Page 106 of The Unlikely Spare

“I don’t get it. If there is a sleeper agent in the protection team, why didn’t they emerge during the kidnapping attempt in Darwin?”

“We don’t know,” Pierce says. “Nothing about this is making sense.”

I think through the whirl of Darwin. I’ve watched the security footage countless times, tracked every member of the team, but no one acted suspiciously.

The only protection officer who has been doing anything dodgy is me.

“Any idea of who it could be?” I ask. The truth sits like acid in my throat. I’ve been too distracted by Nicholas to do my fucking job properly. While I’ve been cataloging the exact shade of his eyes, someone’s been passing intelligence to terrorists.

“No, not yet. But we’re closing in. Someone’s definitely been feeding information about your movements, your contingency plans.”

Someone like Singh, who always seems to pop up when you least expect him. Like Davis, whose convenient illness removed him from tonight’s rotation. Hell, it could be any of my fellow officers who have sworn to protect Nicholas.

I rake my hands through my hair.

“Intelligence suggests the cell is well-organized,” Pierce continues. “Multiple operatives, different skill sets. This isn’tsome hastily assembled group. They’ve been planning this, waiting for the right moment.”

“And we think that moment is coming soon,” I say.

“Yes, it looks like it. There’s talk about cutting the tour short, getting the prince back to the UK, where security can be better controlled. I’m going to catch the next available flight to New Zealand, so I can be on the ground if necessary. RaSP can’t weather another high-profile betrayal from a protection officer.”

The thought of a terrorist getting his hands on Nicholas causes nausea to crash through me so violently that I have to brace against the wall. My mind conjures images I can’t bear, those blue eyes wide with fear, that cutting wit silenced, those perfect hands bound.

I’ve seen the aftermath of kidnapping operations gone wrong, bodies returned in pieces. The idea of Nicholas ending up broken, bloodied, used as a pawn in some madman’s game makes my vision blur with something that feels dangerously close to panic.

“You need to let me know as soon as you have more information,” I manage to choke out.

“I’ll keep you updated on any developments. I’m going to make sure you’re assigned to be the Prince’s body-close, the PPO 1, for the next few days.”

“Good,” I say.

“And, Eoin? You need to be very careful. Until we figure out who is compromised in the protection team, trust no one.”

“Understood,” I say as I end the call.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I pace my room, my footsteps wearing an invisible trench in the hotel carpet. Each turn brings me back to the same impossible choice.

I can’t leave now.

None of the reasons why I should leave have changed. I can’t be clear-headed enough to protect Nicholas. Not when I feel this way about him.

But I can’t leave him with someone potentially close to him poised to strike at any moment.

I check my weapon again, falling back on the rituals that kept me alive during years undercover with Belfast’s and London’s worst. I’ll head to Nicholas’s floor now, claim insomnia as the reason why I’m there, keep an eye on Singh. And I’ll get Pierce and Thornton to get the feeds from security cameras streamed directly to my phone. Then, in the morning, I’ll need to find ways to investigate my colleagues while being Nicholas’s body-close and maintaining my cover.

And I’ll have to do it all while fighting this constant, maddening pull toward the very man I’m sworn to protect.

I’ve got to remember that Nicholas isn’t Nicholas—he’s the principal, the protectee, the assignment.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nicholas

It’s probably fitting that I’m in New Zealand and at a rugby stadium. Eden Park stretches around me, the hallowed ground where the New Zealand rugby team has crushed countless dreams of other international teams, including many English ones.