Inside the helicopter was tense, and silent. Beside Knight, Morgan sat like a coiled spring. Then, without warning, the American’s body sagged into his seat.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” Morgan sighed.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“I’m the head of Private, and all mistakes belong to me. If anyone killed Jane, then it was me.”
Knight turned in the helicopter’s tight confines so that he could look directly into Morgan’s face. “Flex killed Jane. Don’t forget that, Jack. Nobody else. Flex.”
After a moment Morgan grudgingly nodded. “I should have seen this coming, though, Peter. We beat him down when we were searching for Abbie Winchester. We kicked his ass. Reputation is everything in the security business, and Flex must have lost his when he took that beating.”
“Not everyone kills over a reputation.”
“But Flex would,” Morgan countered. “I should have known that. I should have seen it. I came into this situation with blinkers on, and led us into one trap after another. Jane’s dead because of me.”
“Bollocks, Jack!” Knight grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “She’s dead because of that bastard!”
“She’s dead because of me. And Lewis too. Flex won’t take prisoners.”