by R. J. Scott
“There’s more, then,” Max said. There has to be.
Lucien shifted uncomfortably. “The first few notes arrived just after I was photographed with the man and they were sent to my parents. Imagine that? Your parents being sent incriminating photos of their quiet son. They were shocked, horrified, but they refused to negotiate with the blackmailer. They ignored them, and there weren’t any more threats, no more photos, and everything appeared to end. I just wanted to hand over any money they wanted, but my family wouldn’t let me, and it seemed they were proved right. Right then it seemed that whoever took the photos and threatened me had given up.”
“What do you mean, it seemed?”
“Because then they found the body.”
Lucien was growing agitated, twisting his fingers together, and he was no longer flushed with embarrassment but spiky with the beginnings of anger. A change of subject was probably a good idea.
“What body?” Max said.
“Wait, I have to get this straight in my head. I should start with university.” Lucien closed his eyes and looked to be getting his thoughts in order and Max had to hold back his instant state of alert at the mention of a body. “I decided I wanted to study in the UK, anything to get away from… everything. I’d already missed years by losing the plot, gap year from uni after gap year, always an excuse not to go. Then suddenly, that is all I wanted to do. My old tutor recommended Cardiff a long time ago when I was only twelve or so, something about the UK Universities having the best research facilities and Cardiff being a beautiful city. When I was applying I remembered what he said.”
“Not to mention it’s in a different country.” Max pointed out.
“Yes. I mean, at first my family didn’t like the idea of me moving so far away without a security team. Or without the pomp and ceremony of a visiting dignitary.” Lucien rolled his eyes. “But after everything I went through when Seb died, I think my parents finally came to the decision that any move to get my head out of my arse was a good one.”
Max couldn’t help the small snort of amusement. The word arse coming out of Lucien’s mouth was just all wrong. Lucien frowned momentarily at the snort but continued.
“So some years later than the other students I should have been with, I started my degree. I was registered as just Luke Magrello, the normal guy with the funny accent.” He pointed at himself and offered a wry smile. “Luke Magrello doesn’t need a bodyguard or any special treatment. The threats had stopped. Everything was quiet, and I wanted to blend in and be normal. I’m ashamed to say that I did my own bit of blackmailing by promising my parents to never drink again if they’d only let me study at Cardiff and live on campus and just be normal.”
“Okay, let me understand this. You’re a prince, royalty, but you imagined you could hide away and no one in the age of Twitter and Facebook would put two and two together?”
“Prince is a title, that’s all. My family doesn’t have the money one would think was attached to it. I’m maybe eightieth in line to the throne in the UK through my father’s side, but we’re not rich—in fact you could say we’re property rich but cash poor.”
Max couldn’t get any of that to make sense. Why was someone blackmailing a family with no money, and—wait, none of that answered his original question. “So why do you need a bodyguard?”
Lucien bit his lip. “I don’t think I do.” He held up a hand to stop Max from responding. “The letters,” he said. He passed over another envelope, and this time Max pulled out everything. Nine separate letters in individual plastic wrappers with the stamp of Cardiff police on three of them and a familiar country name on the other six. So that’s where Prince Lucien comes from. Envelopes were attached to each, but none had gone through a postal service as such. All hand delivered, then.
“They’re in order,” he said. “The first six were sent to my home before I moved here and when the police looked at them the first five were all linked by tone. Crude and sexual, whoever wrote these was after one thing, and they signed off OS. The sixth one is different. The first five had my parents demanding I had a 24/7 bodyguard, and there was no way they would have let me leave the country on my own. Look… you’ll see.”
Max read the first one, a letter of admiration and respect, albeit a short one. Nothing much that would ping his radar, apart from the fact the letter had been signed off with mine forever before the simple initials OS. It appeared all five of the letters ended the same way.
The second was a little more insistent, suggesting Lucien maybe hadn’t received the first, then apologizing for being a nuisance. Although there was no return address on the first, so how the hell Lucien could have replied even if he’d wanted to wasn’t clear.
“That’s just irrational,” Max murmured, more to himself than Lucien.
“It’s like he wanted a reply,” Lucien said. “I don’t get it either.”
The third was angry and said in no uncertain terms that Lucien should know better and where were his manners. Still irrational. The fourth was where it got interesting. Abruptly the writer was saying that Lucien wasn’t the man he thought he was, the man that OS, whoever OS was, had fallen in love with. The letter writer said there were photos and he would hate to see them released to the press if Lucien didn’t respond to the letters admitting he was in love with OS.
“That’s where I am thinking, respond to what? Is there something in those letters I should be seeing to know who to respond to?”
Max shook his head. “I don’t see anything. But somehow the writer thinks you should know him. Did OS seem familiar to you? Oliver, Oscar, something?”
“Nothing at the time, I promise you.”
“And the blackmail photos, I assume he means the ones I just saw.” He turned to the next letter and confirmed his own statement. Crudely stapled to the fifth missive was a black and white print of the blurred image Max had just looked at with the words You think I couldn’t give you this? All you needed to do was ask. written in block capitals. I will have you.
Lucien pointed at the writing. “We had checks done on printing and the tone of the words. All of the letters are a supposed match but because there is no part of it that is handwritten in cursive or script, we can’t get any more from them. The authorities couldn’t find anyone with the initials OS who had a direct link to me, but do you know how many people in my country have those letters in their name?”
Max glanced at Lucien, who was gesturing wildly to underscore the question.
“I can imagine,” he said.
The sixth letter was different. The paper quality better, and the words used less raw and more controlled. If Max didn’t know better, he’d say they were from a completely different person.
All it said was You don’t need to worry any more. I’ve dealt with him.
“The suspicion was that this was a different person,” Lucien said. “Then—” He squirmed a little in his seat. “—the police found a body in a burned-out car, a man named Oscar Sheiver.”
“You think that was OS?”
“His apartment wall was covered in photos of me, my family, and he had these printed wedding invites between me and him. All they could determine was the dead man, Oscar, had been murdered before being placed in the car, killed by several blows to the head. There was no evidence to link to who killed him, and for the longest time I thought my parents had cleared up the issue.” Lucien lowered his head. “I didn’t know what to think.”
“Okay, so letter six is someone admitting what they did,” Max summarized. “That they ‘dealt’ with OS.”
“That is what the police thought, but with no more leads, it was done. I sobered up, became more of who I should be, and applied for a university place here.”
Max turned to letter seven, the first of the ones with the Cardiff police station tag. I’ve seen what people are like around you. Be careful. The paper was again different, which ruled out a connection that way, but still, the tone of it was a warning and wasn’t threatening in
any way.
“That was pushed through the door,” Lucien said.
“And you think it’s by the same person who might have removed OS from the picture?”
Max shook his head. “I don’t know. No one knows. It certainly looks like it, but it’s been so long since the first six letters, it’s anyone’s guess.”
If the author of the last letter six had followed the prince to his school in a completely different country, then it didn’t matter the tone wasn’t threatening. Not good.
Letter eight rambled on for two pages, all in capitals, talking of the kind of people that Lucien should watch out for: the teammates in the swim team who were lying to him and the housemates who wanted nothing from him but money.
“This seems pretty specific. Do you have a feeling that someone is lying to you on the team?”
“No.”
“And is someone in your house taking money from you?”
“No, nothing more than lending a fiver here and there,” Lucien said. “No one knows who I am apart from the uni authorities.”
Letter nine was on different paper, a pale yellow cheap stock from the weight of it. This was both somewhat of a threat couched in a demand for Lucien to ‘see’.
It ended with a strange sentence. I can’t always keep you safe, why don’t you see that? I need you to see or you’ll end up getting killed.
Just that. A simple collection of words that were stone cold in their finality and intent.
Max considered the last part: or you’ll end up getting killed. That wasn’t the same as ‘I’ll kill you’? The words were subtle in difference and it didn’t sit well with Max. “He or she didn’t say they would kill you, just that you’ll end up being killed. That suggests a dissociation from hurting you directly.”
“I can’t see the difference,” Lucien said. “At the end of it I’m dead, according to whoever wrote these.”
“You want my advice?” Max asked. He pushed forward before Lucien could say a thing. “Go home to the castle or palace or whatever with Teddy, and get as far from here as possible until the authorities track the letter writer down. If it’s the same person who dealt with OS and that person is here in the UK now, then you should be keeping your head down.”
“We don’t have a palace or a castle,” Lucien snapped. “And I’m not going home. That is exactly what my parents want. I’m in my last year, and I want to stay. The deal so I get to stay is that I have security. They sent Teddy over—he’s the head of security at home. But you’ve seen him with his best impression of a hairless Hagrid, and if he’s with me, nothing will be the same. I need someone who will just be with me. If I stay here, if I don’t want to go home, can you help me? Will you?”
Max glanced up from the letters to see the resignation on Lucien’s face. Lucien was expecting Max to say no. Vulnerability shadowed his eyes, and he clasped his hands together so tightly the skin was white. Max’s heart won out over his head. Lucien wasn’t arrogant or expecting Max to say yes, he was defenseless and scared. He might not be listening to Max’s advice, but that wasn’t what Max was here for. Max was merely the bodyguard.
“Let’s talk more.”
Chapter 2
A weight lifted from Lucien at the quiet words. Just to have someone to check for noises in the dark, to talk to him when he couldn’t stop feeling scared—that was all he needed.
Maxwell—Max—Connery wasn’t what Lucien had expected, nor what Teddy had wanted based on his almost violent reaction. But Max was obviously who Bodyguards Inc. thought best to send in to live alongside Lucien, and he wasn’t going to argue. He wanted to know more about the young-looking guy who would be his pretend friend for however long it took for him to feel safe.
“Can I ask you…? I mean, this is personal, but exactly, uhm, how old are you?” he asked, tripping over his words and sounding like an idiot in his own head. Immediately he qualified what he was saying. “Mr. Monroe said you’d done so much, but you don’t look—”
“A day over twenty-one?” Max finished. “I get that a lot. I’m twenty-eight, but I’ve done other jobs where I’ve had to blend in at a college.”
“You have?” Lucien was half-hopeful and half-disbelieving. He’d actually uncurled himself from his hunched position and managed to keep eye contact with Max.
“Twice.”
The door slammed open and Teddy stalked in. Immediately, Lucien tensed.
“I won’t have it,” Teddy snapped. He loomed over Lucien and grabbed his arm so hard Lucien let out a small curse. “You’re coming home where it’s safe, or I follow you at your university.” The words gave no room for a third option, and for a moment, any hope that Max could help him disappeared.
Until Lucien was staring down at Teddy flat on his back, Max looming over him with his lower arm pressed to Teddy’s throat. Somehow Max had managed to fell Teddy with some kind of ninja move. Lucien’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“Geroffme,” Teddy shouted. Or at least he was attempting to shout, but he was flailing at the same time. Finally Max let up the hold, and Teddy rolled to his feet with grace that belied his height.
“Don’t threaten my client again,” Max said. Lucien looked from Max to Teddy and back again. Teddy was bristling, his hands in fists at his side; Max, on the other hand, was loose-limbed and ready for the next go.
“I’m your client?” Lucien honed in that piece of information.
“As of ten minutes ago,” Max said.
Teddy loosened his tight fists and instead crossed his arms over his chest. He was not going to be happy about being embarrassed. Teddy was just as aware of what people thought of him and of his place in things as Lucien was. This could get ugly. Teddy wasn’t an easy win and he’d likely thump Max.
Instead, he did something unexpected. He held out his hand. “You took me by surprise,” he said.
Max took the hand and they shook. “I did.”
“You keep him safe.”
“I will.”
Teddy stepped back. “I’ll take you to the university.”
“I’ve got that covered,” Max said.
There was a stare-off, Teddy grim and stern, Max calm and in control of the situation. Was this an appropriate time for Lucien to hope Max used that expression a lot? Because he was gorgeous and hot and all kinds of sexy. And… God, how hot…
You don’t lust after bodyguards. You just don’t.
“You’ll keep your phone with you at all times.”
Lucien realized Teddy was talking to him, and he snapped out of his thoughts about the bodyguard/prince thing that was never going to happen. “Sorry?”
Teddy tutted. “Your phone. All times.”
“All times.”
Seemingly reassured, Teddy backed down. Lucien didn’t want to point out that he wouldn’t be able to carry his phone in the pool, but then Max would still be with him then. In the pool. With just swim trunks on. All wet and slippery and—Stop!
Then Teddy did another unexpected thing: he pulled Lucien into a hug, which he had never done before. Ever. He’d been part of Lucien’s life for as long as Lucien could recall, but he’d never hugged him. Teddy didn’t hug, security didn’t hug princes. It wasn’t done. But God, it felt so good to be tugged close and held so tight like he didn’t have a thing to worry about. Just as quickly, Teddy let go of him and left the room. That left the hovering owner of BI and Max standing with him.
Lucien wished he knew what to do next.
Max broke the silence. “Tell me about your house. Do you share with others?”
“With two others at the moment. Jamie Green came up with me from year one when I was in the halls. He’s a friend.”
“And he knows about you?”
Lucien glanced at the doorway, but Kyle had disappeared, leaving just him and Max in the office. “That I’m gay?” he said in a hushed tone.
“No, that you’re a prince,” Max asked. He sounded very patient, but there was a hint of laughter in the words.
“Oh, no one knows about the prince thing, although the gay thing is pretty much out there, I guess. Jamie keeps himself to himself, you know, studying and stuff since we’re in our last year.”
“And the other one?”
“The other what?”
“The other person in your house. You said there were two.”
“Oh yeah, Emily is a friend of Jamie’s. She’s mostly at her boyfriend’s place, though. And there is a fourth bedroom that was being used by a guy who dropped out, Tommy. That could be your room.”
“We’ll need to run background checks on Jamie, Emily and her boyfriend, Tommy, your lecturers and professors. And friends? I’ll need a list.”
Lucien swallowed. He didn’t really have friends. “I have the swim team,” he said brightly. He wasn’t lying. They swam together, there was some camaraderie, and they’d gone out a few times for pizza after a meet over the last couple of years. They did themed events that called for dressing up, but thankfully he’d managed to avoid most of those. He was known as the quiet, serious, and ever-so-slightly odd one of the team, but that was okay, he wasn’t out to win hearts and minds with a sparkling personality. “I can give you a list.”
Max passed him a piece of paper and a pen. “Write me a list of the ones you know now. We’ll give it to Ross. It’s a good place to start, a baseline as such.”
Lucien dutifully wrote the list and realized he did actually have more people in his life than just the swim team. There was Oliver at the Costa where Lucien got his coffee, and that girl at the sandwich shop that did awesome chicken subs. He added in his professors, the couple of third-years that he worked alongside that he could think of, and the two groups of first-years he ran seminars for.
Max ran his eyes over the list, then gestured for Lucien to follow until they reached the desk of the guy who had shown them in—Ross, he thought. Kyle was leaning on the side of the desk, a stapler in his hand and a thoughtful expression on his face. He was fiddling with something, and then he raised the stapler aloft with a smile. “Fixed,” he said.