THE STATE OF the battered and shot-up Range Rover drew stares from the two plain-clothed guards at Llwynywermod’s gate, the two men emerging from a four-by-four of their own and into the rain. “Are you all right?” they asked their colleague Lewis.

“I’m good,” she beamed. “Got one of them through a passenger window.”

“You ally bastard,” one of the guards grinned. Jane Cook recognized the army slang for “cool.”

“We need to see the Princess,” Lewis followed up. “Like, now.”

“She’s not here, mate.” The evident soldier shook his head. “Chopper took her out earlier. Got an event on in London.”

“Opening a school, I think it was,” his partner added.

“Shit,” Lewis sighed.

Jack Morgan was not so deflated—Princess Caroline wasn’t the only one with access to helicopters, and on Morgan’s instructions, Private dispatched one to Wales.

“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.”

“Sounds perfect.” Cook smiled. “Where?”

“Hawaii,” Morgan told her, picturing the blissful image of big waves, blue skies and Jane in his arms. Despite the cold Welsh rain, he felt as though he was already there. Only the sound of helicopter blades broke him from his reverie.

“You have to go,” she almost whispered.

“I’ll send it back for you,” he promised. “Hand over to the legal team, and I’ll take care of the Princess.” Morgan turned to watch as the helicopter touched down a hundred yards from the house, the mountains behind it ominous and dark beneath the thick cloud.

It was time for Morgan to leave Wales. There was only one more thing for him to do.

He took Cook’s hands in his, the touch full of the spark and promise of what was to come. “I’ll see you in London.”

And then he kissed her.