Free Ugley Business by Kate Johnson

before his eyes flickered downwards, and I remembered I was naked and pulled the shower curtain across me.
    “Here,” he said, and his voice was accented heavily. Irish, although I couldn’t clearly tell what part of Ireland. Could have been Boston for how clearly I was thinking. He held out the towel I’d left on the rail, and I grabbed it and held it against myself while I looked for my voice. I’d had it a minute ago, where had it gone?
    “Who the hell are you?” I managed eventually.
    “Docherty.”
    Of course he was. He held out a hand, which I declined to shake for reasons of modesty.
    “What are you doing in my bathroom?”
    “Your door was open,” he said, and I blinked.
    “No, it wasn’t.” Was it?
    “Well,” Docherty gave me a slow wolf-grin, “maybe I helped it a little.”
    I nodded. This was insane. This was the man Luke thought could guard Angel? Was he mad?
    “Why are you here?” I asked, trying to wrap the towel around me without flashing him.
    “Thought I’d come and see the girl who’s keeping Luke from personally protecting IC Winter’s daughter.”
    The way he said it made me sound like one of those uptight girlfriends who get the screaming hab-dabs if their bloke so much as looks at another woman.
    “Hey, this was Luke’s choice—” I began, and Docherty smiled again.
    “I’m not surprised.”
    I narrowed my eyes. I felt like he could see right through my towel.
    “Could you just leave the room for a sec while I slip into something less comfortable?” I asked as politely as I could, and he smiled and walked out. I crept into the bedroom, pulled on my bathrobe and got dressed under it, just in case Docherty decided to come back in. I tied back my wet hair—very attractive, Sophie—and went out into the living room.
    And nearly had another heart attack. Docherty had my SIG in his hands and was sighting at Tammy, who was looking curiously at the strange man with the strange metal thing, probably hoping it was going to dispense food.
    “Jesus fucking Christ.” I leapt at him before I realised the gun was half-cocked. “Don’t bloody do that. Jesus.” My heart was hammering. Who sent this maniac? “Don’t shoot at my cat.”
    “I wasn’t going so shoot her.” Docherty calmly handed the gun back. “I was checking the sights. That’s a nice piece you’ve got there.”
    “Thank you.” I put it back in my bag, yanked out the Nokia and called Luke, my eyes on Docherty.
    “I’m getting old here,” he said.
    “So am I. I think I just lost ten years. Luke, can you just tell me what this Docherty guy looks like, please?”
    There was a pause, then, sounding confused, Luke said, “About my height but heavier built, dark hair, very Irish and brooding. Strong accent. Why?”
    “No reason,” I said. “I’m on my way.” I ended the call, still looking at Docherty. “Why are you here?”
    He shrugged. “IC Winter was a real catch. I’ve seen the pictures of her daughter. She’s even better. If I was Luke I’d never let her out of my sight. Unless I had something better.”
    He regarded me with his head on one side, and I felt like a piece of meat. “Can we go now?”
    “Where?”
    “Erm, Angel’s?”
    “Grand plan. We’ll take my car. No offence, but yours is a rust bucket.”
    Rule number one: you don’t insult my car.
    “And what do you drive?” I asked archly. Another undercover car like Luke’s Vectra? Maria had an old Peugeot 205 and Macbeth usually drove whatever fell off the back of the lorry. All quiet, invisible cars.
    “You’ll see,” he said, showing me a hint of a smile, and opened the door for me. “Ladies first.”
    I took my time pulling down all the shutters and locking the door and saying goodbye to Tammy, who looked heartbroken that I was leaving her all alone without even the consolation of a big heap of food, and eventually turned to Docherty, who was looking around the small courtyard that came between my flat and the car