Private Princess

Chapter 59

“I told you not to call the police!” Morgan shouted at Knight, seeing their chance to slip inside and rescue Lewis disappear.

“I didn’t,” Knight protested. “Honestly, Jack, this wasn’t me. But look, the way that they’re set up. This isn’t a siege.”

Morgan looked to the police cordon. The uniformed officers were facing outward, not in.

“None of them are in cover,” Morgan realized. “They’re not afraid of getting shot.”

“Flex is gone,” Knight said, the words barely out of his mouth before Morgan was again sprinting, this time toward the police.

“Who’s in charge?” he called to the nearest uniform, the officer raising an eyebrow at Morgan’s American accent.

“Please stay away from the cordon, sir,” the young PC said in reply.

“I need to know who’s in charge!” Morgan asserted. “My people were inside that house! I need to get in there!”

“Sir, please stay calm.”

“I am calm! And I need to get inside!”

The sound of raised voices drew the attention of a police sergeant. As a veteran officer, she had seen enough grief to recognize it in Morgan.

“Sir,” she said in a calm, controlled voice, “you say you know whose house this is?”

“It belongs to Mayoor Patel,” Knight cut in before Morgan could speak. “But the two women here are Sharon Lewis and Jane Cook. One is a police officer and the other is an investigator for Private.”

“They are my people,” Morgan seethed. “And I need to see them.”

The police sergeant thought over Knight’s words, then looked back to the house.

“Have you been inside?” Knight begged. “Please, we need to know.”

The sergeant held her tongue as she gestured for the young officer beside her to move away and give them privacy.

“The paramedics are stabilizing one woman who’s been badly beaten,” she told the men, looking straight into their eyes. “I’m afraid that one of the women... has passed away.”

“Can we see them?” Knight asked.

Morgan opened his mouth but found himself unable to speak.

“This is Jack Morgan, head of Private. My name’s Peter Knight, and I’m head of the London branch. If you call my sister-in-law at the Met, Elaine Pottersfield, she will confirm for you who we are.”

“I’m sorry, sirs, but your identity is not the issue. No one but the police and paramedics can cross this boundary. If you will wait here, I’ll go and find out which hospital they’re taking her to.”

“Thank you,” Knight said, defeated. Beside him, Jack Morgan was white with rage.

“This is Flex’s doing,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “He called the police himself, to keep me from Jane.”

The truth of that hit Knight like a blow. Then, in the same moment, he realized what other motivation a former SAS soldier could have for keeping them at the cordon.

“We’re sitting ducks out here, Jack,” Knight warned. “There are hundreds of windows on this street, and Flex could be in any one of them. Let’s get clear and into some cover,” he urged.

But Morgan stood firm. Knight considered how he could drag Morgan from the street and to safety. Thankfully, he was saved the ordeal by the reappearance of the sergeant.

“I gave your names to the lady in the ambulance,” the police officer told them. “She wants to see you.”