Page 29 of Consume Me

“Have you ever considered—truly considered—that Norris might not—”

“I trust Norris with everything, especially my wife,” I cut him off, knowing where he was going with this.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about Norris,” Smith pointed out.

I could understand why he felt that way. I had it on good authority that his own man had betrayed him to Hammond a few years ago. But this was different. Norris was different.

“He’s my family, and while we may be a fucked up bunch, I trust my family. We look out for one another. We have to,” I said, my voice vibrated with suppressed annoyance. Considering Norris a suspect was a waste of time. Perhaps Smith had never known true loyalty.

Smith pulled into a vacant space in front of a row of houses and remained silent. If he had more to say on the subject, he wasn’t going to share. That was good because I wasn’t interested in hearing it.

“Did you bring an entourage?” Smith asked, his eyes glued to the rearview mirror.

Swiveling in my seat, I turned to discover two black Aston Martins behind us. One slid into a vacant spot, the other pulled up beside the passenger window.

“I didn’t,” I said in a low voice. These weren’t our men, but we both recognised a security team when we saw it.

It made sense that Jacobson would increase security. Public opinion regarding his alleged participation in my father’s assassination was mixed. Some people didn’t believe it. Others wrote it off as the nasty business of politics. But there were a fair few that believed he was a traitor. I was one of them. Even amongst those that didn’t support the monarchy there was a fair bit of horror over the allegations. It seemed whether you supported king or not, nearly everyone supported country—and the attack had been against everything Great Britain stood for.

Parliament’s initial outrage over his arrest and incarceration had cooled once the matter had become a matter for public opinion. Most members had remained tight-lipped regarding the matter with very few voicing support for their colleague.

“Should I handle this?”

I blinked at Smith’s question. It took me a moment to see things from his perspective. He had stepped into the role of bodyguard albeit begrudgingly. Norris would usually have handled this. It was part of our unspoken arrangement. Smith and I on the other hand weren’t exactly friends, and I wasn’t exactly his employer. Our relationship was something different entirely. He now fell into the category of fucked up family I’d been defending moments earlier.

That didn’t make it his job to handle things now.

“We might as well do it together,” I muttered, opening my car door before he could protest, but Smith didn’t.

Instead he tossed me a pair of aviators. “A little extra camouflage in case we’ve attracted any prying eyes.”

He respected my decisions in a way most members of my team didn’t. He was also far less likely to take a bullet for me. In my opinion, it was the perfect balance.

Stepping out of the Bugatti, I slipped the sunglasses on, knowing that between the stubble I’d been ignoring and my t-shirt and jeans I didn’t look much like myself. Then again, reporters had a long memory. Only a few years ago, I’d looked like this often. Back when I’d first met Clara. Back when we’d moved into our place in Notting Hill. Back when our life felt impossible. A lot had changed.

A man had gotten out of each car, but left the engine running. The one closest to me inclined his head. “Your Majesty.”

Jacobson might not respect me but his men did.

“You can tell him that we’re here. I’m unarmed.” I still hadn’t bothered to get a gun despite my conversation with Smith. He was right. It would be necessary. For now, though, I was telling the truth. I shoved my hands in my pocket and waited.

The man glanced to the row of white houses behind us. “We don’t represent Jacobson.”

“Then we don’t have any business,” Smith said, stepping next to me. Unlike me, he’d found the time to use a razor and change into a suit. He looked every bit the part of a lawyer. I wondered if that was purposeful. In a way it was his own disguise, hiding the wild streak in him under a coat of civility.

“Our employers would like you to reconsider speaking with Jacobson,” the man continued.

“You’ll find I don’t take well to orders.” It was a hazard of being a king. I didn’t appreciate being told what to do.

“Consider it a request from friends.”

Smith and I looked to one another considering this so-called request. There weren’t many people who would have the balls to surround men like us and ask a favour. That fact alone was worth considering. Another time that might have been enough, but each moment I spent not knowing where my wife was a second less than I would show those who took her.

“Unfortunately, gentleman, this is a matter of national security,” I said calmly, taking a step away from the car. It was only then I realized that another man had circled round us to wait on the sidewalk.

“As is this,” the man assured us. “You won’t find the answers you’re looking for from Oliver Jacobson. He’s been effectively isolated.”

I sucked in a breath as I felt that door slam shut. It had always been a long shot to get Jacobson to talk, but it had been our most promising option. We knew he was involved, even if it wasn’t clear how much he actually knew about the plan. If these people had cut him off from the others involved with Clara’s disappearance, they would pay for it. “On whose orders?”