Page 26 of The Unlikely Spare
But I didn’t claw my way into this position only to lose it because I can’t hold my tongue around an entitled prick.
As the meeting wraps up, Pierce watches Thornton leave but gestures for me to stay behind.
“A word, Detective Sergeant,” he says once we’re alone.
I stand at attention. “Sir?”
“I’ve received a rather unusual communication from the palace.” He studies me with his penetrating stare. “It seems Prince Nicholas has complained of a ‘personality clash’ with you and requested a change in his protection team.”
A sick feeling pools in my gut.
Nothing says “successful undercover operation” like having the guy you’re supposed to be protecting complain about you to management.
“I wasn’t aware of that, sir,” I say carefully.
“Care to explain?”
Fecking hell.
How the hell can I explain the unbridled animosity that Prince Nicholas seems to regard me with?
“It might relate to an incident at Rosemere Hall. I encountered the prince’s mother in some distress, and Prince Nicholas may have misinterpreted the situation.”
“Misinterpreted how?” Pierce’s eyes narrow.
“The duchess was upset, and I was attempting to comfort her. Prince Nicholas was inebriated, and I don’t believe he was happy with my presence.”
For some reason, memories of Nicholas from that night have stayed with me, the moment his composure had crumbled, his hair falling across his forehead and his blue eyes wild with emotion.
I’ve also not forgotten the callous and dismissive way he treated his own mother. My mam used to say that you could judge a man by how he treats his mother. By that measure, Prince Nicholas is barely a man at all.
Pierce studies me for a long moment. “Let me be very clear, O’Connell. I recommended you for this assignment because I believe you are an excellent undercover officer. But your objective is to protect the prince while investigating any potential security compromises within the prince’s team. This objective is not served by antagonizing the principal.”
Shame floods through me.
“Understood, sir.”
“Remember, you’re currently Officer O’Connell, royal protection officer,” he continues. “You need to keep your personal feelings—whatever they may be—out of the equation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The replacement request was denied, by the way,” Pierce adds. “We’ve explained that security assignments are not subject to royal preference in the current climate. But I suggest you find a way to make this work. We’ve chosen you because we trust your judgment, O’Connell. Don’t let us down.”
What he doesn’t say, but I hear clearly, is that this assignment is critical for my career advancement. Fail here, and I can kiss that promotion to detective sergeant goodbye.
“I’ll make it work,” I vow.
As I leave Scotland Yard and head back to Kensington Palace, Pierce’s warning echoes in my mind.
The irony doesn’t escape me. I’ve spent my career pretending to be every other bastard except myself. Yet something about this particular role makes it difficult not to let the real me leak out.
Four weeks in Australia with Prince Nicholas Alexander under threat from a terrorist group. My career trajectory hanging in the balance. A potential traitor in our ranks.
But fuck me, the hardest part might not be keeping Prince Nicholas alive.
It might be keeping myself from being the one to throttle him.
Chapter Eight
