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  “That won’t be necessary, Eliza. You’ve had a rough time recently. It’s perfectly understandable.”

  “Thank you, Peter.” She sighed. “You’ve been so amazing throughout all this… Do you have a bathroom I could use? I’d like to clean myself up before I go.”

  “Of course.” Knight smiled, and showed her the way.

  As soon as she was out of sight, he pulled out his phone and wrote a text message to Hooligan:

  Look deeper into Eliza. Could she have put contract killers onto Sophie? Or killed her herself? Possible she could have got to Wales and back in time to dump body? Try to discover her movements in the past three days.

  Private London’s tech guru replied a second later.

  OK. What will you be doing?

  Peter looked toward the bathroom before he replied.

  Old-fashioned stuff.

  “Thanks for waiting, Peter.” Eliza smiled as she emerged from the bathroom.

  “No problem.” He smiled back, walking her out to the front of Private’s building and waving her goodbye.

  Then, as Eliza opened her umbrella and blended into the pedestrian traffic of London, Knight began his tail.

  Chapter 38

  KNIGHT WASN’T SURE where he expected Eliza Lightwood to go when she left Private headquarters, so he wasn’t caught by surprise when her distinctive red umbrella marked her as taking a detour from the shortest route to her home, instead joining dozens of other Londoners as they bustled into an Underground station, umbrellas snapping closed with sighs of relief as they found sanctuary from the rain.

  Like any investigator or law enforcement agent, Peter Knight hated the London Underground. It made what was an already difficult job so much harder—a sprawling warren of tunnels, staircases, barriers, carriages, escalators and lifts, not to mention the thousands of people that could be inside the busier stations. Each one of these factors was an obstacle that had to be overcome again and again. Get too close, and the target of the tail would see you—in this case, shattering any trust that Eliza had in Knight should she be innocent. If she was guilty, well… then Knight knew that any chance of Eliza slipping up would be gone—she was too intelligent to make mistakes twice.

  He pushed back the hood of his jacket as he entered the station and replaced it with a cap he kept in its pocket—the “disguise” wouldn’t save him from a direct look, but on the crowded levels of the Underground, it was enough to protect against a target’s peripheral vision, or sweeping gaze as they sought out platforms, lines and train times.

  There were no such looks from Eliza. She cut through the station like a missile, leaving in her wake a trail of angry looks and muttered curses. It made Knight’s work as a tail a hundred times easier, but there was always the chance that Eliza could stop and turn quickly, catching him out and ending a game in which Knight hoped he was the only witting player. To counter this, he had a plan.

  In fact, he had a plan years ago, and he had been working on it ever since. Like any true professional, Peter Knight had prepared and he had practiced. Every member of Private London’s staff had taken turns trying to lose their co-workers in London. The Underground was a particular favorite place to do this, and Knight had made it a priority that he and Private’s agents honed their tracking skills whenever their investigations allowed. Seeing the Underground as one great maze to be understood and mastered had led to great competition developing amongst Knight and his agents, and it became impossible for Knight to take even the shortest trip with his family without finding himself seeking out the best vantage points, the quickest turnstiles and the most covered approaches.

  He used this accumulated knowledge of the system now as he passed through the other travelers with as little fuss as possible. Peter Knight was a much bigger person than Eliza Lightwood, and he would not be able to get away with the same kind of barging approach that the petite woman had—while Eliza’s behavior had drawn shaking heads and disgusted looks from some men, it could mean a punch for the six-foot man.

  Knight held back as Eliza neared the top of an escalator. He was not surprised at all to see that she went straight to the left, and shuffled down the moving stairway quickly. Knight loitered at the top and watched until she was almost at the bottom—he would make up the gap soon enough.

  Eliza cleared the escalator, and broke left. Knight followed, offering hushed apologies as he squeezed by commuters and tourists. He checked his speed at the bottom, moving the opposite way to the route of most tourists—he knew from his training exercises that the only route left then turned right onto a platform. He could bypass the left turn by going right, along that platform, and then use an adjoining foot tunnel that connected the two platforms at their heads. Then he could work his way closer to Eliza. Close enough to keep his eye on her, at least.

  Of course, all this had to be done before Eliza had a chance to board a train. Knight remembered the average time between them at this station to be about three minutes. Watching on the escalator, he had not seen the hurried sprints and shuffles of passengers as they rushed to catch the closing doors, so he figured that at least a minute had gone by since the last, giving him two minutes at best to find Eliza. He ran the length of the platform on his right, sidestepping a wide-eyed old man who was also taking the least busy route—Knight wasn’t the only one who had spent time on the Underground and knew its shortcuts.

  Exiting the short connecting foot tunnel onto Eliza’s platform, Knight saw that it was busy but not crowded. Looking up, he also saw from the information board that the next train was now due in.

  He had less than one minute to find her, but the moment for rushing and recklessness had gone. Instead, like dozens of others on the platform, Knight pulled his phone from his pocket. With his head down, but eyes up, he began to work his way along the back wall.

  Eliza’s red umbrella was the first thing to catch his eye, its color picking it out amongst the black trousers and boots of other passengers as she held it down by her side. Knight chanced a look at her face and saw that she was staring across the empty tracks with a fixed look of single-minded purpose. As the train came in, she was the first to enter a carriage. He noticed that she took no seat, instead standing by the open door. Knight stepped onto the train in the next carriage along, his height allowing him to make out the top of Eliza’s head through the windows. He prepared himself to clear the closing doors quickly should it all be a ruse to send him off her path, but Eliza’s head was motionless as the doors slid into place and the train heaved its way from the station.

  Chapter 39

  IT WAS AT the third stop that Eliza disembarked. Knight followed, happy to see that there were other passengers emerging who could cloak him.

  He needn’t have worried. Eliza’s focus was on moving forward, and in no time they were out of the station and onto the streets of Kensington. The rain had weakened, but was still heavy enough to justify Knight pulling the hood of his jacket back over his head. From beneath the brim of his cap, he saw Eliza walk inside a Tesco supermarket. He watched the entrance, waiting for her to reappear. He made use of the opportunity to call in to Private HQ and update them on his intention and location.

  When Eliza emerged onto the pavement, Knight hung back as she paced along Kensington’s long streets, confident that he could hold his tail from a distance. It was only when she turned and walked up the steps of a beautiful brick town house that he pressed closer, using the parked luxury cars that lined the road as cover.

  From thirty meters away, he watched as the small woman rapped her left fist against the cream-painted wood of the door, her umbrella clutched unopened in her right hand. She knocked on the door again, and again, and again.

  An Indian man opened the door, and his handsome face twisted in bewilderment.

  Eliza had let go of the umbrella and was left clutching something else in her right hand.

  It was a knife.

  “Where is she?” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Where is
she?”

  The man at the door was shocked into stillness at first, but then his survival instincts kicked into life and offered him the choice of fight or flight.

  He chose flight and ran back into the house.

  “Where is she?” Eliza screamed again, running in after him.

  Knight was already across the road and nearing the steps to the house at a sprint. He ran up the steps and into the shouts, screams and crashes coming from inside the beautiful Kensington home.

  He followed the noises to a living room, where the terrified man had taken refuge behind a sofa and was trying to keep Eliza at bay by hurling at her books, vases, ornaments and anything else within reach. One heavy leather-bound tome connected with her face and blood poured from her nose.

  “Where is she, Mayoor?” Eliza screamed at the man again, oblivious to Knight behind her. “Where is that bitch? Where is she?”

  Knight knew he could take no chances. For the sake of all three lives, he had to act swiftly and decisively.

  “Help me!” Mayoor called, catching sight of Knight in the doorway. “Please!”

  Eliza turned to see where Sophie’s boyfriend’s panicked eyes were looking. Her own barely registered the look of remorse on Knight’s face as he threw the punch and knocked Eliza Lightwood into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 40

  JACK MORGAN LOOKED out of the helicopter’s windows and over the gray landscape of a rain-sodden east London, his destination clearly marked by the second helicopter that was landed on a school’s football field. It was Princess Caroline’s helicopter, and Morgan had come alone to tell her that Sophie Edwards was dead.

  The chopper’s skids touched down on the grass, and Morgan thanked the pilot before handing him his next orders—to head back to Wales and bring Cook to London as soon as Private’s legal representatives arrived to deal with the fallout of the case. With that, he opened the door and stepped onto the field’s wet grass.

  A man was waiting to meet him. The face was familiar but the clothes were not—Colonel Marcus De Villiers was wearing civilian clothing, a green Barbour jacket over corduroy trousers. Even out of uniform, the man stood out as a military officer.

  The Englishman put out his hand to greet him. “Morgan, I’ve spoken to PC Lewis. She said that you saved her life.”

  “She saved mine,” Morgan replied, accepting the handshake.

  “Regardless, you have my thanks. Lewis is a good woman, and fiercely loyal. She’s one of my favorites on the protection teams,” the Colonel admitted, and for the first time, Morgan saw a second side to De Villiers. One which was, perhaps, just as fiercely loyal to his team as Lewis was to her superiors.

  “I’ll be putting her forward for an award,” De Villiers told Morgan as they walked across the sports field and toward the school. “Because of the reasons why she was in that situation in the first place, it will never pass, but at least she’ll know that I recognize her bravery.”

  The pair paced in silence for a few seconds before De Villiers addressed the reason behind Morgan’s arrival. “She’s going to be upset about Sophie.” There was no trace of sadness in his words.

  Morgan pulled up, and the Guards officer stopped and turned to him. “What is it?” De Villiers asked.

  “Did the Princess hire Private to find Sophie, or bury a secret?”

  “I’m not sure which particular secret of Sophie’s you’re talking about. She had many—”

  “I’m not talking about Sophie’s secrets. I’m talking about the Princess’s secret, Colonel. The secret that she and Sophie Edwards were lovers.”

  Chapter 41

  DE VILLIERS SAID nothing.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” Morgan insisted.

  “I did,” the Colonel admitted. “Her security personnel and staff give their loyalty to her first and foremost, and they kept it from me, but certain things you can’t hide. When they were together? Well, you’d have to be a bloody fool not to see it.”

  For a moment, Morgan thought about the attraction between himself and Jane Cook. The Englishman was right—some things could not be hidden.

  At least, not while those people were alive.

  “Someone killed Sophie to hide this secret and prevent a scandal,” Morgan declared.

  “Impossible!”

  “Quite possible, Colonel. Not only is Sophie dead, but three of us only just escaped joining her that way in the forest. Someone didn’t want us to find her. To avoid secrets finding the light.”

  “Are you suggesting the Princess had Sophie killed?” The Colonel shook his head. “If the Princess murdered Sophie to hide the secret of their relationship, then why would she hire you to find her?”

  “I don’t believe for one second that the Princess would harm Sophie. I think that whoever wants this secret buried works for the royal family. They knew where we’d be, and they wanted us stopped.”

  It took the Colonel a moment to form his reply, which came out in a forced tone that barely concealed his anger. “I will not stand for accusations like this being thrown at my people, Morgan. We keep very close control over our firearms and their use.

  “Send your experts to our facilities, and I’ll give them full access to our armory and records so that you can run ballistic tests against them and the ones recovered from your hotel and Range Rover. You can have that and anything else you need to put this wild theory to bed.

  “Well? Is that good enough for you? Morgan?”

  But Jack Morgan wasn’t listening. He was watching as a group of people emerged from the school and made their way toward the helicopter. Princess Caroline was at their head, and Morgan could almost feel the frustration emanating from her as she saw him but resisted the urge to run toward him.

  Once she had reached them, she wasted no time in asking the question: “You found her?”

  “I did.”

  A solitary tear made its way slowly to Princess Caroline’s cheekbone. There it was flicked away as if it were an errant eyelash, the movement hiding the flash of vulnerability from all but Morgan—looking into her eyes, he could see that a tidal wave of emotion was building inside her, threatening to break through.

  “I’d like to talk to the Princess inside, and in private,” said Morgan.

  “Of course,” replied De Villiers, quickly showing them back inside the building to rooms that had been cleared and guarded for the use of the royal visitor and her team. Crayoned pictures of families, sunshine and pets covered the walls of the classroom. Life begins so happily, Morgan thought to himself.

  “Sophie’s dead, Your Highness,” he said simply. “I’m so very sorry.”

  “I knew it as soon as you spoke outside,” she replied.

  Morgan watched as Princess Caroline cast her eyes over the children’s pictures, no doubt thinking the same thoughts as Morgan.

  “At what point does it go wrong?” she asked, almost to herself.

  Morgan didn’t reply. If he allowed Caroline to talk, perhaps she would shed some detail on Sophie that was a thread Morgan could pull at to unravel the mystery surrounding her connection to Sir Tony Lightwood.

  “Have you ever been in love?” she asked.

  The question surprised Morgan. “I have,” he admitted after a moment, the image of Cook’s face floating in his mind. He could almost feel her, if he closed his eyes.

  “I can see it.” Princess Caroline half smiled. “You’d do anything for her?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’d lay down your life for a stranger, or a case?” She thought it over. “I suppose there’s no end to what you’d do for someone you loved…”

  Her words trailed away, and Morgan let them go, waiting for her to come to her point.

  “I’m sure you’ve worked out that Sophie was more than a friend to me. I don’t know if what we had was a relationship, but I know that it was love. You see, Jack, I didn’t care about her past, but we knew that we couldn’t think about a future. It was impossible. Can you see
that?”

  Morgan nodded. “She was the one with secrets, but you’re the one who couldn’t carry them.”

  “She was everything to me, and yet we couldn’t ever be anything. Times have changed and society has moved forwards, but the support of the royal family is a conservative base, Jack. A lesbian princess? I hope, soon, that this is something Britain can embrace.”

  “But not when her partner has a history of prostitution and blackmail,” Morgan finished, as delicately as was possible for such a statement.

  “Even when you say it kindly it sounds terrible, doesn’t it? I swear to you, Jack, those days were behind her, but we both knew… we both knew that you can never be free of the things you do and the mistakes you made, no matter how long ago.”

  A heavy silence filled the room.

  “How did she die?” Caroline asked eventually.

  “I don’t think you want to—”

  “Jack, please. Just tell me how.”

  “We found her hanged. It was by a waterfall, in a forest.”

  “Sounds like a beautiful place,” she managed, doubtless trying to push away the image of Sophie’s body.

  “It was.”

  Princess Caroline sat. Morgan knew the woman’s next question was the one that was eating at her soul. “Did she kill herself, Jack?”

  Morgan shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think it was staged to make it look that way.”

  “Then find whoever staged it, Jack,” she begged, taking his hand in a grip like steel. “Find them. Find them, and bring them to justice.”

  Chapter 42

  PETER KNIGHT WATCHED from the Kensington home’s doorway as Eliza Lightwood’s stretcher was loaded onto the back of an ambulance. Though he had prevented a stabbing, and possibly murder, Knight felt awful—he had been raised never to hit women. At moments like this, he wondered what his beloved wife would think of him.