Private Royals (Private 12.50)

Private had been among a raft of security providers who’d bid for the lucrative contracts to oversee the major events for the Queen’s ninetieth birthday celebrations. To Morgan’s displeasure, and Knight’s embarrassment, Private had not landed a single one.

‘It’s not on you, Peter,’ Morgan told his friend, seeing the slightest of slumps in the Englishman’s shoulders. ‘This is the old boys’ club, and the right school or regiment means more sometimes than service and price.’

Knight nodded his understanding. As a former special investigator to the Old Bailey, he had seen first-hand how Britain’s aristocratic class system could still hold sway.

‘That’s all well and good, Jack, but I don’t want people to get hurt because we didn’t know a secret handshake.’

‘Well, we’re here,’ Morgan declared brightly, ‘so let’s enjoy the champagne.’

‘Cheers,’ Knight offered as the men touched glasses.

‘Enjoying the drinks, gentlemen?’ they were asked in the nasal tone of the British gentry.

‘Colonel De Villiers,’ Morgan greeted the Coldstream Guards officer.

At six foot three, Colonel Marcus De Villiers, head of security for the royal family’s inner circle, made for an imposing man. He was also the reason why Private had no hand in the security for the Queen’s birthday events.

‘I’m surprised to see you here, Mr Morgan.’ The Colonel’s words were neutral, but his eyes betrayed his irritation.

‘We were invited,’ Knight answered for them.

‘Oh.’

Morgan smiled, imagining how the Colonel would be kicking himself inwardly for not having scrutinised the guest list more closely.

A proud man with little time for cocky Americans, De Villiers sneered as he looked at the men’s champagne flutes.

‘I imagine you made full use of the hospitality provided at the Olympic Games, also? Little wonder that Cronus and his Furies did such damage.’ The Colonel was referring to the bloodthirsty murderers who had run amok during the 2012 London Olympics, before finally being brought down by the two men who held their tongues, refusing to take the bait. ‘I suppose you did catch him at the closing ceremony, at least.’ De Villiers shrugged.

‘Peter did, yes, Colonel,’ Morgan replied. ‘He put his life at risk to save others.’ He eyed the thin row of medals on the Colonel’s chest and saw none that would signify combat. ‘As a military man, I’m sure you would understand all about courage and sacrifice.’

De Villiers was stung by the sarcasm. ‘Private investigators should stick to photographing unfaithful spouses, Mr Morgan. Good evening.’

The Colonel turned on his heel, and Knight couldn’t help but smirk. ‘Sounds like someone’s made use of that service,’ he said.

Morgan laughed and ran a hand through his hair to clear himself of the irritation De Villiers had caused him. As he did so, the American locked eyes with the most beautiful woman present amongst the crowd of cocktail dresses and uniforms.

And she came straight for him.

CHAPTER 2

MORGAN WATCHED AS the beauty closed the space between them, never once breaking eye contact, confidence radiating from her in waves. Morgan made for a striking figure himself, and was no stranger to women finding him attractive, but even he was a little shocked by the brazen approach that had come from nothing but a look.

‘Jane Cook,’ the beautiful woman introduced herself, putting out her hand.

Morgan had seen a lot of stunning women in his time, but he didn’t know if he’d seen any so attractive when wearing the drab green uniform of the military, and with no make-up.

‘Jack Morgan.’ He smiled, taking her hand, and quickly ran his eyes over the insignia and decorations of her uniform – she was Major Jane Cook of the Royal Horse Artillery, a veteran of Afghanistan and Iraq, and recipient of an OBE.

‘I know who you are, Mr Morgan,’ she told him. ‘I invited you.’

‘Jane is a friend of mine,’ Knight announced. ‘I need to check in with the office. Back in a tick.’

‘That’s very nice of Peter,’ she smiled as Knight took his leave, ‘but I’d also like to think of myself as a candidate. I leave the service at the end of the year, Mr Morgan, and I’d like you to be my next employer.’

Realising that the attention towards him was due to business and not pleasure, Morgan almost laughed aloud at his own ego.

‘Peter will take care of you, Major, and we’ll see if you’re the right fit for Private. I’m afraid I’m only here to watch a show. My company has no stake in the celebrations.’