Max and the Prince

by R. J. Scott

  Lucien stepped between them immediately. “Now, wait a minute, I don’t know who you are—”

  “Lennox, his name is Charles Lennox,” Jamie said.

  Max insinuated himself between blond guy—Lennox—and Lucien. “And he’s leaving. Now.”

  Lennox stepped back and brushed imaginary dirt from his jacket before straightening his cuffs. “Not without my money.”

  “I don’t have any more,” Jamie near whimpered.

  Lennox dug his hand in his pocket and Lucien had never seen Max move so fast. Maybe Max thought he was armed, maybe it was something else, but seeing Lennox on his knees in the dirty alley with his hand twisted up behind him was unexpected. Max applied pressure, and Lennox had to lean forward a little to counteract the pull.

  “You need to leave,” Max said low and growly and right up close to Lennox’s ear. “You’re a fucking leech with these students and it stops tonight.”

  Jamie moved closer to Lucien. “What the hell?” he whispered.

  Lucien wished he knew what to say. The way Max put the guy on his knees with his arm brutally twisted and the look of complete calm on Max’s expression had Lucien seeing a very different side of him. This was Max the pilot, the trained soldier, the man who’d seen war. This was the side of Max that had never touched Lucien’s world.

  “Get off me, you fucking bastard,” Lennox swore. Then he whimpered as Max applied just a little more pressure.

  Max leaned in. “I see you around Jamie, talking to him, threatening him, even in the same fucking town as him, I will take you down. Do we have an understanding?”

  “Fuck you—”

  “Do. We. Have. An. Understanding?”

  More pressure was applied and Lennox let out a yelp of pain. Lucien stepped forward. He didn’t know why. What was he going to do? Stop Max, who had clearly had judged this Lennox as a potential threat, or ask what the hell was going on?

  “Okay, fucking hell, okay,” Lennox snapped.

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, I’ll… fuck… I’ll leave Jamie alone.”

  Max released the hold and Lennox toppled away, straight into a puddle of something that was probably rain but smelled like it might be something else. Soaked from the knees down, Lennox stumbled to stand, then launched himself at Max. Lucien stepped forward, but didn’t need to. Max had Lennox in a choke hold up against the wall of a house and held him there.

  “You want to fuck with me?” Max asked, deceptively calm.

  Lennox shook his head, and Max released his hold.

  “What about my money? He owes me,” Lennox whined.

  “How much?” Max asked.

  Avarice dripped from Lennox’s words. “It was a lot of pills. Two thousand.”

  Max reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Take this and go.”

  Lennox looked at the crumpled ten-pound note and his expression blanked. Slowly he pulled himself tall.

  “I will get my money.”

  “Not through me you won’t,” Max said. His tone was flat and he wasn’t brooking any argument.

  Lennox turned his attention to Jamie; evidently he was more stupid than Lucien thought. Jamie shrunk back a little, and Lucien placed a reassuring hand on his arm. He didn’t know everything, but he was putting two and two together and what he was coming up with wasn’t good. He’d seen Jamie pop pills, but was Jamie dealing? Jamie was a bit of a flake, but he worked hard at his subjects. Lucien didn’t know him that well… but…

  “We’re not done, Jamie boy,” Lennox said. When Max tensed, Lennox walked away, down the alley and out of sight.

  “Thank you,” Jamie said. He was talking to Max, but Max just stared at him stonily.

  “Home. Now,” he snapped. Then he grabbed Lucien’s hand and yanked him out to the well-lit area. Jamie followed at a subdued distance, and no one said a word until they were back in the house. Jamie slumped onto his crappy sofa and buried his head in his hands.

  Max paced for a short while, then went into the small kitchen area and crashed and banged getting coffee into mugs. He was clearly pissed, and Jamie was distraught.

  “Enough,” Lucien shouted loudly over the noise in the kitchen. Max stopped and looked at him. “Someone talk to me and tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “Ask Jamie,” Max said. At least he’d stopped crashing around the kitchen. “Ask him what he’s been doing. Ask him why the hell he thought it was a good idea to bring trouble to your front door.”

  Evidently Max had a lot to say.

  “Jamie?” Lucien prompted.

  “Lennox is my dealer,” Jamie said. He looked straight at Lucien as he spoke, and his expression was mutinous for a moment, daring Lucien to say anything. Then that defensive expression crumpled, and he was suddenly just Jamie.

  “Talk to me,” Lucien said.

  “I’m an addict, okay? I use pain pills, and I buy them from Lennox. I’m not going to bore you with the details.” He ran a hand through his short dark hair, then gripped it tight.

  “I know you’re addicted,” Lucien said. He settled himself on the other end of the sofa and turned slightly to face Jamie. “Why not tell me about it all?”

  “Don’t be naïve. If you thinking talking this out—”

  “Don’t do that,” Lucien interrupted. “Tell me how it started.”

  “Fucking hell, why would you want to know about that?” Jamie asked. “You want to hear that I walked away from a car crash, but that my fifteen-year-old girlfriend and my best friend since I was two didn’t? You want to hear that I was hurt so badly that I lived on medication? Or that I never found my way out from that dark place where the meds made everything right? That now I’m scared?” Jamie was openly crying now, and Lucien hated that he’d asked.

  Lucien had never seen this Jamie, the quiet, broken one. Just the way he’d said he was scared was heartbreaking.

  He shuffled a little closer and placed a hand on Jamie’s knee. “Do you want to find a way out?”

  Jamie glanced at him briefly, and for a second there was hope there. Then nothing.

  “Don’t fucking patronize me.”

  “I wasn’t patronizing, but if I can help—”

  “I’m going to bed,” Jamie interrupted. “Thank you, both of you.” Then he brushed aside Lucien’s hand and left the small sitting room. Max very pointedly looked at Lucien, but Lucien bristled with irritation. Max was judging the whole thing.

  “What?” Lucien snapped.

  “Don’t be naïve,” Max began. “He’s a kid who needs help, and you’re not qualified for that.”

  “Is it just him or all addicts that you hate?”

  Max placed his coffee on the table. “I understand addiction better than you imagine. I’ve seen it in my friends who left part of themselves back in the theater of war. And no, I don’t hate him, hell, Lucien, I don’t know him, but he’s putting you in danger and it’s my job to keep you safe. That’s all.”

  “Then don’t call me naïve for wanting to help.”

  “Lucien—”

  “Jesus, Max, call me Luke when Jamie’s here.”

  Lucien left with a muttered good-night. He wasn’t angry, but he wanted Max to at least acknowledge that, waste-of-space royal or not, there was maybe a chance Lucien could help Jamie. He closed his door and got back into the bed that only a few hours earlier had been a warm and comforting place. He’d only just pulled the covers up and over himself when Max came into the room. Neither of them said anything at first, Max stripping and climbing into the bed and spooning him from behind.

  “I don’t think you’re naïve,” Max admitted. “I admire you for wanting to help.”

  “But you think he’s bringing danger to my door.”

  Max sighed. “Mostly. And if I’m really honest, I don’t see that he’s in a place where he wants to admit he needs help. You saw that just now.”

  “I’ll talk to him in the morning, well later in the morning, anyway.”

 
Max pressed a kiss to the base of his neck. “That’s a good idea.”

  Lucien fell asleep considering ways of helping Jamie and quite forgot his dreams that figured Seb so clearly until suddenly they were there again. They’d been so vivid it was almost like Seb was here with him. His little brother was gone but he still haunted Lucien’s nights.

  He snuggled back against Max and willed himself to sleep. Dawn was already lightening the room and part of him hoped he slept and dreamed of Seb all over again.

  Chapter 12

  Jamie wasn’t in the house when they got up later. In fact, he disappeared for the whole day and the evening as well. Max watched Lucien become quieter as the day went on, and it was actually a relief when he decided it was time for bed and they could shut out the rest of the world.

  When they woke the next morning, Lucien checked Jamie’s room, but it was as empty as it had been the day before.

  The pool was quiet with no other swimmers for early practice, and they went through the training motions in silence. Lucien was still quiet, but he didn’t push Max away physically. They just didn’t joke and banter as usual.

  They reached the house at just after nine, and Max went into autopilot, checking the street, looking up and down without making it too obvious. Then he saw the door, and the danger, and adrenalin had him shoving Lucien behind him.

  The lock on the front door was broken, the door hanging open.

  Max went in first with the sense that something was horribly wrong. This time he wasn’t letting Lucien dive in to something he couldn’t identify.

  There was so much blood. Max had only ever seen this much blood in war, and it turned his stomach. In the center of the pool, a man was sprawled on the carpet with eyes staring vacantly, the rest of his face a bloody, broken mess. A house brick lay next to his head covered in blood. Max could make out white-blond hair, and the man was in what used to be a light-colored suit. The dealer. Charles Lennox.

  “Jesus, Max, is it Jamie?”

  “It’s not Jamie—” Max said immediately and attempted to protect Lucien from the view. Lucien peered round with a horrified gasp.

  “Oh my God, is it the guy from the police station, the one you threatened… is he dead?” Lucien asked weakly.

  Ignoring the blood and the obvious stillness of Lennox’s chest, Max checked for a pulse. But he’d seen dead soldiers before and there was certainly no hope for this guy. Max shook his head and stepped back. “Yes.”

  As he'd checked Lennox's blood drenched corpse for vital signs he had felt nothing beyond relief that it hadn't been Jamie. Because Jamie meant so much to Lucien and Max didn’t know what Lucien would feel to lose yet someone else in his life. Then Max’s protective gene kicked in; this situation had to be managed and he needed to get his head back in the game.

  He pulled out his cell, dialing 999 and giving over address and details. He kept his focus on Lucien, who hadn’t moved from the entrance. He was wide-eyed and pale and clutching his stomach like he was going to be sick.

  The sound of an approaching siren had Max attempting to snap Lucien out of his fugue. He gently helped Lucien away as the paramedics dealt with the body in the front room. They moved aside as the police arrived and began taking photos, asking questions, the crime scene officers making notes and ushering everyone away. They stepped around white pills scattered around the floor, and still Lucien stood blankly staring at the blood. Max had been right in his assumption that somehow Jamie and his drugs would bring death to their door, he’d just expected it to be Jamie lying there.

  “Lucien?” Max wanted to grip Lucien’s upper arms and shake him, but he couldn't. He had blood on his hands and he knew better than to fuck with a crime scene any more than he needed. Max had been processed, photos taken of his hands, his feet, scene of the crime photos showing where Max had stood.

  Lucien blinked and stared at Max, some focus coming back into his eyes.

  “What happened?” he asked. The sound of his voice reassured Max that he was going to snap out of this. “We have to find Jamie.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “I’m here.” Max spun on his heel to face Jamie, who was being held back by a cop. Lucien grabbed his friend and hugged him.

  Jamie attempted to peer around him. “What’s going on? Luke? Why can’t we go in? Oh God…” Jamie backed away until he met the wall. Lucien followed and gripped his arm. “That’s Lennox.”

  Jamie mumbled something that sounded like it contained the word ‘dealer’.

  “Talk to me, Jamie,” Max demanded.

  Jamie crumpled and slid through Lucien’s hold to the floor, pulling his feet up. “He threatened… he’d come back, but I gave him everything I had.”

  Max crouched next to him. “You need to talk to the police. What is it that you think you know?”

  “He wanted his pills back, but they’d been taken from me at the club by a friend. I didn’t have the money, so I contacted him and said I’d get them after lectures. I didn’t want to put Luke or you in danger, because Lennox knows people. People that will kill. He knew them… oh Christ… I was trying, Luke. I’d gone to my lecture.”

  “I know, Jamie,” Lucien said with conviction. Max wished he could be as easily convinced that this was a turning point or that Jamie had been trying, but hell, the kid looked white.

  “What else did Lennox say, Jamie?” Max asked.

  “He said he’d break down the door and get them.”

  Max looked up at the nearest cop and caught his eye. “This is Jamie Green, he’s here to give you a statement.”

  Jamie clung to Lucien’s sleeve. “I can’t.”

  Lucien stood and offered a hand. “Yes you can.”

  Max watched as a myriad of emotions sketched over Jamie’s face. Fear, panic, resignation. And finally, there it was, a little bravery mixed with the resignation. He turned to the cop who had come over, and Max watched for a little while until Lucien moved away.

  The same cop then came over with his notebook, talking to Lucien.

  “Mr. Magrello, you said you returned at just after nine a.m., and that you had left at seven thirty?”

  Lucien nodded, but the cop looked at him expectantly. Max had already told him all this, but of course it would need corroborating.

  Lucien expanded on his answer. “We were later leaving than usual. That sounds right.”

  The cop frowned at the hesitant answer and Max held himself back from commenting on how shaken Lucien was. “And you have people who can vouch for you being at the pool?”

  “Yes,” Max answered. Lucien looked he was going to be sick. “Can I wash my hands and change?” Max indicated the blood on his hands and his shoes, and if anything, Lucien went even whiter.

  The police agreed they could leave, took statements, said they’d contact Max and Lucien, wanted to know if either man knew about the drugs. Max was clear about what he did and didn’t know, and Lucien stared at him with shock etched into his face as Max deliberately left out the confrontation after the station two nights back. It didn’t really add anything, but if Jamie should mention it, then he would expand on what had happened.

  When prompted, Lucien said he couldn’t add anything either, and he looked so believable that Max knew the cop would write him off as having nothing to do with it.

  “You’ll need to find somewhere to stay tonight,” the policeman said.

  “We’ll find somewhere,” Max answered before Lucien said anything. They’d get a room in a hotel or something, no point in making a fuss.

  “Can I at least get my laptop?” Lucien asked. “And pack a bag?”

  The policeman indicated a constable behind them. “Can you accompany Mr. Magrello to his room, please?”

  Max started to follow, but the cop laid a hand on his arm. “We’ll need you to attend the station in the next twenty-four hours. Make all this official.”

  Max wondered briefly what Jamie would do, but Jamie wasn’t really his responsibility. He wished h
e could feel sorry for Jamie for Lucien’s sake, but it was Jamie’s connection that meant there was a dead body in the front room.

  “We can do that,” Max said.

  “I was with friends, you can call them,” Max heard Jamie explaining to the cops. He was being asked to report to the station the same as them, and he turned and vanished way before Lucien reappeared. He didn’t even bother retrieving any of his stuff before he hared away.

  When Lucien came back downstairs, it was Max’s turn to go to his room to grab his kit and everything important. He guessed the house would be out of bounds for at least a few days. Lucien wouldn’t ever be coming back here if he had anything to do with it.

  Together they stepped outside, Max back into observation mode, and they went immediately to Max’s car, dumping everything into the trunk. As soon as they were in the car, they connected to BI. Lucien slumped against the window, staring back at the house.

  “Charles Lennox is dead. Drug dealer. Connected to Jamie Green the housemate,” Max explained without hellos. “Huge head wound, not much left of his face and half his head. He bled out. The cops are there.”

  Lucien scrubbed at his face with his hands and wouldn’t look at Max.

  Ross didn’t waste time discussing the situation. It wasn’t BI’s place to get involved unless the death was something to do with the job in hand, and he needed to ascertain if this was the case. “Connection?”

  “Possible. Not probable. We need to keep an eye on the housemate; he’s the connection to Lennox, but I don’t think either he or Lennox are connected to the letters sent to the prince. Oh, and we need rooms away from the house.”

  “I’ll organize it and send details to your phone. Stay in touch.”

  “Coffee,” Max announced, and before Lucien could argue, he left the road where they lived and headed out of the city. They stopped at the first place they found, a McDonald’s on a roundabout, and they didn’t get out of the car, ordering crappy coffee in the drive-through.

  Then they parked at the back of the McDonald’s, and Max glanced at a very quiet Lucien.

  “Are you okay?” Of course Lucien wasn’t okay, he looked like someone had blindsided him.