Princess: A Private Novel (Private #14)(32)

“You got the confession?” Knight asked.

“I did,” Morgan confirmed.

“Then what’s up?” Knight could read his friend’s expression.

“Something isn’t right.” Before Morgan could elaborate further, his phone began to buzz urgently in his pocket.

“FaceTime from Cook,” he told Knight, his pulse quickening at the prospect of seeing her, even just on a screen. “I’ll tell her and Lewis to stand down as soon as the police arrive.”

“OK. I’ll pour you a coffee.”

“Thanks,” Morgan replied, moving outside in the corridor and hitting answer. “Hi, Jane…” he began.

But the smile died on his lips as the picture’s quality cleared, and he found himself looking not at the face of the woman he loved, but at the figure of a masked gunman who held a pistol to her head.





Chapter 50


MICHAEL “FLEX” GIBBON had waited years for this moment, and the picture of Morgan’s anguish made every second worthwhile.

“Hello, Morgan. Shame we couldn’t do this in person, but good to see you again.”

Morgan recognized the voice of the muscle-bound maniac with his gun held to Cook’s head.

“Whatever it is you want,” Morgan tried, “you can have it. I will sell Private, and you can have every dime.”

“This isn’t about money, Jack!” Flex shouted at the phone, his rage boiling over. “This is about honor! This is about righting a wrong! You don’t walk into my town and insult me! You don’t come onto my turf and sucker-punch me in my own gym!”

“Sucker-punch?” Cook laughed at Flex’s feet. “He beat the shit out of you!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Flex snarled, pistol-whipping his captive with such force that her head snapped back and blood gushed from her nose.

“Jane! Please, Flex,” Morgan pleaded, “I’ll do anything.” He meant every word.

“Anything?”

“Yes. Anything. Anything!”

“Good.” Flex lowered the pistol and ran his hand through Cook’s hair. “So shall I tell you what I want, Jack?”

“Yes! Just tell me! Tell me and you’ll have it!”

“I’ve already got it, you prick,” Flex laughed. “All I want, Jack, is for you to watch.”

Then he lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.





Chapter 51


JACK MORGAN SANK to his knees. The phone fell from his hand and bounced across the floor. As he brought his hands to his face, he could hear Lewis’s anguished screams coming from the phone’s tiny speaker.

“Jack!” Knight shouted, running to his friend’s side. “What is it?”

What was it?

It was witnessing the cold-blooded murder of a colleague. More than a colleague. It was being helpless to prevent it. It was a sense of the deepest revulsion, and the fast-growing tide of anger.

It was the loss of someone Morgan loved, and would never hold again.

“He killed Jane.”

“What?” Knight mumbled, unable to comprehend the words. “What…?”

“He killed Jane!” Morgan said again, the anger beginning to take over every other emotion. “I’ll kill him,” he growled in the back of his throat as he pushed himself up and picked up his phone.

The call had ended.

“Jack? Tell me what’s happened. Talk to me, mate.”

“Flex executed Jane. He’s still got Lewis. I’m going to find him, Peter,” Morgan promised, his eyes like burning embers. “I’m going to find Flex Gibbon, and then I’m going to kill him.”





Chapter 52


MICHAEL GIBBON LOOKED down at the body that lay in front of him. What had been a beautiful woman was reduced now to a body of useless meat. It was a waste, really. Still, the bitch who had attacked him at his gym was dead, and Morgan had seen her die. That gave Flex some solace, but it did not fill him with satisfaction. That wouldn’t come until Jack Morgan had suffered still more, and then finally died in agony himself.

“You fucking coward,” Flex then heard, breaking him from his thoughts.

He turned his masked head to look at the police officer, Lewis. She was on her knees and trembling, but her face was hard and defiant.

“You’re a copper,” Flex stated.

“I am,” Lewis answered, with a proud jut of her chin.

“Look at her. Go on. Look at her,” Flex urged with a wave of his pistol.

Willing herself to be stoic, Lewis obeyed and turned her eyes to Cook’s body on the floor.

“This woman was a traitor,” Flex declared, lifting up Cook’s head by her hair so that her dead eyes looked at Lewis. “She was a traitor, and so she got treated like one.”

“She wasn’t a traitor, you fucking murderer!” Lewis shouted, hoping that she could face death with the same tenacity that Cook had.

“She was,” Flex stated coldly, dropping Cook’s head so that it hit hard on the floor. “She’s been working with that American bastard to undermine British security. She’s been working to undermine the army, and the police. Your team, Lewis. She’s been out to fuck your team.”