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“Go on up,” one of the armed men told Lewis. “And enjoy your paperwork.”
“Piss off.” She laughed as Morgan put the vehicle into gear, and they wound their way up to the royal residence.
“He’s right though.” The police officer shook her head. “If you survive a shooting they just try and drown you in paperwork instead. I’d better get inside and put in an after-action report. I’m afraid I’ll be no use to you now, either.”
“What do you mean?” Morgan asked.
“I mean I’ve got to hand in my weapon once I report this shooting. Then I’ll be placed on leave, pending the results of the investigation.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the American gasped.
“That’s ridiculous!” Cook exclaimed from the back seat.
Lewis shrugged her shoulders. “Well, there it is. I got to do what I always wanted to do. Now I’ve got to take it in the arse from the desk jockeys.” She gathered her few possessions from the Range Rover and made to leave. “I enjoyed working with you guys.”
Morgan smiled. He knew that sentiment was a lie, at least for the most part, but there was nothing like the shared danger of being shot at to bring a team together.
“Thank you, Lewis.” Cook put out her hand. “Without you we’d be dead.”
“We would,” Morgan agreed. “You ever need anything, you call me.”
“We’ll see each other again,” Lewis promised. “In court, probably.”
“Goodbye, Lewis.” Morgan watched the brave woman he’d once suspected as his would-be assassin walk through the rain and into the residence.
“I got to like her,” Cook admitted. “Some balls on her.”
“Brass ones,” Morgan agreed.
“So we’ll go back to London?” she asked.
There was a second’s delay before Morgan replied, “I will.” He saw the slightest slump in Cook’s shoulders, unable to hide her disappointment.
“Lewis is right,” he explained. “There’s going to be a paperwork circus after today. I’ve sent for our legal team, but until they get here, I need you to hold the fort. Make sure the transition to the police goes smoothly.”
“I can do that,” she told him, professionalism overcoming her desire to be close to Jack Morgan. “Will I see you back in London?” she asked.
Something in her eyes, something in her words, made the investigator in Morgan question what he had been told.
“You’re not in a relationship, are you, Jane?” he asked her.
“I’m not,” she confessed.
“Then why—”
“Because I didn’t want to be the woman sleeping with the boss,” Cook blurted out. “I didn’t want people talking behind my back. But more than that, I needed to know how Jack Morgan would treat me if we were colleagues, and not lovers.”
Morgan let the words sink in. “Well, now you know.” He stepped in closer, less than a foot between the two of them as the rain pattered against Cook’s upturned face.
“Now I know,” she agreed.
He put out his hands, and pushed back the wet hair from her face, tucking it behind her ears. She was beautiful. No matter how he had tried to suppress his feelings, they had not diminished. Now Morgan looked deeply into Cook’s eyes.
“We’re close to finishing this,” he promised.
She understood that he meant their absence as lovers as well as the case.
“And when we are, we’ll go away. No work. No cases. Just us.”
