Page 37 of The Unlikely Spare
Fuck. The directness in his gaze makes it harder to deflect than it should be.
I weigh my options. I know Nicholas has been briefed that his security has been enhanced due to general concerns following the Matheson-Webley incident, but he doesn’t know the specific intelligence suggesting he might be targeted on this tour.
And, obviously, he has no idea about my dual role investigating potential traitors within his protection team.
“We observed an individual exhibiting suspicious behavior,” I say finally.
“And?”
“And they left the premises before they could be questioned.”
Nicholas’s eyes narrow. “That’s rather convenient, isn’t it? Surely your team has ways of tracking suspicious individuals who conveniently disappear?”
His question reminds me that beneath the practiced charm and deliberate frivolity, Nicholas is actually quite perceptive.
“We’re reviewing security footage,” I reply. “We’ll identify the individual and determine if they pose a genuine threat to your security.”
“Do you believe the threat is real?”
I meet his gaze directly. “Yes.”
He goes very still. For a moment, he looks genuinely startled. Then his eyes narrow again. “Is it anti-monarchy protesters or another group?”
“I can’t speculate on that.”
“Of course not.” He leans back in his seat, radiating frustration. “God forbid I should actually be informed about threats to my own safety. I’m just the principal being protected, after all. Why would I need to know anything?”
“Nicholas—” His name slips out before I can stop it. His eyes snap to mine, and I have to clear my throat. “Sir. There is credible intelligence suggesting increased risk.”
“What kind of intelligence?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics.”
“Marvelous. So I’m just supposed to smile for the cameras while you lot scurry around playing spy games?”
His frustration hits me somewhere unexpected. This isn’t the polished prince complaining about protocol—this is a man realizing he’s in danger and being kept in the dark about it.
He fixes those unsettling blue eyes on me. “I’m asking you, Officer O’Connell. Not as a protection officer talking to his principal, but as one person to another. Would you want to be kept ignorant of threats against you?”
“No,” I admit, my voice coming out rougher than intended. “I wouldn’t.”
He raises an eyebrow expectantly. “Well then?”
“Your safety is our priority,” I say, falling back on protocol language because I have nothing else to offer him.
“Your priority,” he repeats flatly. “Not mine, apparently. Just another item to be managed, like my schedule or my wardrobe.” He turns back to the window, effectively ending the conversation. “Inform me if you decide I’m permitted to know anything about the threats against my life, won’t you?”
The rest of the ride passes in frosty silence. I stare straight ahead, hyperaware of the tension radiating from Nicholas beside me.
I can sympathize with his frustration. If our positions were reversed, I’d be furious too.
But sympathy doesn’t change the parameters of my mission, or the fact that I can’t yet fully trust anyone, including the other protection officers. And I can’t even trust the prince himself, who could easily slip up and create vulnerabilities an enemy would exploit.
As we pull up to the hotel, my phone vibrates with a message.
It’s from Pierce.
Suspicious individual identified. Former military. We believe there are connections to the terrorist cell involved in the Matheson-Webley incident.
