Page 115 of The Unlikely Spare

My mind races through the faces of my security detail.

“Who do you suspect?” I ask.

“I don’t know yet. We need to get far enough away from them to keep you safe. We’ll change cars soon. And then I’ll need to establish a secure line to Pierce, try to arrange an extraction team.”

It sounds like Eoin is almost talking to himself rather than actually having a conversation with me.

“An extraction team?” I repeat. The words feel foreign in my mouth, like I’m suddenly starring in some spy thriller. “You make it sound like we’re behind enemy lines in a war zone.”

“That’s not far off.” Eoin takes a sharp turn onto a smaller road that cuts between pastoral farmland. “We need people we can trust absolutely, and right now, that list is very short.”

“So your plan is what, exactly? Drive around rural New Zealand in a stolen car until rescue arrives like the bloody cavalry?”

Eoin’s eyes meet mine briefly before returning to the road. “Pretty much, yes.”

“Brilliant. Perhaps we could stop for tea with the hobbits along the way. I’m sure Gandalf can provide magical assistance.”

“Your wit remains intact. I’ll take that as a good sign,” Eoin says.

I glare at him. “Someone has attempted to kidnap me, shoot me, and blow me up, and now I’m being told one of the people I trusted with my life is actually trying to end it. I think I’m entitled to a bit of sarcasm.”

“You are. But focus that energy on staying alert. Whoever is behind this has resources and inside information. They won’t give up because this attempt failed.”

I twist in my seat to look behind us, half-expecting to see a convoy of black SUVs in pursuit. “How high up does this go? If one of the team is compromised, what about Cavendish? What about the palace security?”

Eoin’s silence is answer enough.

“Christ,” I breathe, running a hand through my hair. “Is there anyone I can trust?”

He takes his eyes briefly off the road to meet mine. “You can trust me.”

The conviction in his voice feels like stepping from a cold room into unexpected sunlight. It’s terrifying how much I want to believe him.

“How do you know a member of the security team is compromised?” I ask.

A muscle works in his jaw briefly before he answers me.

“I was placed on your security detail specifically to find them.” His words come out clipped and precise. “Scotland Yard received intelligence suggesting someone close to you was feeding information to the same group that targeted Matheson and Webley. My assignment was to identify the traitor.”

Despite the air blowing in the windows, the pickup suddenly feels airless.

Eoin is telling me he’s known all along that someone in my security team is potentially a threat to me?

“Let me make sure I understand correctly. You’re not actually a protection officer. You’re what—a detective? An undercover agent?” My voice is dangerously quiet.

“Yes. I’m an undercover agent in Scotland Yard’s MO3 Covert Policing division.”

The betrayal burns through me like acid.

“So, when you were claiming to tell me the truth earlier today, it transpires you failed to mention some details that are rather relevant.” My tone is icy cold.

Eoin’s expression twists like he’s in pain. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t compromise the investigation. The more people who knew my true identity, the greater the risk. I was under direct orders to maintain my cover at all costs.”

My chest constricts as if someone’s tightening a vise around my ribs.

It’s the same sensation I felt standing in my mother’s drawing room three years ago, holding a bank statement that proved everything I’d believed was a lie. Different accent, different circumstances, but the same fundamental deception—someone I trusted had been playing a role, keeping secrets, making decisions about my life without my knowledge or consent.

When I factor in Amelia’s betrayal, I’m beginning to suspect I’m cursed, that something in my DNA attracts deception.