Page 34 of The Unlikely Spare

Oh, I’ve got imagination. I’m very good at imagining some very painful deaths for my principal. Which might run a bit contrary to the brief I have for this mission.

I manage to stop myself from saying this though.

However, my body language must give away my thoughts because a smirk takes over Nicholas’s face.

I run through security protocols in my head to distract myself, scanning the crowd with exaggerated thoroughness. When my gaze returns to Nicholas, he’s watching me with that infuriating look of amusement, like I’m some particularly entertaining street busker working for coins.

“You know, O’Connell, there are medications for that condition of yours.”

“What condition would that be?” I keep my voice neutral, professional.

“The one where your face seems permanently stuck somewhere between constipation and disapproval.” His lips curl. “Must be exhausting maintaining that level of judgment all day.”

“Must be exhausting for you to have to perform all day,” I shoot back before I can stop myself.

But for some reason, I want him to know that Iseehim. I want this irritating, infuriating man to know that while he might have the majority of the world fooled, I’m not included.

Something flickers across his face, too quick to identify. His eyes lock with mine and stay there, neither of us breaking the stare.

“But I’m born and bred to perform,” he says finally.

“And you’re exceptional at it,” I reply.

Nicholas’s eyebrows shoot up. Those blue eyes search my face, like he’s looking for any trace of sarcasm in my words. Hismouth opens slightly as if he’s about to respond, then closes again.

“You have no idea, O’Connell,” he says quietly, finally.

Then he turns away and squares his shoulders. “Right, let’s complete this first stop in the traveling circus tour. Wave to the cameras, cuddle the wildlife, say something vaguely relevant about conservation. Repeat until monarchy is secure or until I’m mauled by a wombat, whichever comes first.” Despite his snarky words, there’s a weariness in his tone that seems to go beyond standard jet lag.

But when I glance at him, he’s plastering on his usual royal smile.

We reach the sanctuary director, a thin woman with sun-weathered skin.

“Your Royal Highness, welcome to Wallaby Wildlife Sanctuary,” she gushes. “We’re absolutely thrilled to have you here.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Nicholas replies smoothly. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting your famous residents.”

The director leads Nicholas through exhibits of native wildlife while the press trails behind like desperate shoppers at a Black Friday sale. But in this case, instead of discounted televisions, they’re fighting over photos of a princely smile.

I follow at the optimal distance, close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to stay out of the press photos. Officer Blake flanks Nicholas’s other side, while the rest of the team maintains perimeter positions.

Nicholas is good at his job. Even I can grudgingly admit that.

His charm and quick wit are on full display as he peppers the keepers with questions about conservation efforts that show he’s actually read his briefing papers.

“Would Your Royal Highness like to hold her?” the reptile keeper asks, indicating a massive olive python draped across his arms.

Nicholas doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. Can’t pass up the opportunity to have my picture taken with something even more cold-blooded than my ex-girlfriends.”

The crowd laughs as Nicholas gingerly accepts the python, which immediately begins winding around his forearms.

But my attention has been torn away from Nicholas because I’ve noticed a maintenance worker in overalls moving equipment near a staff-only entrance. Something about his movements catches my attention. Too deliberate, too aware of where we’re positioned. He keeps glancing at Nicholas, then at his phone.

I catch Officer Singh’s eye and indicate the worker with a subtle head tilt. Singh acknowledges with a barely perceptible nod and begins drifting in that direction. I track Singh while keeping eyes on Nicholas. This is the thing, it’s not only the suspicious behavior of potential terrorists that I’ve got to worry about, it’s the behavior of my own team as well.

“She’s beautiful,” Nicholas is saying as the python explores his shoulders. “What’s her name?”

“Sheila,” the keeper says.