Princess: A Private Novel (Private #14)(34)

THE BUILDINGS OF London were a blur beneath the helicopter as it belted across the city, green parks just a flash as Morgan and Knight raced to Kensington, and to Sharon Lewis.

Morgan had been silent for the first two minutes of the flight, but now he pulled his phone and dialed into Private London’s HQ.

“Put me through to Hooligan,” he commanded the watch manager.

“Hooligan left once Patel was taken into custody,” the watch manager explained. “I’ll put you through to Denise.”

“Who’s Denise?” Morgan asked Knight as the call went through.

“We recruited her last year straight from Cambridge. Hooligan hand-picked her. She’s quite brilliant, really.”

“Denise, this is Jack Morgan. Are you OK with breaking the law?”

“I am if it’s for a good cause,” the young woman answered without hesitation.

“I need you to hack into any and all CCTV systems within five hundred yards of Mayoor Patel’s home, and then feed them to me. Can you do that?”

“I can.”

Morgan hung up the call.

“Why the hell isn’t Hooligan there?” he asked Knight.

“Jack, he’s been working non-stop. As far as he was concerned, our cases both wrapped up once we took Patel into custody. He couldn’t have foreseen…this.”

“Private isn’t a part-time gig.” Morgan spoke through clenched teeth. “If this new girl is as good as you say she is, then Hooligan’s gone.”

“Gone?” Knight stammered, flabbergasted. “He’s a lynchpin in Private London, Jack. I know things are not great right now but—”

“Not great?” Morgan cut him off, seething. “Jane is dead, and my people are not where they should be.”

“He didn’t know,” Knight pressed.

“And whose fault is that?” Morgan shot back, his eyes burning into Knight. “You are the head of Private London, Peter, and Flex is on your turf. If he was planning this, you should have known about it.”

Knight didn’t know what to say.

“Cook is dead because Private London didn’t see this coming,” Morgan warned. “Hooligan isn’t the only one that’s replaceable.”





Chapter 56


INSIDE THE HELICOPTER was tense, and silent. Beside Knight, Morgan sat like a coiled spring. Then, without warning, the American’s body sagged into his seat.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Morgan sighed.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“I’m the head of Private, and all mistakes belong to me. If anyone killed Jane, then it was me.”

Knight turned in the helicopter’s tight confines so that he could look directly into Morgan’s face. “Flex killed Jane. Don’t forget that, Jack. Nobody else. Flex.”

After a moment Morgan grudgingly nodded. “I should have seen this coming, though, Peter. We beat him down when we were searching for Abbie Winchester. We kicked his ass. Reputation is everything in the security business, and Flex must have lost his when he took that beating.”

“Not everyone kills over a reputation.”

“But Flex would,” Morgan countered. “I should have known that. I should have seen it. I came into this situation with blinkers on, and led us into one trap after another. Jane’s dead because of me.”

“Bollocks, Jack!” Knight grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “She’s dead because of that bastard!”

“She’s dead because of me. And Lewis too. Flex won’t take prisoners.”





Chapter 57


FLEX PULLED HIS gun from Sharon Lewis’s mouth and looked down at the policewoman.

He smiled.

“What are you looking at?” Lewis growled, fighting to control her shaking body.

“I’m impressed,” Flex grunted. “I’ve seen SAS soldiers piss themselves when they’ve gone through that.”

“That’s because you’re all a bunch of pussies!” Lewis braced herself against the expected reprisal.

None came.

“I need you alive,” Flex explained. “I need you to deliver a message to Jack Morgan.”

“What is it?” she asked cautiously.

“This.”

And then the punch did come.





Chapter 58


“I’M PUTTING HER down,” the pilot announced over the helicopter’s internal comms, pointing to a patch of green amidst the city below them—it was Holland Park, the nearest clearing to Patel’s Kensington home.

“Anything from the CCTV taps?” Knight asked Morgan as they dropped toward the ground, their stomachs lifting.

“Nothing useful.”

“So what’s our plan?”

Morgan didn’t answer. Instead, as the helicopter’s skids touched down onto the grass, Morgan threw back the door and ran.

Knight tried to stay on his heels, but the American was faster, the desire for revenge driving him on to a pace that Knight simply couldn’t match. As their shoes beat the tarmac of Kensington’s pavements, Knight began to fall behind. Only Morgan’s occasional slowing to check his phone’s map allowed Private London’s leader to keep him in sight. Knight had no need for his own map—he recognized the area by sight. He knew they were drawing closer, and was relieved to see Morgan pull up short of Patel’s street.