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He didn’t take it, going to the exit instead, his posh accent sharpening. “Do I look like Bray? The name’s Jared Jessop. Don’t mistake me again. Now follow. We’re leaving.”
Now? Shite. I grabbed my bag, jogging after the man who’d set off down the corridor.
He shot me a glance, and a scowl darkened his lined brow. “Leave that. You can pick it up after the event.”
I did an about-turn, snatching my suit jacket then tossing my bag back into the office. Had to trust nothing would go missing in a palace.
With clear impatience in every move, Jared checked the time and strode deeper into the interior of the building, griping about the delay.
I shrugged on my smart jacket. “We’re heading straight into a briefing?”
“No time for that. You’re hitting the ground running, sunshine. Shouldn’t be a problem, right?”
That must’ve been what enraged him on his phone call, but damn. Mobilising without any preparation wasn’t my favourite.
“It would help if I understood?—”
Jared stopped abruptly. “Let’s get one thing clear. You don’t need to understand anything. All you need to do is follow ordersand obey my every word. We’re heading out unexpectedly early, and that means you need to do your fucking job and jump when I tell you to. Standard protocol can be discussed on the move.”
We reached the end of the corridor that spat us out at a different part of the building’s exterior. Three vehicles waited in a line, all black, shiny, and high-end. At a guess, I imagined they were modified to be bulletproof or maybe even bomb resistant, judging by the type of tyres needed for the additional weight.
That was as far as my thoughts got me. Jared threw himself into the first vehicle with a snap for me to climb in the last. I passed the central vehicle and stole a glance inside.
My heart beat out of time.
Princess Alexandra sat in the back, perfectly made up and regal, yet at the same time exactly like the girl I remembered. Her dress sparkled, and she had her dark hair up in a fancy style.
I recalled it loose and brushing over my bare skin.
The princess interlaced her fingers as if nervous, then her gaze rose to mine, locking on for the fraction of a second it took for me to pass by.
The too-short eye contact fried my brain.
Then the moment had gone, and I climbed into the last car, the convoy immediately starting out with a shout from a guard.
Next to me in the back, a solid bodyguard in his forties regarded me. “Hey, new guy. We were expecting you. I’m Johnnie, that’s Will,” he indicated to the man in the front passenger seat, “and Riss is travelling in the car with our principal.”
I remembered my name and introduced myself. The rapid turnaround of the afternoon had thrown me. Jared said I was early, but then we’d launched into a mission without a single word of where we were going or any plan. Had I been on time, I would’ve missed the assignment, not that I had a single fucking clue what was going on.
Jared had used the half a minute in the corridors to put me in my place where he could have given a shorthand explanation. I didn’t like it. I was used to Ben’s calm professionalism. Even in the midst of danger, our team had each other’s backs entirely.
Above all that was another more potent thought.
Of exactly how Princess Alexandra’s eyes had flared as they’d taken in mine. She’d recognised me. All I wished for was to go back in time and take another second to see how her expression resolved. In hatred or forgiveness.
For unknown reasons, that felt more important than I could say.
The busy streets of central London passed us by, and Johnnie handed me a radio.
“Familiar with the model?”
I inserted the earpiece, clipping the radio into my inside pocket. “I’ve used a different version, but I assume they all work the same.”
He performed basic checks with me, confirming I could hear the team. Johnnie had the weatherbeaten aspect of a man who spent his life working outdoors. His brown hair was greying at the temples and cut military neat, and thick biceps stretched his shirt.
Will was likewise stacked with lean muscle, but he wore a more sarcastic set to his mouth.
Like me, both men were outfitted in standard bodyguard wear for formal events. Black trousers and plain shirts covered by suit jackets, designed so we could blend in. We didn’t carry guns—that was only for the royal protection officers who worked for the police, and the palace guards who were military. Ourjob was arguably more dangerous with how we’d put ourselves between our subject and danger. Our bodies were our weapons.