Private Royals (Private 12.50)

Knight stepped across, and with his arms firmly around the woman’s shoulders he took her from Cook’s hold.

‘I’ll handle this,’ he mouthed to Morgan, and led the woman away on her unsteady feet, the publicist near-paralysed from shock.

‘Didn’t look like there was any relief when she found out it wasn’t Abbie,’ Hooligan observed, and explained to Morgan and Cook that Wilkinson was the kidnapped girl’s publicist.

‘She’s probably Grace’s rep too,’ Morgan guessed.

Having been directed there by Knight, two members of Private staff arrived and, with Hooligan, carried Grace’s body to where it could be kept in the lab’s cold storage facility.

Left alone with Cook, Morgan shook his head, unhappy at the turn of events.

‘She shouldn’t have had to see that.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Cook assured him. ‘You couldn’t have known.’

‘I’m the head of Private, Jane. Everything that goes on in my company is ultimately on me.’

With another shake of his head, Morgan realised he was talking to a prospective future employee, and not just a beautiful woman who was impressing him with her guts and vision.

‘You know what? It’s done,’ he said, regaining his composure. ‘We need to concentrate on Abbie. I’m going to call Flex, see if he’s come up with anything.’

‘I’ll go get us some coffee.’

Left alone for the first time since the afternoon, Morgan took a few moments to clear his head. He took deep breaths and thought about the view from his home, the Pacific Ocean waves crashing over the rocks. Feeling centred, he dialled the number for Flex’s office.

‘All right, Jack?’ the muscled man answered the phone.

‘That depends on what you tell me,’ Morgan said, trying to sound light-hearted.

‘Then you’re buggered, mate, I’m afraid. No luck with anyone I’ve talked to so far.’

‘Someone must have employed Shaw,’ Morgan urged. ‘His last client was a private hire, as they served together, but there must be a trace of him elsewhere?’

‘There are a few companies who keep regular office hours, so I haven’t had a chance to call them. Could be they turn something up.’

‘Great. Thanks, Flex.’

‘No problem, mate. Anything else I can help you with, before I go get some gonk?’

‘Gonk?’

‘Ha, sorry, mate. Army term for sleep. Got a big gym session in the morning. Got to rest sometime.’

‘Yeah, you could use some more time in the gym,’ Morgan joked. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Flex, but I have to ask it …’

‘Go on.’

‘When you were making these calls, did you mention to anyone who was behind the questions?’

‘Of course not, Jack. OPSEC, mate,’ Flex answered, meaning operational security – a term common to both of the men’s services.

‘Thanks. I knew you wouldn’t, but the kidnapper somehow found out Private are working this,’ Morgan explained. ‘There’s a leak somewhere, so I had to ask. You know how it is.’

‘That I do, mate,’ Flex replied. ‘I’ll check in with you tomorrow.’

Morgan hadn’t liked to ask a fellow security professional about a basic matter of information security – to a man of Flex’s experience, it could have been taken as deeply insulting – but Morgan was looking forward to his next phone call even less.

‘Your Grace?’ he said. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you.’