Page 127 of The Unlikely Spare
“So, are you going to tell me what is actually going on?” I ask in a low voice once we’ve freed ourselves from the throng of tourists.
“Pierce is part of the terrorist group,” Eoin replies, his voice grim. “He recruited me from Belfast. He mentored me through the ranks at Scotland Yard. I thought I was hunting a traitor, but it was all a setup. He thought I would agree to hand you over to them.”
I blink.
“But why did he assume you would do that?”
“Because, allegedly, my brother is part of the group too.” His voice breaks slightly. “Apparently, he suggested me for the assignment.”
A cold weight settles somewhere between my ribs.
I think of Eoin’s voice when he spoke about Malachy, the guilt he carries for not being there when the building collapsed. The cornerstone of his life has just crumbled beneath him, and I know that particular devastation all too well.
“Bloody hell,” I breathe, running a hand through my hair. “Your brother… That’s—” I stop, words proving woefully insufficient.
I’m intimately acquainted with how he must be feeling.
But one look at the raw pain on his face, and I know instinctively he doesn’t need my sympathy now. He needs me to help hold him together.
So I do what I do best. Deflect unbearable emotion with practiced irreverence, offering him the dignity of normalcy when so much in his world is collapsing.
“You were a protection officer. Then, an undercover Scotland Yard agent. Now you’re a sleeper terrorist agent. I’m getting whiplash from all these identity changes. Next, you’ll tell me you’re also a part-time mime artist or competitive tea cozy knitter. Nothing would surprise me at this point.”
A strangled laugh escapes him, quickly smothered. But the look he gives me is part exasperation, part fondness.
And it desperately makes me want to go back to how things were between us a few hours ago.
But I can’t give him that. Not anymore.
“Don’t worry,” I continue. “My family history includes beheaded queens and exiled monarchs, along with my sister trying to kill my brother, so it’ll take more than an unwitting terrorist agent in my security team to faze me. It’s remarkable how quickly one can recalibrate expectations when your baseline is ‘my sister tried to murder my brother for a shiny hat.’ Really puts things in perspective.”
The familiar rhythm of deflection and dark humor settles between us like a shared language. Some of the rigid tension in Eoin’s shoulders eases slightly.
It’s what I do, apparently. Face impossible situations with inappropriate levity.
Even when everything else between us has shifted into uncertain territory.
Eoin’s breathing steadies, and I watch as he pulls himself back from whatever edge he’d been teetering on.
It’s like watching someone remember how to exist in their own skin again.
“Pierce has connections throughout RaSP,” he says finally. “As head of Royalty and Specialist Protection, he controls the entire security apparatus. I have no idea who else might be compromised.”
A young family passes us, the children licking ice cream cones. My mind gallops, piecing together implications as we walk toward the far end of the lakefront.
“We need to go straight to the top. Call my brother. Callum and Oliver can activate resources that bypass RaSP entirely.”
Eoin hesitates, his stride faltering. “It’s my word against Pierce’s. He’s already told RaSP I took you off-grid with authorization. Now he’ll be frantically painting me as a rogue agent who’s kidnapped you.”
“Then we need proof to figure out what their endgame is,” I say.
“I need to keep you safe,” Eoin says. “I’ll drop you somewhere secure and then?—”
“We figure this out together.”
His eyes narrow, that familiar stubborn set to his jaw. “Nicholas, these people are dangerous. Pierce has connections everywhere. I need to?—”
“No, Officer O’Connell.” The formal title lands between us like a stone dropped in still water. I see him flinch, but I plunge on. “You don’t get to do anything. We’re in this together. You’ve asked me to trust you with my life, but you need to trust me back.”
