Max and the Prince

by R. J. Scott

  “You need to calm down—”

  “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! Did you ever think that whoever has this murderous intent might just see what you did and see me reacting wrong which then pushes him over the edge? Did you?”

  Lucien had worked up a full steam of righteous anger, and Max wasn’t sure where to start.

  “But that’s a good thing. Getting this murderer out of the woodwork is what we need. Just because he hasn’t threatened you direct, he could still be the one who killed OS in the original letters.”

  Lucien spluttered a little, lost for words. Some of his self-control was slipping. “You took me by surprise. We should have had a thing, you know, a story.”

  “A legend?”

  “Yeah, where we have a reason for everything and I’m not left in a situation I can’t control. Because without one, if you put me in danger, then maybe I was wrong to hire you. Because if you’re suggesting for one minute that it’s good to put me in the marksman’s eye? That you think this will protect me and stop me from being hurt? What the hell, Max?” Lucien twisted fingers in his hair, then impatiently pushed the length of it off his face. The motion was quickly becoming familiar as a habit of Lucien’s. “You’re fired,” he added.

  “You’re not firing me,” Max said with a lot more confidence than he felt.

  “I did and I have and you’re fired.” Lucien turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen, where he filled the kettle and flicked it on at the wall.

  Max followed him with the intention to explain himself. He didn’t bother softening the blow. “What if Kev is the person sending you the letters? I saw your posture, you were intimidated and pissed off with him at the same time. I did what seemed right at the time. It’s my job. And hell, what if it is one of the team? What if seeing that you have someone with you all the time means they up their game and pulls them out of the shadows? Isn’t that a good thing? Do you want this to be over or not?”

  Lucien leaned on the work surface, his back to Max, and Max wished he could see Lucien’s expression.

  “It’s not going to be anyone on the team. It’s more likely to be someone from home following me here,” Lucien said. His voice was low and cautious and Max could only just hear him.

  “You’re right,” Max said. “You received that last letter stating the problem had been cleared when you were still back home. I get that, but the very fact you had letters here means that there is a connection somehow, and who knows what that association is.”

  Lucien turned to face Max, his expression resigned. “So you pretended to be my boyfriend to get Kev to back off and at the same time send some kind of message?”

  Max nodded. “I won’t apologize. You won’t fire me and I won’t leave. What I can do is get BI to send another protection officer if you can’t work with me. But when I work, I do it by instinct, and what transpired tonight was what needed to happen.”

  Lucien considered what Max said as he poured hot water on coffee, frowning in concentration. Then he grasped the mug.

  “When it was suggested, I imagined we would sit and get a back story in place, how we met, how long we’d been together. I didn’t imagine you jumping me and forcing me to think in the face of people judging me.”

  “Maybe you need some of that in your life.”

  “How dare you—” He visibly deflated. “What’s done is done. I’m going to bed.”

  And with that he left.

  Max stayed up longer, reviewing paperwork. Ross had done his usual thorough job of pulling information together and sent most of it through email. Max made use of the printer in Jamie’s room that he’d spotted earlier and now had all the relevant sheets laid out in a loose semicircle.

  He sent a request for more information on Tommy Macintyre, the ‘better to be friends’ ex-housemate who’d left Cardiff after one kiss with Lucien. He also sent one for Jamie the housemate and added comments about the swim team tonight. Other than that, Max read through each page, circling anything that jumped out at him. A couple of people on the list had appeared in Lucien’s childhood and were now closer to the UK. Hilda, his nanny, had retired to the north of Spain, the tutor Bryce, was retired after holding a professor position at Gloucestershire University. A couple of other staff were here as well, one in London, another in Yorkshire. And of course, Edward was in Madrid. He ticked them all to note he was going to look deeper.

  When the front door slammed open and a very drunk Jamie stumbled in, Max forced himself not to react even though adrenaline rushed through him. Jamie was a skinny guy, jeans hanging on his hips, scruffy T-shirt, and his hair in a short ponytail at the back of his head. He was a pretty boy, all angles and cute, but he looked worse the wear for drink.

  Jamie didn’t seem to notice Max at first and went straight past him to the kitchen, pouring water into the kettle and switching it on. He looked directly at Max with blown pupils and a puzzled expression on his face.

  “D’I get the wrong house?” he asked. Then he smirked and waggled his eyebrows before sliding down the cabinet until he sat on the floor. “Thish fifty’ly-five?” He looked bemused, casting his gaze around the kitchen, then spent an inordinate amount of time staring at his waggling fingers.

  “I’m Max,” Max offered. He crouched down by Jamie, taking in the appearance, gray skin, bright spots of red on his cheeks, and wide pupils. “Are you drunk?” Max couldn’t smell alcohol, which only left other ways to get a high.

  Jamie frowned, then grabbed at Max to stand up. “Nope,” he said. He leaned on the counter and made coffee one-handed. “Night.”

  Max watched Lucien’s housemate stumble out of the kitchen, coffee sloshing over his hands, which must have burned, not that Jamie showed any reaction. He made it to the top of the stairs alive and Max heard Lucien’s door open and the sound of voices before Lucien’s door shut followed by Jamie’s.

  Max began to imagine what this new player on the stage was capable of. Not much at the moment, but when the lows hit, was he a psycho capable of threatening Lucien?

  Yawning, he decided since Jamie was in, it was midnight, and he expected the other housemate to still be at her boyfriend’s, he’d lock up. He put the chain across the door, checked all the windows, then as an afterthought, propped the ironing board up against the front door. It wouldn’t stop anyone from coming in, but it would certainly make one hell of a racket and wake Max up.

  He paused outside Lucien’s door and listened, but all was quiet, and all he could hear from Jamie’s room was the low sound of music. Ready for bed, he left his door open a crack. Years in the RAF had made him a light sleeper and he knew any noise would wake him, but it helped to have nothing between him and any potential trouble. Jamie hadn’t been cleared by Ross yet, so he was an unknown in the house where the prince was. Something to consider.

  Max woke at a noise and was up on the balls of his feet instantly. Pulling on his jeans and forcing his feet into his trainers, he moved to the door, following the sounds of voices. When he peered around the corner of the landing, it was to see Jamie in the entrance hall talking to a guy in the shadows. The only thing he could make out of the other man was really white hair against the gloomy hall. He couldn’t hear the words clearly, but there was no mistaking the exchange of drugs and money. The shadow guy left, Jamie pocketed the bag he’d just been given, then locked the door and replaced the ironing board.

  Making it look like nothing had happened.

  Max glanced at his watch. It was 5:53 in the morning, but there had been just enough light cast through the open door by the streetlamp to let him observe what just happened. Jamie was a user? But was he also a pusher? A dealer? That he was involved with drugs was clear.

  As Jamie disappeared into the front room, Max hit his head back against the wall. Just what he needed, a drug dealer in the house with the prince. Was it Jamie sending the notes? But that thought left Max with a question. If Jamie was sending notes to Lucien, why would he not ask for money in them?


  Max went back into his room, leaving the gap again, and pulled out the most recent notes Lucien had received. These were only copies, Ross had the originals back at BI. Nowhere in any of them were there demands for money or anything material in return. These were about love and protection. Who would love Lucien? Kev had to be on the list, the guy was pushy and very much in Lucien’s face at practice. Not to mention Mickey, who had been with Kev. Max didn’t need to be a bodyguard to read Kev’s expression as he stared at Lucien, or Mickey’s one of dismay that Kev as looking at Lucien and not at Mickey. There was definite attraction there.

  Add in the lover in Madrid and there were three suspects to start with. Even if Kev and Mickey appeared to have no connection to Lucien’s home, they were considerations. Max quickly shot an email off to Ross with the new information about Jamie and also his thoughts so far on the case.

  Dressed, he made his way downstairs, pausing again at Lucien’s door and lifting his hand to knock to check he was okay. Hearing movement inside, he decided to back off. Jamie was downstairs and this was the ideal time to talk to the man—if he wasn’t off his head on drugs.

  Breakfast TV played in the background, and Jamie was at the table hunched over a bowl of cereal, a huge mug of black coffee very close by.

  “Morning,” Max said.

  Jamie startled and milk sloshed over the side of his bowl as he dropped his spoon. He pressed a hand to his heart.

  “Fucking hell, man, warn a guy.”

  “Sorry,” Max said. He filled his own mug and sat opposite Jamie at the table. Jamie didn’t look high or drunk, he just looked ill. A casual glance at Jamie’s bare arms showed no track marks, so likely Jamie’s drug of choice was pills.

  “You Lucien’s friend or something?” Jamie asked.

  “Yeah.” Max didn’t want to perpetuate the convenient lie of being Lucien’s boyfriend if Jamie had noticed they were in separate bedrooms. A pile of post on the side of the table caught his attention, a couple marketing leaflets and a very familiar envelope. Casually, Max looked through the pile and pocketed the letter. Jamie was too busy scraping cornflakes into his mouth to notice.

  “Cool,” Jamie finally said. He wiped milk from his lips, then dropped his bowl in the sink and rinsed it with water. Taking his mug and with a nod to Max, he left the room, passing Lucien on his way in. The two exchanged greetings but Lucien sounded just as tired as Jamie.

  “We need to go to practice,” Lucien announced. He was dressed for the gym, his swim bag over his shoulder. He pulled a towel off the warm radiator in the front room and sniffed it experimentally before stuffing it in his bag.

  Max glanced at the clock on the wall. “Now? It’s only just after six.”

  “And the pool opens in twenty minutes.” Lucien filled a glass with water and drank half in a few swallows. “That is what I do.” The words were flat, they didn’t dare Max to argue, they were merely a statement of fact.

  “Who else will be there?”

  Lucien shrugged. “The usual, I expect. The team don’t always use this pool, and there are some people in before work.”

  “Okay.” Max placed his mug in the sink next to Jamie’s bowl. “I’ll use the bathroom and get my stuff.” Taking the stairs two at a time, he shut himself in his room. He took thin gloves from his case and opened the letter. Welcome home. That was all it said. Just two words. Carefully he slipped the envelope and letter into a clear plastic wallet, then sealed everything into a new envelope, addressed it to BI, and resolved to post it to Ross on his way to wherever they were going. He also needed to add some external security cameras, nothing too obvious. He shot a quick text to Ross with the request, then stuffed a towel into his bag along with the stupidly small Speedos that Lucien had given him.

  A ping indicated a near instant reply from Ross. He’d tracked down the guy that Lucien had kissed, the one who’d left Cardiff, Tommy. Apparently Ross had it on his list to chase up on Tommy, but wasn’t hopeful there was any connection to Lucien’s letters.

  Max locked up when they left, and the two of them walked to the pool, Cardiff waking up around them. They crossed paths with students hurrying this way and that, which kind of belied the idea that all students slept in. The small Tesco Express was busy, the bins out for collection day, and Max collated all the information he could to build a picture of the kind of things that happened in and around these roads of mostly student houses.

  The water was cold, which was a minus, but Lucien remembered to use a locker, which was a plus. Kev was there and monopolized Lucien’s time, which was a minus, but the plus was he didn’t touch Lucien again.

  When they left, the sun was low in the winter sky, the frosty sparkles on the ground like tiny crystals reflecting the light, and the cold tugged at every spare inch of exposed skin. Lucien’s hair was towel-dried but still damp, and he’d pulled a beanie down over it. Even though Max was on the job, observing and alert, he couldn’t help but think just how damn cute Lucien looked with the beanie and the flush of scarlet in his cold-touched skin.

  Max closed his eyes briefly. Cute was good, but way too tempting.

  Chapter 6

  They settled into the routine of swimming daily, and quickly a few days became a week, then became two. Max didn’t have to attend any lectures as Lucien was busy on his thesis, something about semantic pragmatic disorders in language acquisition, which sounded way too clever for Max to even begin to understand.

  There were no more letters, and Ross had reported that nothing came back from forensics. Jamie didn’t spend much time at the house, and for that Max was pleased. Drugs near Lucien was not on his list of good things. Nothing had turned up on Jamie in the background check—seemed he was typical middle-class student with too much money and too much time and failing at his studies. He had been in a car accident at seventeen, the only survivor, and had a history of being involved with drugs of the prescription sort. A quick search when he was out of the house turned up a packet of small white pills that Max took photos of to send to Ross. All Ross could give back after a few days were that they were hard painkillers and would explain the wide pupils Jamie had whenever Max saw him.

  He also said he’d made contact with the nanny, the tutor, and was emailing with Tommy the kissed-ex. Max wanted answers now, not later, but he knew Ross was working hard to get them.

  Max made his way down the stairs to a quiet hallway. He could hear Lucien moving around in his room but there was no sign of Jamie. Pale against the dark mat was an envelope. It was simply addressed to Prince Lucien. Max picked it up as recognition hit him, pocketing it as he immediately opened the front door, scanning left and right.

  “Everything okay?” Lucien asked from behind him, halfway up the stairs.

  “Yeah, just thought I heard something outside. Nothing to worry about,” he lied. He locked the door again and turned to face Lucien.

  “You’re sure?”

  Any idea of telling Lucien about the letter disappeared at seeing the look of anxiety in Lucien’s expression.

  “I’m sure.”

  “You don’t look sure.”

  Lucien took a few more steps down and joined him in the hall. “What did you hear?”

  “Kids,” Max said.

  Max could list the emotions he saw in Lucien: nerves, fear, moving on to acceptance, then dismissal. “Okay,” Lucien said. “If you think so.”

  He turned to leave the hall, but Max stopped him with a strong grip to his arm. He didn’t want Lucien to do that, to take the fear and put it in a box, he wanted Lucien to feel he didn’t have to fear at all if Max was here.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” he reassured Lucien.

  Lucien nodded slightly. “Okay.”

  For the longest time they stared at each other. Max could lose himself in the dark depths of Lucien’s eyes. All Max wanted to do was lean in and kiss Lucien, to gather him close and promise him he’d be safe and that nothing would hurt him.

  “Will you l
et go?” Lucien asked with a hint of a smile on his face.

  “Huh?” Max asked, then realized what he was doing and released Lucien’s arm. “Sorry.”

  “I’m making toast. You want some?”

  “I’ll be back down in a second.” He was up and around the corner on the first landing opening the envelope, and any momentary flash of attraction disappeared when he read the words. Good luck at the meet tonight. I’ll be thinking about you.

  He followed the same procedure with this letter as the last and opened his laptop to access the surveillance files. He had a whole night to get through, from just before eleven when he and Lucien went to bed, to just after six in the morning. He fast forwarded to get an overview, and there it was, the image of someone walking up to the house and posting the envelope through the letter box. Time stamped at oh five twenty, it didn’t give up anything else. Whoever it was—tall, skinny, fitted coat, hat pulled low over his or her face—wasn’t easily identifiable.

  Maybe Ross would know who to send this to. He emailed the office with details, then sat back on the edge of the bed. This was someone playing, someone who had insinuated themselves into a life that was nothing to do with them.

  There was nothing overtly sinister about the message. But… “I’ll be thinking about you,” sounded concerned. Maybe a wannabe lover? Tommy the kisser or Ed the government guy? Something about this wasn’t sitting right. The letters Lucien had received before these, the ones from the now-dead OS had been rambling and mental, then these letters were concerned missives. What did that mean? Did Lucien have a benevolent watcher who was going to kill anyone who upset Lucien? Was this some kind of sick game?

  “Ready to go?” Lucien said from the door. He held out a plate of toast, which Max took readily.

  “Sorry, I had to check in with the office.” He gestured at his laptop.

  “Has something happened?”