Private Royals

Chapter 6

The Duke sat alone in the Range Rover’s back seat, gazing through the window at nothing. Up front, Morgan powered up a tablet as Knight drove them back across the city to Private HQ.

‘The office has sent us the packet on Abbie,’ Morgan said quietly to Knight. This was the initial dossier Private staff had compiled on the victim. A quick glance at the content told Morgan it was best he share the rest with Knight when they were not in the presence of the girl’s father, and so he read on in silence.

Twenty-five-year-old Abbie Winchester was cousin to the popular future king of the United Kingdom, and had once been the model royal, heavily involved in charity work the world over. Then, three years ago, Abbie’s mother had died from breast cancer, and the daughter had quickly slid into the role of the party girl, pictured blitzed drunk from St Tropez to Dubai. The tabloids loved her in the way that they loved all train wrecks, and Abbie soon became synonymous with excess and hedonism, leaving a trail of rock- and sports-star lovers in her wake.

Naturally, the charities with which Abbie had done so much good work had ditched her quickly to avoid tarnishing their own images. The royal family had been more discreet in their handling of matters but, slowly and surely, they had distanced themselves from the wayward young woman.

Morgan asked the Duke if he and his family had been invited to the Trooping the Colour ceremony.

‘Yes,’ the Duke replied, turning to face him, his distraught mind still sharp enough to read the unspoken question in the American’s eyes. ‘They can’t keep us away from everything. That’s why I had gone to her apartment, to see that she was all ready for the morning.’

‘You said she had a bodyguard, sir?’ Morgan asked.

‘Bodyguard and chaperone. He was supposed to be there tonight, to keep an eye on her. He’s been off a lot recently, some kind of virus that left him ghastly and weak, but he called my secretary this evening to check in, and to confirm that he would be with her.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Aaron Shaw. He served under me as troop sergeant. Household Cavalry.’

‘You were in the army?’ Morgan asked.

‘It’s expected. In my bloodline,’ the Duke answered with a shrug, finding some focus with the distraction of conversation. ‘Shaw’s a fine man. Never let me down, not once. He’d die for my family.’

Morgan managed a weak smile. ‘I hope it won’t come to that, sir,’ he told the Duke.

But remembering the amount of blood in the apartment, Jack knew that may have happened already.