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

but a look.
    ‘Jane Cook,’ the beautiful woman introduced herself, putting out her hand.
    Morgan had seen a lot of stunning women in his time, but he didn’t know if he’d seen any so attractive when wearing the drab green uniform of the military, and with no make-up.
    ‘Jack Morgan.’ He smiled, taking her hand, and quickly ran his eyes over the insignia and decorations of her uniform – she was
Major
Jane Cook of the Royal Horse Artillery, a veteran of Afghanistan and Iraq, and recipient of an OBE.
    ‘I know who you are, Mr Morgan,’ she told him. ‘I invited you.’
    ‘Jane is a friend of mine,’ Knight announced. ‘I need to check in with the office. Back in a tick.’
    ‘That’s very nice of Peter,’ she smiled as Knight took his leave, ‘but I’d also like to think of myself as a candidate. I leave the service at the end of the year, Mr Morgan, and I’d like you to be my next employer.’
    Realising that the attention towards him was due to business and not pleasure, Morgan almost laughed aloud at his own ego.
    ‘Peter will take care of you, Major, and we’ll see if you’re the right fit for Private. I’m afraid I’m only here to watch a show. My company has no stake in the celebrations.’
    ‘De Villiers,’ Cook said, casting an icy glance towards the man. ‘The closest he ever came to combat was an air-conditioned office in Bahrain. I’m sorry you were screwed by him on the contracts, Mr Morgan. I can tell you from personal experience that I know what an institutionalised old boys’ club the British security forces can be.’
    ‘Call me Jack. And it is what it is. Believe me, there are cliques and fraternities in the American hierarchy too.’
    ‘So what brings you here to London, if not work?’ she asked.
    ‘Heading back from Europe across the pond, so I wanted to see how my guys are getting along here. I’ve always wanted to see the Trooping the Colour parade, so when Peter told me that he had invitations, I could hardly refuse.’
    ‘Well, I’m glad you’ll get to experience something new here in London.’ Cook’s eyes gave the slightest suggestion that marching soldiers were not all the city had to offer. ‘Home is LA?’
    ‘The Palisades. It’s the bit between LA and Malibu.’
    ‘Malibu? Do you surf?’
    ‘It’s the second-best way I know to clear my head.’ Morgan smiled.
    Cook fought a losing battle to stop herself from doing the same. ‘I surf. In Cornwall,’ she managed, on the edge of blushing.
    Morgan said nothing. His own smile was gone.
    Because Knight was on his way back in a hurry, and Morgan recognised the look on his friend’s face.
    ‘They need us at headquarters,’ Knight informed his boss. ‘Now.’

CHAPTER 3
    WITH MORGAN ON his shoulder, Knight pushed open the door to his office in Private London’s headquarters.
    Neither of them were surprised to see the grey-haired gentleman inside.
    He stood at the window, looking out over the city, his hands clasped behind a bespoke tailored suit. His outward appearance suggested calm and confidence, even when standing alone inside a stranger’s office. It was an appearance that would fool almost anybody.
    But Jack Morgan and Peter Knight were not just anybody, and they could see the tension in the man’s posture and hear his exaggerated breathing.
    They knew who he was, of course – no one could waltz into Private, let alone Knight’s office, without the say-so of someone in a position of authority. Knight had granted his because his workspace was sterile, all files deeply encoded on drives that were unobtainable unless the man at the window had been a master hacker.
    And he was not. He was the ageing Duke of Aldershot, and a member of the royal family.
    ‘Sir,’ Knight said simply, and the man turned towards them.
    On the journey from Horse Guards, a quick Internet search had revealed the Duke to be sixty years old. However, with his red eyes and pale skin, the royal looked closer to a