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As she drifted into the comfort of the ketamine, she had no idea that the black object was a camera.
CHAPTER 8
HAVING LEFT THE Duke at his central London residence under the watch of two Private employees, Knight pulled the Range Rover to a stop outside Private HQ. No sooner had they climbed out than Jane Cook appeared from within and strode purposefully towards them.
‘I’m ready,’ she told Morgan.
‘You’re not,’ he answered with a smile, taking in Cook’s trouser suit.
‘Why?’ she asked, and Morgan paused before answering – Cook looked fantastic, but he brought his mind back to the task at hand.
‘You look like a cop,’ he told her, then pointed to his own outfit of jeans and a dark hooded jacket.
‘Pays to not stand out,’ Knight added, knowing that Cook would turn heads regardless of what she wore.
‘I’ll go change,’ she said.
‘No time,’ Morgan said, taking the keys from Knight. ‘You’re coming with me.’
‘OK. Where to?’
‘There was a bodyguard with Abbie, so we’re going to check out his place. We can find you a new wardrobe as and when,’ Morgan explained, then tossed her the Range Rover’s keys. ‘And you’re driving.’
With Morgan an
d Cook heading out into the relative calm of London’s Friday-night traffic, Knight waited for Hooligan to arrive in the van. Sensing that the night would be a long one, he made use of the moment of peace to call his children’s babysitter, who had luckily been booked to cover Knight for his cocktail evening with Morgan.
‘Been talkin’ to the little ’uns?’ Hooligan asked a few minutes later as he climbed from the transit van. ‘Always got a big grin on ya mug when ya do.’
‘When you have kids, you’ll understand, mate,’ Knight laughed.
The scruffy geek shook his head, affronted by the idea. ‘Can’t tie this body down to one bird, son. Be a crime.’
‘You’re a real giver, Hooligan.’
The men carried the boxes of evidence inside the building and into Hooligan’s state-of-the-art lab.
‘How long will it take to come back with results from the blood samples we took from the scene?’ Knight asked.
‘Could be an hour, could be never.’ Hooligan shrugged. ‘The Duke gave me a sample of his royal DNA, so if it’s his daughter, then we should know pretty sharpish.’
‘And the bodyguard? He seems like the most likely donor.’
‘He ex-military? See if your liaison can pull some strings and get his records. Either that or something with DNA from his place.’
‘The military keep DNA records?’ Knight asked.
‘Identifying body parts,’ Hooligan explained.
Knight promised he would do what he could, and left the London native to work his magic. Until the kidnappers called there was little Knight could do but try to build up as detailed a picture as possible of Abbie’s life. To that end, he invited a guest into the office.
‘Sadie Wilkinson,’ announced a hawk-faced woman in her mid-thirties as she walked into Private’s secure reception area.
‘Peter Knight.’
‘I know exactly who you are, Mr Knight. I watched the footage of you taking down Cronus at the Olympics closing ceremony.’
‘Oh.’
