by E V Darcy
‘On. The. Couch,’ she reiterated. ‘And no, none that I’m aware of. And as I said, Jensen did date, but he never had any serious relationships. Any women he got involved with were usually gone in a month or two. I think the longest was four months; Jennifer Cartwright. Her grandfather is a senior partner at the law firm that represents my family. But that was a while ago. I think she did believe she’d managed the impossible right before he dumped her though.’
‘Ouch.’ Alistair winced.
‘I know, right? Anyway, he made it crystal clear that he was definitely intending to come back later that same day.’ She recalled him standing there, staring at her, his eyes earnest and imploring.
When I get back, we need to have a proper talk. Last night was amazing, but I think we need to lay all our cards on the table.
‘I’m guessing he wanted to tell me something but… Well, we never got that chance, did we?’
The trio fell into silence for a moment; Marcus pursed his lips and tapped his chin with his index finger as he considered her story—again—and Alistair stared at her, his face scrunched up as he thought. Hattie really had no idea why he was sticking around or getting so involved.
‘Right, that’s that.’ She slapped her hands on her thighs, grimacing slightly as pain shot up her arm and down her thigh, and stood up, ready to finally leave.
‘More happened after that,’ Marcus reminded her and motioned for her to sit back down again. She sighed as she fell back into her seat, crossed her arms on the table and buried her head in the crook of one to muffle her scream. A little.
‘Finished?’ he asked when she glared at him over her arm.
‘You’re a dick. I have no idea what my sister ever saw in you.’
‘I could say the same about you and your twins.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Jensen left, I went for a shower, but before I got in Jensen’s car horn beeped and I went out to see what he wanted. Then boom! He blew up, you guys destroyed my house, and I ended up here. And we’re done!’
‘Not quite. Step by step.’ He added please when she remained silent.
‘He shouted down would I marry him—as he always asks whenever he sees me—I said something like yes now bugger off. His car began to pull away and then boom. I was thrown back through the door and when I got up, I ran up the steps to the road. I tried to get to him, but I couldn’t and I was tackled to the ground by someone.’ She sat up and back in the chair, her arms crossed over her chest. ‘I’d like to know who tackled me and why they were there.’
‘That would have been your security detail.’
‘My what now?’
‘After what happened with Victoria, we assigned you a security officer for—’
‘Without telling me?’ Her voice was high, and getting louder, but she didn’t care. They’d had someone following her since her sister and brother-in-law had been attacked and they hadn’t told her? What if they’d seen what she and Jensen had done that night? Peeked in the window just to make sure she was home safe and got an eyeful. She felt violated.
‘You had no right!’ She slapped her hand on the table. Alistair jumped, but Marcus looked wholly unimpressed. ‘None at all! If I want protection, I can get my own. I don’t need one of you lot following me around and reporting back to my grandfather! I am not under his jurisdiction!’
‘While you carry the title of Lady, I’m afraid you are,’ Alistair said quietly.
‘I wouldn’t get involved in this, if I were you, Alistair!’ she snapped as she stood up and began to grab her things from the bed. ‘We’re done. I’m out of here. And if I see one of your men’—she turned back to Marcus as she stuffed everything in her bag—‘I will file a harassment charge. I do not want nor do I need royal protection.’
She made it half-way across the room before Marcus replied.
‘I think Conner O’Malley had something to do with Jensen’s death.’
The words washed over her like cold water, stopping her in her tracks and sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine at the idea of the loathsome critter near her home. He’d blackmailed her brother-in-law, Cormac, and almost killed him by twisting the reality of a poor guy who already suffered with mental health issues. And what was worse was the bastard had got away with the whole thing because all his lackeys refused to give him up. What the hell would O’Malley want with Jensen? Jensen had no involvement with his father’s company, had no influence over anyone there. It was Roman who—
Everyone else thought I was Roman.
‘He thought he was Roman?’ she asked, turning back to them.
‘It’s possible. Do you know why O’Malley might have an interest in either of them?’
She shook her head. She had no clue. Jensen breezed in and out of their lives whenever he saw fit. He travelled the world, looking for a big adventure, but would never say what the adventure was. He didn’t want to be tied to anyone or anything. Hell, he only had the penthouse because it was more convenient than a hotel. Hotels had been annoying to Jensen—you had to have a reservation to get into the good ones. And despite Jensen’s fun-loving life and the free spirit he said he possessed, he loved his creature comforts. No pool, no Jensen. No room service, you didn’t get his service. Only four stars, not even considerable.
And Roman…
Her mind drew a blank. She no longer knew Roman Tyrrell. Hadn’t since he’d woken up that morning next to her and said those… things. Things she never thought she’d hear from his lips and certainly not directed at her.
‘So what do we do to protect Roman?’ she asked as she stood in the middle of the room, her overnight bag hanging from her hands. She felt thirteen again, standing on the steps of the university; afraid, lonely, and wishing she could just go home but unable to.
‘What do you mean?’ Marcus asked, finally switching off his device and standing up looking ready to get out of there too.
‘If O’Malley is after him, how do we protect him?’ She watched as Marcus glanced at Alistair who still sat there, glancing between the two of them. ‘Are you going to assign someone to him? He can have my guy, he’ll need a new job now.’
‘Hattie, I’m head of the Royal Guard. My men and I protect the Royal Family, not the likes of the Tyrrells. Their protection is their own concern.’
‘But… Then what was all this for?’ she asked, her voice once again shrill.
‘I needed to ascertain if you had been the target, but from your account, that doesn’t appear to be the case.’ Marcus packed up his bag while Hattie tried to piece together what he was telling her.
‘And as to the reason why we created a sink hole in the street; we had to ensure there was no evidence of foul play for the public to latch on to if it got out you’d been there. I know your father proctected you and your Alexi’s assests well via his company, but still… Better safe than sorry. After Victoria’s recent brush of danger, we have to ensure the nation thinks the Royal Family is completely safe or you’ll all be locked away again.’
Hattie narrowed her eyes at the man as he made to move past her.
‘Then do a better job.’
Chapter Four
Hattie blinked the bright spots out of her eyes as a sunbeam hit the brilliant gold of the coffin’s handles. The sun had decided to bless its own child, as Jensen had once described himself, as the large crowd gathered to pay their last respects to the youngest Tyrrell.
Bullshit! Hattie wanted to call as she surreptitiously glanced across Jensen’s coffin to make a note of who had shown their faces—purposefully avoiding Roman. She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d pushed her out the way as he’d ran from the mortuary, his face pale and eyes filled with horror at the sight of his brother’s body. She’d looked away the moment she caught a glimpse of the red and black mess under the white sheet, determined to remember Jensen the way she’d last seen him, smiling and laughing, his eyes twinkling with merriment as he jokingly declared his love for her. Not what had happened to him after
—
She swallowed, pushing back the emotion that threatened to rise up. She would not cry here. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart. She would be solemn, dignified in her grief, just as a royal of her standing should—even if she all she wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry somewhere. To rally and scream at how unfair it was, that one of her oldest and dearest friends was already taken from the world.
She swallowed, licked her suddenly too dry lips, and dipped her chin slightly, as her eyes carefully moved through the throng to see where her friends were. Freddie stood stoically next to his partner, Jacob; Heidi openly sobbed next to Hattie as Constance comforted her, and Julia had dashed in moments before the start, as harried as she always looked. Ben was stuck in the middle of Australia, the funeral happening far too quickly for him to even get to civilisation, never mind the other side of the world.
Of course, bloody perfect Fiona stood next to Roman—still not looking!—her white-blonde hair loose and free, her face perfectly made to look as if she wore no make-up at all and her eyes shimmered just enough for it to appear as if she was devastated by the loss of her almost-bother-in-law.
Can you buy something to make you cry? Hattie considered, before telling herself off for the bitterness within that thought. Now wasn’t the time or place for her to have such animosity towards the woman, but their little group all knew Fiona had no love for Jensen. Hell, during their days at Guildford the two had done nothing but scream at one another, although that had stopped the moment Roman had started courting the icy maiden. The silence between the pair afterwards had been almost palpable.
Hattie noted there were a number of people from her father’s company and reminded herself to speak to Pippa later that night and mention them, just to ensure nothing untoward was going on with the sale of the business. She didn’t mind the fact her father’s holdings were being sold on, after all she would receive a chunk of it in the sale if she met the stupid stipulations of her father’s will—not bloody likely—but she didn’t fancy the idea of Gerald Tyrrell getting his mitts on it.
Hattie’s gaze continued carefully across the crowd, giving her something else to focus on than the deep gaping chasm in her chest that kept threatening to consume her. Turn her into an empty husk at the loss of her friend. She again avoiding Roman; there were several women she recognised as Jensen’s past conquests, from pictures that had appeared in the press during his playboy years. Which meant there were a lot of women attending, as Jensen’s playboy years had begun the moment he’d turned eighteen and concluded when he’d died.
She swore if he had planned on making her one of them, she’d have killed him herself.
I’d never do that to you, she imagined him saying, his eyes pleading with her in that annoying puppy dog way he’d mastered, his lower lips just slightly pouting. Never to you, Hattie, you were different. Plus, they all knew; it’s why they’re all here. Everything with them was amicable.
She rolled her eyes at her imaginary Jensen and continued her covert search… A few big names in business, a couple of minor actors, a few of her grandfather’s advisors—
Hattie did a double take at the presence of Vanessa Goodwin, Avalone’s biggest actress. She’d scampered to Hollywood the moment she could and made a global name for herself; there was no way she and Jensen—
On again, off again, his ghostly voice whispered. Only when we were both in town and both single.
Hattie shook her head. She didn’t recognise anyone else, so they were all probably friends of the Tyrrell family, meaning Jensen wouldn’t have wanted them there. God, she hated that. Hated that this wasn’t about her friend, but about a show and tell for his damned father. She didn’t really know the Tyrrell patriarch, but she’d heard the hushed up rumours of how he’d ran his own family fortune into the ground before marrying Deidre Seymour and taking over Seymour Medical.
Catching sight of one of the plain clothed Royal Guards mixed into the throng, only annoyed her all the more. There were four of the unwelcome companions with her—the only way she’d been cleared to come to the damn funeral was with them—just in case Roman had been the intended target. One stood on her other side and the other three blended in, keeping an eye out for anything suspcious. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all.
‘…and so, we return, Jensen Edward Tyrrell back to the earth.’
The bishop fell silent as Jensen’s coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. While her friend had a penchant for Ferraris and Ray-Bans, the casket was far too lavish and ornate for Jensen. A perfect metaphor for the whole day; nothing was as her friend would have imagined—he hadn’t even subscribed to the view of organised religion.
It was all too bloody surreal, to think that one of her them, their little gang, was dead. They were all still so young; had barely begun to settle into their lives, to find out who they really were, and now one of them was gone.
Hattie took a breath to qualm the well of emotions that kept wanting to overflow. She’d never see Jensen again; never hear his infectious full body laugh or give into his winning smile. She’d never hear his warm, deep voice as he talked her into doing something crazy or see the boyish twinkle in his eyes as she relented and agreed. He’d never make her laugh and lift whatever weight she was carrying by asking her to marry him for the umpteenth time...
And she’d never get a chance to spend another night in his arms.
That was going to be an itch that she’d never be able to scratch. She’d never know if he really would have returned to her, if he would have really laid all his cards on the table. She’d never know why, after knowing each other for so long, he’d sought her out alone and decided it was time to do something she knew he hadn’t done with anyone else in their group.
Why had he turned to her and not the others? He’d seen them more often than he’d seen her, so why had he decided on her? Had he come to her for help? Had she been the only one who could help him out of something he’d got himself into? Something that had got him blown up?
Dammit, it was going to drive her insane until her dying day.
She gave a mental finger to the ghostly image she had of Jensen grinning down at her like a Cheshire Cat on speed as her brain racked over the unanswerable questions.
The quiet whirl of the lowering mechanism for the coffin, just audible over the soft singing of the choir the Tyrrells had organised, brought her back to the moment. She glanced at it near her feet, her eye twitching as its gears ground unexpectedly. If Jensen really was standing beside her, he’d tell her to kick it, give it a nudge to make the whole thing drop his coffin to the bottom. Maybe make it open and his charred remains fall—
She bit back the desire to be sick at the brief memory she had of him on that cold, metal slab. Closing her eyes she conjured the image of her friend, his dark hair and warm, olive skin that raidiant his health. His mischievous amber eyes that sparkled whenever he came up with another crazy idea for them to do. And that wide beaming smile, the one that told her everything was going to be okay no matter what…
Another sob threatened to burst from her. She couldn’t do this, she needed to leave to go hide. She wasn’t Victoria, she couldn’t put on a royal face in moments like this—
Go on, kick it. Make them have something to actually remember from this awful thing. Jensen’s phantom voice piped up again. It’s more boring than a nun’s pair of knickers—and I should know, I stole a pair once… I hope she didn’t have to do too many Hail Mary’s after that night.
Something eased within Hattie’s chest. She remembered that story, she’d been mortified for the poor nun. Although to be honest, she’d praised the Lord a fair bit that night if my rusty Italian is anything to go by. She bit back the smile from her lips, shaking her head slightly as she thought of her friend whispering in her ear. And who the hell ordered a fucking choir? I wonder what they’re wearing under their cassocks...
She lowered her gaze, rolling her lips between he
r teeth and clamping down on them hard to stop the hysterical laughter that wanted to bubble up and burst out. Maybe she was going crazy, but the voice was utterly right, she decided as she stared down at her shiny black shoes.
Should have worn red, Jensen’s ghost continued whispered. You know what they say about girls in red shoes… Go on, throw yourself on the coffin. A bit of wailing and smacking the lid as you cry out Why, God, why? is exactly what this thing needs. You could scream He was the best I’ve ever had, and I’ve had his twin just to compare! I was bigger, right?
She covered the splutter of laughter with a cough and gave her friend a mental sod off as she obscured her face with her gloved hands, hiding her unseemly grin. But Jensen’s invisible spectre refused, continuing to complain that a burial at sea would have been a far better choice of ceremony, especially if the yacht was filled with drunken babes clad in black bikinis crying their eyes out over his loss.
She sighed, knowing if she’d never won against the man when he was alive, she was totally screwed in his death. She let his disembodied voice continue on, trying to encourage her to do something, anything to make this more suited to a send-off for him rather than what his father had deemed acceptable. Or worse, what his twin had organised, knowing full well Jensen would have hated it. She might be going a tad crazy, but it eased the pain she suffered.
The uneasy sensation of someone’s eyes on her, made her shift guiltily on her feet. It was probably one of her grandfather’s guards; the git was probably making notes to report back to the King on how she behaved. She didn’t give a damn what they said; she was here for Jensen, not for God, King, or Country.
The burning sensation on the top of her head intensified. Unable to keep ignoring it—and desperately resisting the urge to not scratch the crown of her head with her middle finger—she kept her face to the ground and lifted only her eyes to furtively see who might be glancing her way. If she could spot the note-taking bugger, she might—
