Private Princess

Chapter 47

Police constable Sharon Lewis looked at the sticky pool of blood on the kitchen floor.

“It’s Knight’s,” Cook told her, pointing out the broken pieces of porcelain that lay close by. “Can you imagine getting hit with that?”

“I took a frying pan to the head once.”

Cook looked at her with surprise.

“My dad,” Lewis explained.

“Is that why you became an officer?” Cook guessed.

“You should have been a shrink,” Lewis smirked sarcastically. “If you play the punchbag enough times, it’s a nice feeling to be the fist. I don’t tell people that, though. Most of the blokes already assume that any woman in uniform has daddy issues.”

Having been an army officer, Jane Cook knew something about that. “I was lucky — I didn’t have any issues with my dad.”

“Then what made you join?”

“I grew up on a farm and my dad taught me to love the outdoors. As I got older I wanted to see more of the world. My family didn’t have the money to fund that kind of thing ourselves, so I joined the army.”

“And you liked it?”

“Loved it. You?”

“It’s my life,” Lewis admitted. “I don’t know what I’ll do when I leave.”

“I thought the same,” Cook confided. “But now I have new teammates and new challenges. It’s all I want.”

“And the boss, too,” Lewis needled.

“It’s not like that.”

“I know. I’m only teasing you. To be honest, when I first met you, I didn’t like you. I thought you were another pretty girl shagging her way up the ranks.”

“I’m not,” Cook said stiffly.

“I know that now.” Lewis smirked. “I was wrong. I didn’t realize it was love.”

“I didn’t say it was that either.” Cook smiled, thinking of Jack Morgan, and how they would soon be free to find out exactly what it was.

“You didn’t have to.” Lewis smiled back. “I’m sorry we didn’t get off to a good start, Cook. You and me have both come up in organizations dominated by men. At first I thought you were the kind that held women back, but now I see why you’ve got to where you are, and I hope we can stay in touch after this.”

“We will,” Cook promised. “There aren’t many people I can say have saved my life. The least I owe you is a spot on the Christmas card list.”

“Bloody hell, what an honor!” The police officer laughed. “You want a brew or what?”

But before Cook could reply, she heard a sound in the doorway.

She was about to greet the expected police officers. Instead, the words died in her throat.

Jane Cook was staring down the barrel of a gun.