Free Private Royals: BookShots (A Private Thriller) by James Patterson Page B

Trooping the Colour without a ticket and ID.’
    ‘I don’t think he was going,’ Morgan explained. ‘The way he was dressed – scruffy jeans and a T-shirt – he would have drawn attention at the event.’
    ‘Then why say that? Why make those threats about Abbie?’
    ‘Misdirection. Trooping the Colour had been the Duke and Wilkinson’s plan. They would have been able to get Abbie in and release her. But you and I saw how tight the security was to get in there. Why would real kidnappers risk it?’
    ‘To prove a point?’
    ‘This was about money, not politics.’
    ‘God, you’re right,’ Cook realised, crestfallen. ‘Then the other kidnapper could be taking Peter and Abbie anywhere. Our only hope is that Waldron’s partner tries one more time to make the demand.’
    ‘He won’t.’ Morgan shook his head. ‘They were quick to kill before, just to prove a point. He won’t have any second thoughts about doing it now to clean up. I mean they killed the bodyguard before they’d even …’ He fell silent, his eyes growing wide.
    ‘What?’ Cook asked, looking at Morgan.
    ‘We’ve been working on assumptions, Jane,’ he told her. ‘We assumed the threat to kill Abbie and make it public at the parade was real. That was wrong. What else have we assumed?’
    Cook had no answer.
    Morgan hit speed dial. ‘Hooligan. Bring up the dead bodyguard’s records.’
    ‘Done,’ came the Londoner’s swift reply.
    ‘Was he medically trained?’ Morgan asked, his fingers tightly gripping the phone.
    ‘Sergeant Aaron Shaw was a qualified team medic for every one of his operational tours, boss.’
    Morgan looked to Cook, the scent of prey thick in his nostrils.
    The Major almost gasped as she came to the same conclusion. ‘Shaw knew how to draw blood,’ she whispered.
    Morgan nodded. ‘Abbie was taken by her own bodyguard.’

CHAPTER 39
    IT WAS THE pain beneath his ribs that brought Knight back to consciousness.
    His eyes opened wide, and he wanted to scream in agony, but his lips wouldn’t move and the sound died in his throat. It took him a moment to realise that his mouth had been taped shut. Wanting to tear it away, Knight discovered with panic that his hands were tied behind his back, his ankles also bound, and his shoes removed.
    He was a prisoner, he realised, dread rising from his stomach. He had no idea how, but he had an idea by whom.
    He was the prisoner of a ghost.
    Aaron Shaw entered the room – the bodyguard whom Private had presumed dead was still very much alive. He was looking at a phone in his hand, as if weighing up a mighty decision.
    ‘Will your dad pay?’ the man asked, his tone heightened by adrenaline. Knight followed Shaw’s gaze to another bound prisoner, though unlike him, Abbie Winchester had the comfort of a threadbare sofa.
    ‘Abbie!’ Shaw roared. ‘Will your dad pay?’
    Abbie’s mouth was free from tape, but fear kept the words inside her.
    ‘You useless little twat!’ he screamed, brandishing a knife that he pulled from inside his coat. ‘You still think you’re bloody special, don’t you? Even covered in your own piss and puke, you still think you’re special! Well you’re not!’
    The man backhanded his prisoner, who let out a moan.
    ‘Your dad was the same! Treated his blokes like they were his bloody servants! But who did he come to when he needed the dirty work doing? What kind of man would set up his own fucking
daughter
to go through this?
    ‘Don’t you understand, you stupid little tart? Your dad would rather have you dead and out of the picture than give away the family’s money! Why do you think he got these pricks from Private involved, instead of just paying up? He wanted them to push us into a corner! If he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, then he wanted you dead!’
    ‘No,’ Abbie moaned, but the tone of grief in her voice led Knight to think that she believed it.
    As if feeling the eyes on him, Shaw snapped his head around to face the man