Page 125 of The Unlikely Spare
Nicholas
Eoin is frozen in place, his face drained of all color like someone has opened a vein and let everything vital drain out. The satellite phone slips from his fingers, landing with a soft thud on the grass.
My first instinct is to comfort him. I step forward, my hand reaching toward him before I remind myself why I’m furious with him. Self-preservation battles with something more urgent, more primal, as I watch him fracture before my eyes.
“What’s the matter? What is it?”
He looks up at me, and his eyes are hollowed out like someone has scooped away everything but pain, leaving only raw, exposed nerve endings.
He reminds me of what I saw in the mirror when I discovered Daniel’s betrayal. When I discovered the earth wasn’t solid beneath my feet after all, just a thin crust covering endless freefall.
His shoulders slump forward and his hands hang limply at his sides, fingers curled halfway toward fists as if he’s forgotten how to form them properly. The man who is normally so contained is falling apart.
A cold knot of fear tightens in my chest.
There’s a voice still coming from the satellite phone, but I pay no attention because I’m focused on Eoin.
I crowd in close to him, trying to decipher what’s happening from the wreckage of his expression.
His eyes are wild with a panic I’ve never seen before, not even when bullets were flying at Hobbiton.
“It’s me,” he whispers. “The whole time, it’s been me.”
“What’s been you?”
“The traitor.”
His words don’t make any sense. Eoin’s claiming he’s a traitor? Whatever can he mean?
But his words and that ghastly expression mean that knot of fear in my chest won’t be departing anytime soon.
“Eoin.” The voice emanating from the phone somehow manages to sound both impatient and amused. “Don’t make this difficult. Don’t make me question my faith in the O’Connell family loyalty.”
I reach down to pick it up, but Eoin’s hand clamps onto my arm.
“No. Don’t talk to him. We need to get moving.” Eoin runs his hand through his hair, his eyes still wild. “Oh my god, I need to get you somewhere safe.”
The voice comes clearly from the phone on the ground. “Eoin, I’ve currently informed Scotland Yard that you had my authority to take the Prince off-grid. If you do anything stupid, I’ll be alerting every authority between London and Antarctica that a rogue protection officer has kidnapped Prince Nicholas. You’ll have both law enforcement and our group hunting you.”
Eoin closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. It’s like he’s drowning on dry land.
And I can’t stop myself from touching him. Because Eoin needs me more than I need to cling to my anger right now.
I put my hand on his back, feeling the heat of him through that ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. The rigid tension in his muscles is like steel cables about to snap. His body trembles beneath my palm, and I press harder. My fingers spread wider to claim more of him, trying to anchor him to something solid.
When he opens those storm-gray eyes, he locks eyes with me, and his face transforms from shock to a protective fierceness that makes my breath catch.
It’s like watching someone recalibrate their entire existence in the space of seconds.
He reaches down to grab the phone. He ends the call, then turns the phone off, his fingers shaking as he puts it in his pocket.
“We need to leave now. We’re going to have to get another car. They’ll know our exact coordinates from the satellite phone, so we need to get as far away from here as possible.”
Eoin appears to be almost talking to himself. His eyes dart across the crowded lakefront.
“Need to find somewhere without CCTV, need transport they won’t expect, need to?—”
I grab him, fingers digging into his forearms as I hold him in place, forcing him to look at me.
