Princess: A Private Novel (Private #14)(35)

“We can’t just sprint in there, Jack,” Knight panted as he caught up. “They’ll kill Lewis, and then us.”

“We’re not going in anywhere.” Morgan looked down the street.

Knight followed the direction of Morgan’s gaze, and he saw the reason why.

Patel’s home was surrounded by police.





Chapter 59


“I TOLD YOU not to call the police!” Morgan shouted at Knight, seeing their chance to slip inside and rescue Lewis disappear.

“I didn’t,” Knight protested. “Honestly, Jack, this wasn’t me. But look, the way that they’re set up. This isn’t a siege.”

Morgan looked to the police cordon. The uniformed officers were facing outward, not in.

“None of them are in cover,” Morgan realized. “They’re not afraid of getting shot.”

“Flex is gone,” Knight said, the words barely out of his mouth before Morgan was again sprinting, this time toward the police.

“Who’s in charge?” he called to the nearest uniform, the officer raising an eyebrow at Morgan’s American accent.

“Please stay away from the cordon, sir,” the young PC said in reply.

“I need to know who’s in charge!” Morgan asserted. “My people were inside that house! I need to get in there!”

“Sir, please stay calm.”

“I am calm! And I need to get inside!”

The sound of raised voices drew the attention of a police sergeant. As a veteran officer, she had seen enough grief to recognize it in Morgan.

“Sir,” she said in a calm, controlled voice, “you say you know whose house this is?”

“It belongs to Mayoor Patel,” Knight cut in before Morgan could speak. “But the two women here are Sharon Lewis and Jane Cook. One is a police officer and the other is an investigator for Private.”

“They are my people,” Morgan seethed. “And I need to see them.”

The police sergeant thought over Knight’s words, then looked back to the house.

“Have you been inside?” Knight begged. “Please, we need to know.”

The sergeant held her tongue as she gestured for the young officer beside her to move away and give them privacy.

“The paramedics are stabilizing one woman who’s been badly beaten,” she told the men, looking straight into their eyes. “I’m afraid that one of the women… has passed away.”

“Can we see them?” Knight asked.

Morgan opened his mouth but found himself unable to speak.

“This is Jack Morgan, head of Private. My name’s Peter Knight, and I’m head of the London branch. If you call my sister-in-law at the Met, Elaine Pottersfield, she will confirm for you who we are.”

“I’m sorry, sirs, but your identity is not the issue. No one but the police and paramedics can cross this boundary. If you will wait here, I’ll go and find out which hospital they’re taking her to.”

“Thank you,” Knight said, defeated. Beside him, Jack Morgan was white with rage.

“This is Flex’s doing,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “He called the police himself, to keep me from Jane.”

The truth of that hit Knight like a blow. Then, in the same moment, he realized what other motivation a former SAS soldier could have for keeping them at the cordon.

“We’re sitting ducks out here, Jack,” Knight warned. “There are hundreds of windows on this street, and Flex could be in any one of them. Let’s get clear and into some cover,” he urged.

But Morgan stood firm. Knight considered how he could drag Morgan from the street and to safety. Thankfully, he was saved the ordeal by the reappearance of the sergeant.

“I gave your names to the lady in the ambulance,” the police officer told them. “She wants to see you.”





Chapter 60


MORGAN AND KNIGHT ducked under the police tape and followed the police sergeant quickly to the back of the ambulance. Knight threw a look Morgan’s way, worried at the intensity he saw coming from his friend and boss. There was no knowing what kind of state Sharon Lewis was in emotionally, or physically. Knight had never met the woman, but his guess was that the last thing she would need would be Morgan going in bullheaded and demanding answers.

He needn’t have worried.

“Lewis, I’m so glad you’re alive,” Morgan said gently. Knight could have sworn there were tears in the man’s eyes.

And why not? Lewis was strapped to a gurney, her arms splinted to immobilize around the fractures she had suffered at the hands of Flex.

“What the hell have they done to you?” Morgan whispered.

The answer to that question was obvious—Lewis had been savagely beaten from head to toe. Her skin was already turning a mottled purple, her neck held firmly in place by a plastic brace. Her right eye was fully closed; her left was focused loosely on the two men who stood silhouetted against the ambulance’s door.

“Morgan,” she whispered. “Morgan.”

“I’m here,” he told her, placing his hand on hers. “I’m so glad to see you, Lewis.”

“Like this?” She tried to smile.

“Not like this,” he said softly, and Lewis’s open eye shed a tear. They both knew what Morgan meant. He was glad to see her alive.