Page 105 of The Unlikely Spare

“O’Connell,” Singh begins once we’re out in the corridor.

I brace myself for the accusation.

Instead, he says, “Be careful.”

The words hang in the air between us. Not “stop this madness” or “I’ll report you” or any of the dozen reprimands I’ve been mentally preparing for. Just “be careful.”

I look at him sharply. “What exactly does that mean?”

Singh meets my gaze, his expression unreadable. “It means we’re all responsible for keeping him safe. From all threats.” He presses the call button for the lift. “Including ourselves, if necessary.”

The lift arrives with a soft chime, saving me from having to respond.

I get in and the door closes, leaving me alone with the sinking realization that my secret isn’t much of a secret anymore.

I make it to my room in a daze, locking the door behind me and leaning against it like it might hold back the consequences rushing toward me like a freight train. My hands are shaking—actual fucking tremors—like I’m coming off a three-day bender. It’s like my body is physically rejecting the magnitude of what I’ve done.

I need to leave. Not at the end of the tour. Right now.

I’ve compromised myself, compromised Nicholas, compromised the entire operation. My judgment is shot to hell. I can’t trust myself around him, that much is painfully clear after tonight’s encounter.

And if I can’t trust myself, how can I possibly protect him?

My chest constricts at the thought of Nicholas’s face when I tell him I’m requesting immediate reassignment, the way his expression will shift from confusion to that practiced royal mask that hides everything real. If this is more than a simple distraction for him, if he feels anywhere near the complex mess of emotions I feel toward him, then my leaving will hurt him.

But Singh knows. Or at least strongly suspects. And if he knows, others might too. How long before whispers reach Cavendish? Before word gets back to Scotland Yard? Before Thornton calls me in and asks point-blank what the hell I’m playing at?

I need to send a message to Thornton. Professional, detached, giving just enough information to justify immediateextraction without revealing the true reason. I’ll cite concerns about my ability to effectively investigate while maintaining my protection duties. Not technically lies, just carefully curated truths.

By this time tomorrow, I’ll be on a plane back to London. Someone else will take over this assignment, someone who doesn’t feel like they’re being torn apart from the inside every time those blue eyes meet theirs.

The thought of never seeing Nicholas again, never touching him, never hearing that genuinely unguarded laugh he sometimes lets slip, cuts deeper than I expect.

But it’s the right thing to do. For him. For the mission.

For whatever remains of my professional integrity.

I reach for my secure phone to call Thornton, but before I can dial, it flashes to life with Pierce’s ID.

I freeze, cold dread washing through me.

Jaysus fecking Christ. Pierce calling me unscheduled on my secure line is bad. Very bad.

My mind whirls. Has Singh already contacted London? Has he called in what he saw between Nicholas and me? I picture Thornton’s face, that Yorkshire scowl deepening as he hears about his trusted officer compromising the entire operation for a royal fling. Pierce’s face when he learns that the officer he recommended has been caught with his lips locked to the very prince he’s meant to be protecting, transforming a counterterrorism operation into the world’s most expensive matchmaking service.

The shame burns hotter than any physical wound I’ve ever sustained.

But Pierce wouldn’t use the emergency line for a disciplinary issue, even one this serious. This is something else.

Something worse.

I answer immediately. “O’Connell.”

“We have confirmation.” His voice drops lower, more urgent. “There’s definitely a sleeper agent in Prince Nicholas’s security detail. And it appears another attack is imminent.”

My blood turns to ice. “How certain?”

“Certain enough that Thornton has alerted the palace. We’ve had intelligence reports from a credible source. And we’ve been monitoring communications since Darwin. There was a spike in encrypted traffic right after you arrived in Auckland, and it’s increasing. Similar patterns as before the naval base attack.”