water drumming in the