Page 63 of The Unlikely Spare (Unlikely Dilemmas #3)

Chapter Forty

Eoin

I’m being interrogated in an Auckland hotel room, which, I guess, in the history of interrogation rooms, isn’t the worst venue.

Although the complimentary mints on the table feel a bit out of place next to the recording equipment.

Nothing says spill your guts about terrorist plots like individually wrapped peppermints.

Scotland Yard has commandeered an entire floor of the hotel, turning hotel rooms into makeshift interrogation spaces.

I’ve been sitting in this plastic chair for six hours now, my voice hoarse from talking, my body aching from our mad dash and capture.

Along with that knackered feeling you get from finally coming clean to people who’d probably prefer you hadn’t because it makes their life more difficult.

Detective Chief Superintendent Martin Thornton stares at me through the laptop screen, his face even more stern than usual. His boss, Commander Helen Adebayo, sits beside him in the London office, looking as serious as I’ve ever seen her.

“So to clarify,” Thornton says for what feels like the hundredth time, “you engaged in a sexual relationship with the principal you were assigned to protect while simultaneously investigating a potential security breach within his protection team?”

“Yes, sir.” The words scrape my throat raw. No point in dressing it up now. I’ve laid it all out—every kiss, every lapse in judgment, every moment where I chose Nicholas over protocol.

“And you didn’t think to report this…complication?”

“I did think about it,” I say. “Extensively. Usually at three in the morning when I couldn’t sleep because I knew I was fucking up everything I’d worked for.”

Commander Adebayo lifts her eyes off the page to look at me. Thornton’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes shifts.

“But you didn’t report it,” he presses.

“No, sir.”

“Why?”

The question hangs between London and Auckland like a taut wire.

Why? Because by the time I admitted to myself what was happening, it was already too late.

Because Nicholas had slipped past every defense I’d built, like he was picking locks he was born to open.

Because the thought of Nicholas in danger overrode ten years of training and ambition.

“Because I’m an eejit,” I say finally. “Sir.”

An eejit in love. I don’t know if sharing that will do me any favors with the brass though.

Thornton makes a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so grim. “At least you’re an honest idiot, O’Connell.”

The tablet beside him pings. He glances at it, his face hardening.

“We have Pierce in custody. Multiple charges pending, including conspiracy to kidnap, terrorism offenses, and corruption of a public official. His phone records show multiple calls to a hotel maintenance worker the day before the spider appeared, and there is evidence of illegal tapping into the New Zealand police and maritime communication systems, which we believe is how they tracked you down. He’s not talking, but we have enough evidence to bury him. ”

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by the question I’ve been dreading. “And my brother?”

Thornton meets my eyes through the screen. “Gone. By the time the Belfast police reached his flat, he’d cleared out. Neighbors saw him leave two days ago.”

The news lands heavy in my gut. Relief that Malachy isn’t in prison wars with grief that he’s chosen to run, that I’ll probably never see him again.

My little brother, who I used to piggyback through Belfast streets, who I taught to throw a punch and take one, who I once sat beside in a hospital room, learning what words like “permanent disability” meant.

Gone.

“I’m sorry,” Commander Adebayo says, and I believe she means it.

“He made his choice,” I reply, though the words taste bitter.

Thornton clears his throat. “You’ll face disciplinary action when you return to London. Suspension pending investigation, at a minimum. Potential dismissal, depending on the panel’s findings.”

I nod. I expected this.

“However,” Thornton continues, and my head snaps up. “Your actions did prevent an international incident. Prince Nicholas is safe, the traitor in RaSP has been exposed, and twelve billion pounds are being redirected toward legitimate reparations.” He pauses. “Good work, O’Connell.”

The connection ends before I can respond. I stare at the blank screen, trying to reconcile “potential dismissal” with “good work” and coming up empty.

Ten years building a career. Ten years of being the best at what I do.

All sacrificed for a man with a sardonic mouth and terrible camping skills.

Totally worth it.

When I finally emerge from the debriefing room, Davis and Singh are waiting in the corridor like mismatched bookends. Davis won’t quite meet my eyes—struggling, I think, to reconcile Prince Nicholas’s relationship with the man who broke every rule in the book. Singh just looks tired.

“Where is he?” I ask because there’s no point pretending we don’t all know who I mean.

Davis’s jaw tightens. “His Royal Highness has insisted you be brought to him immediately upon completion of your debrief.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Insisted, was it?”

“Demanded, actually,” Singh says dryly. “Repeatedly. With increasing volume and creativity. I particularly enjoyed the bit about having us reassigned to guard parking meters in Slough.”

Despite everything, my mouth twitches. “He doesn’t have that authority.”

“Try telling him that.” He gestures down the corridor. “Come on. Let’s get this over with before he starts threatening to reinstate medieval punishments.”

They escort me through the hotel like I’m either a prisoner or a particularly unstable explosive, which, given the last few days, might not be far off. The ride is silent except for Davis clearing his throat every thirty seconds like he’s working up to say something he never quite manages.

When we reach the penthouse floor, I hear Nicholas before I see him. His voice carries through the door of the suite, clipped and imperious in a way that means he’s either furious or worried. Possibly both.

“—completely unreasonable to keep him for six bloody hours. What could they possibly need to know that takes?—”

Singh knocks. The voice cuts off. Footsteps, then the door yanks open to reveal Cavendish, looking harried.

“Thank Christ,” he mutters. “He’s been pacing for the last hour. I was about to suggest sedating him.”

“O’Connell just finished with Scotland Yard. We thought it best to expedite the reunion for all involved,” Singh replies.

“Good idea.” Cavendish steps aside to let us pass, and that’s when I catch it.

The way his eyes find Singh’s for just a heartbeat, softer than I’d expect. Singh’s fingers brush Cavendish’s wrist as he moves past, so brief it could be accidental. Except nothing Singh does is accidental.

Oh.

Suddenly, Singh’s behavior makes sense.

The way he’d recognized what was between Nicholas and me. He knows what it looks like to hide feelings in plain sight. Although it makes the rapidly disappearing bottle of massage oil slightly more disturbing in hindsight.

“Officer O’Connell.” Nicholas’s voice cuts through my revelation. He appears behind Cavendish, perfectly put together in a fresh suit except for hair that’s still aggressively blond and slightly manic from repeated finger-combing. “Finally.”

His eyes meet mine, and fuck me. Six hours of questioning, of laying bare every moment between us for official record, and just looking at him makes my pulse kick up like I’m still running from Pierce’s men.

“Your Royal Highness,” I manage.

He’s whole. He’s safe. He’s standing there looking imperious and impatient and unharmed. Thank fucking god.

“I require Officer O’Connell’s presence for an extensive debriefing,” Nicholas announces to the room at large. “In my bedroom. Immediately.”

Singh doesn’t quite hide his smile. Cavendish looks at the ceiling like he’s praying for patience. Davis makes a strangled noise.

“Sir,” Cavendish tries. “I’m not sure that’s?—”

“That’s what? Appropriate?” Nicholas’s voice could freeze hell.

“I’ve been shot at, kidnapped, and had my hair bleached to look like a cautionary tale about DIY hair treatments.

I’ve also been forced to spend four hours explaining everything that happened to me to palace officials who seem to believe that the stability of the Commonwealth apparently hinges on whether I was coerced, seduced, or simply lost my mind when I decided to play Bonnie and Clyde with my protection officer.

I will debrief with whomever I choose, wherever I choose. Clear?”

“Crystal, sir,” Cavendish replies. He glances at Singh, some silent communication passing between them. “We’ll be outside if you need anything.”

Nicholas is already turning away. “I won’t.”

I follow him through the suite, hyperaware of the others watching. The bedroom door closes behind us with a definitive click, and then it’s just us.

Nicholas and I, and whatever happens next.

He turns to face me, and suddenly, the imperial bearing drops away. He looks exhausted, with shadows under those blue eyes that can’t be hidden.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi yourself.”

We stand there, three feet apart, and I realize I have no idea how to do this. How to go from handcuffed together in the back of an SUV to…what? What are we now?

“So,” Nicholas says, and there’s a tremor in his voice that makes me want to reach for him. “Extensive debriefing. Very thorough. Should probably start with a comprehensive physical assessment, make sure neither of us sustained any lasting damage from our adventures.”

“Is that what we’re calling it? Adventures?”

“Would you prefer near-death experiences? International incidents?” He takes a step closer. “Best first date ever?”

“First date?” I can’t help laughing. “Which part? The attempted kidnapping or the actual kidnapping?”