“And Cook?” the man asked hopefully.
Morgan said nothing. Knight shook his head.
“Morgan, I’m so sorry.”
Morgan’s mind was miles from sympathies. A million miles from them. It was only concerned with retribution.
Perhaps De Villiers saw as much.
“Get into the car, Morgan,” he ordered as if to a soldier. “Not you,” he said to Knight as he tried to follow. “I need to speak with Morgan alone.”
Chapter 62
AS THE RANGE Rover’s door closed behind them, Morgan was about to ask De Villiers what he wanted to speak about. Instead, he watched with surprise as the Colonel slammed his fist into the headrest of the empty passenger seat.
“Bastards!” he snarled. “Spineless, gutless bastards!” He punched again, breathing heavily. “They’ll pay for this—Lewis is one of mine.” The head of royal security inhaled deeply. “An attack on her is… It’s an attack on the Crown, Morgan.” De Villiers shook his head. “And Cook? She was awarded an OBE for what she did in Afghanistan. She’s done as much for her country as any other person.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Morgan asked, his manners blunted by emotion.
“Why?” De Villiers choked, as if it were obvious. “Because I want to help you.”
“You can’t help in this. Our work for the Princess is over. We found Sophie. We found her killer.”
“It’s over, is it?” De Villiers shook his head. “Not when Lewis is in the hospital it isn’t. Not when…” He left Jane Cook’s name and fate unspoken. “Look, Morgan, you may not have the highest opinion of me, that’s clear enough, but I am a soldier—a British soldier—and we believe in honor and justice. Someone out there has murdered a former army officer, and badly beaten one of my police officers. I want whoever did it found.”
“Then look for them.”
“I don’t need to, because you already know who it is, don’t you? You’re like a bulldog straining at the leash, Morgan. You’re not sniffing for clues—you’re ready to tear out a throat.”
“I don’t know who it was,” Morgan lied.
“Bullshit! Total bullshit!”
“And what if it is bullshit? Do you think I’d tell you, so that you can get in my way?”
De Villiers laughed. “Get in your way?” He shook his head. “Morgan, Lewis is family to me. I want to help you. I want you to find these people before anyone else does. Do I have to spell out why?”
Morgan looked into the officer’s eyes, and believed him—De Villiers wanted justice. The kind that couldn’t be delivered in a British courtroom.
“No,” Morgan answered.
“Good.” De Villiers nodded with finality. “Now. I expect you’ve been wondering where to find a gun?”
Chapter 63
PETER KNIGHT WATCHED as Morgan emerged from the back seat of the Range Rover. No sooner had the door closed than the vehicle pulled away quickly up the street.
“Our own car’s here.” Knight gestured to a black Audi dispatched from Private London. “Where to?”
“Headquarters.” Knight recognized from his boss’s tone that it was not a good idea to dig for further information right now.
As they crossed to the waiting car, Morgan threw one more forlorn look toward the building that housed Jane Cook’s body. It would be some time before the pathologists and crime scene investigators were ready to t
ake her away, and it pained Morgan to know that Cook was alone and cold on a kitchen floor. He knew from experience that there was no dignity in death, but Cook’s fate seemed exceedingly cruel. The fact that his own life was in danger did not even enter into his mind. Instead, Jack Morgan’s emotions swung from crushing sadness to red-hot rage.
“I’m going to rip his throat out,” he promised as they climbed into the car, repeating the image that De Villiers had put in front of him.
“We’ll get him,” Knight promised.