The Reluctant Royal

by Eleanor Harkstead

  “Oh God, don’t tell Joe we’re giving off couple vibes!” Alejandro filled two glasses, just catching himself as he went to pour a third. “He’ll run a million miles if he hears that and I’ll have to find another copper willing to put up with me!”

  “Maybe you’ve just spent so much time together stuck in this house that you’re like an old married couple, even if you’re not!” Mel laughed. “Sorry. I suppose Joe’s not your type, if he’s into ladies rather than chaps! Bit of a hurdle, there.” Apparently dismissing her suspicions, Mel went on, “Anyway, well done, babes, for drop-kicking Zak. He’s such a twat!”

  Alejandro glanced towards Joe and he felt his heart skip, even if his face betrayed nothing but professional good humour. Then he looked back to Mel and said, “So. Why are you here instead of pampering yourself before you go for your hunky date night?”

  “We’re going to a bar-kitchen place, you know, where everyone eats dirty burgers. So no need to pamper. And I’m wondering if you want a job?” Mel asked hopefully.

  “Depends.” He took a sip of wine. “I might have to ask the Sarge if I can. What is it?”

  “Me and my sister are going to have the most epic New Year’s Eve party of all time.” Mel took a slug of wine. “You know that amazing zombie face you did? I want a zombie party. Can you do it? I will pay. And you’re invited, too.”

  Alejandro took another sip, pouting comically as he considered the offer. Then he asked, “What about my hunky bodyguard? Is he invited too?”

  “Yes! You can’t travel anywhere without him, so of course he can come.” Mel took out her phone and tapped at the screen. “It’s going to be at the house in town… It’ll be the hottest New Year’s party in London.”

  “What do you think, Osi—” Joe cleared his throat, stopping Alejandro just in time. “Sarge? Shall we go?”

  “Yes, I don’t think there’ll be any problems with that,” Joe said. “And if there’s anyone else invited who has a CPO, they’ll all be told in good time, and we can ensure the house is secure. I can’t see any objections.”

  “Vicky’s already said she’s coming, and I told her my zombie theme idea, and she loves it! Can you make her look horrible too, Alejo?” Mel bared her teeth and rolled her eyes back in her head before fortunately returning to normal. “We can turn my bedroom into a makeup studio if you like.”

  “Oh my God, yes!” He clapped his hands. “And you’re not paying me, don’t even think that! Is there a specific theme for the zombies? Dawn of the Dead or Thriller? I’m so excited!”

  “The theme’s basically zombies. Make us look awful and amazing! I know you can do it! And I will pay you, because it’s not fair if I don’t.”

  “Make a donation to something instead?” He smiled at Joe again. The sort of smile that a girl like Mel couldn’t fail to miss. “Something for coppers like Joe, who throw themselves in front of danger without a second thought?”

  “If you’d like. I don’t mind! Sergeant Joe, just give me the charity’s name, and the money’s theirs.”

  “That’s very kind. Thank you.” Joe gave a small bow.

  Alejandro opened the fridge again and peered inside, then took out a bottle of juice. He poured some into the spare glass and handed it to Joe.

  “You can’t toast with an empty glass and I want to toast to a very, very happy new year with Fuckface and Zak in the past!” He raised his glass. “Chin chin!”

  Joe and Mel raised their glasses too.

  “Chin chin!” Mel echoed, and Joe laughed.

  * * * *

  Mel waved to them from the pavement once they’d dropped her off outside the bar-kitchen in Bloomsbury. Joe spotted a man inside who caught sight of Mel and instantly looked happy. He’d seen him before somewhere.

  Then Joe remembered—he’d been in uniform at the Windsor Castle charity bash.

  “Do you recognise him, Mr Fuente?” Joe asked as the car pulled away. Alejandro’s phone landed in Joe’s lap, the worryingly titled Alejo’s Fierce Mix showing on the screen.

  “How could I not? I have an eye for sailors.” He tapped Joe’s shoulder. “Can you make the music happen, Sarge?”

  “I can indeed.” Joe pressed a few buttons and Beyoncé filled the car again. The driver pursed his lips and accelerated.

  One way to get there faster at least.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t like Queen B?” Alejandro asked the driver, tapping his shoulder this time. “I can put something else on. It’s a mix anyway, I think it’s Ariana next. Maybe Sia? Everybody likes Sia!”

  “I don’t know who that is, Mr Fuente. Sorry.” The driver shrugged. “I’m a Status Quo man, to tell the truth.”

  “Well, we can do that!” He tapped Joe again. “Can you do that? It’s the least I can for keeping you waiting outside in the cold. Bit of Quo for the boys?”

  Joe scrolled through Alejandro’s phone and was surprised to find Rockin’ All Over the World, which soon boomed out from the car’s speakers. Joe pressed his hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh, but the driver nodded in time to the music and seemed to be enjoying himself as they drove on to Camden.

  They didn’t have far to go, and soon the driver told Alejandro, “Your studio’s just up ahead, Mr Fuente.”

  But he had to mount the pavement to allow a fire engine to pass, blue lights soaking the streets as the siren drowned out the Quo. Joe watched where the fire engine was headed.

  “Wonder what’s going on up there? That’s near the studio,” Joe remarked as the driver pulled back onto the road. Alejandro gave a murmur of agreement, drumming one hand on Joe’s shoulder in time to the un-Alejoesque playlist.

  The driver followed in the wake of the fire engine. He turned a corner and the sky was lit up, orange with flame.

  “I hope that’s not your—” But Joe never finished his sentence.

  Because Alejandro’s studio was on fire.

  “No!” Alejandro’s voice came out in a wail and Joe heard him pulling at the door handle, but the doors were locked as they always were in transit, only Joe’s unlocked to allow him to make his exit if he needed to. “Let me out of this fucking car! That’s my studio! Let me out!”

  Joe blinked, trying to process what he was seeing. Was this Zak’s work or Baqil’s? His phone pinged at that moment.

  Control came through.

  Divert from Peanut’s studio. Fire on the premises.

  Another fire engine arrived.

  “We’ve got to go, Mr Fuente,” Joe told him “You’re not safe here.”

  “That’s my studio!” He hammered helplessly on the window with his fist as the driver lurched the wheel round, and from nowhere, a siren sounded from their own car. Alejandro could shout all he wanted but as the car tore away from the scene of the fire, there was nothing else he could do. Yet still he shouted, exclaiming, “I want to go! Let me go!”

  “Please calm down, Mr Fuente.” Joe wished he could get out of his seat and comfort Alejandro, and it lanced him with pain to know that he couldn’t, not in front of the driver. Instead he reached back between the seats, holding his hand out to Alejandro. “Hold my hand, Mr Fuente. Please.”

  Alejandro’s fingers caught Joe’s hand and clutched onto him tightly. His shouts had dissolved into pitiful sobs, and as London sped past in a whirl of lights and noise, the siren cutting through the night, all Joe could do was hold onto his lover’s hand.

  Another message arrived from Control to say that the house was secure for Alejandro’s return.

  “Take us back to Highgate,” Joe told the driver.

  He hated seeing Alejandro in so much distress, but at least once they got home, he could comfort him. Something bothered him. There had been a car parked near the studio. A black car. Baqil’s Mondeo?

  The car screeched to a halt outside Alejandro’s home, safe in that ring of steel. Joe jumped out before it had stopped moving and escorted the sobbing Alejandro from his seat. Even knowing there were officers all over the road he kept his ey
es open, hearing mobiles ringing and excited chatter from the vastly depleted press corps.

  This was something big.

  He bundled Alejandro up the steps and through the door, shutting out the world behind them.

  As soon as he’d shut the door, Joe brought Alejandro into his arms, holding him more tightly than he ever had before. He didn’t say ‘calm down’, or ‘it’s okay’. He just held him, rocking Alejandro gently from side to side as he wept. Alejandro sank against him like a child awakened from a nightmare, his tears soaking through Joe’s shirt to his skin. He had no words, only those wracking, helpless sobs that shook his whole body.

  All that work, all that creativity. Gone. Such a needless waste. There was nothing Joe could say to fix it.

  He kissed Alejandro’s cheek and whispered, “Do you want to sit down in the lounge? I’ll ring Holloway and see if I can find out what’s going on.”

  “Stay with me?” he asked, clinging to Joe. “Please?”

  “Of course I will,” Joe replied. “I love you, Alejo.”

  “You don’t have to say that,” Alejandro sobbed. “Honestly.”

  Joe’s heart thudded in his chest. “I do need to. Because it’s true, darling.”

  “I love you too.” Alejandro lifted his head, his large eyes bloodshot and filled with tears. “I really do.”

  Joe wiped Alejandro’s tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Despite everything, Joe was smiling. He loves me.

  “I’m so sorry. Your studio.” Joe rested his forehead against Alejandro’s. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

  “I love you,” Alejandro laughed through his tears. “Whatever Fuckface does, he can’t ever change that. We win, Joe. Me and you.”

  “We do, yes, we do.” Joe kissed Alejandro’s tear-streaked cheeks, then brushed his lips gently over Alejandro’s. There was a heated desperation in Alejandro’s kiss, his fingers gripping Joe’s shirt tight.

  He was fierce. Always.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Joe and Alejandro had spent the night curled up tightly around each other, as if their closeness and only that would repel all the horrors of the world.

  The next afternoon, Patrick paid a visit. While Alejandro sat on the sofa, Joe sat on a kitchen chair, trying to invent space between them that neither of them wanted.

  “So what’s the news, Commander?” Joe asked.

  “I’m not going to draw this out,” Patrick said. “Mr Fuente, we were looking for a man named Baqil al-Abbasi in connection with the attacks that were claimed by Leviticus. Last night, a masked man was caught on CCTV arriving at your studio in a black Ford Mondeo. The same car that was used to launch the firework and the same car that Mr al-Abbasi drives. He disabled the camera feed prior to breaking in and triggering the silent alarm. It took officers seven minutes to reach the location. Five minutes after he arrived, the studio exploded.”

  “We saw it,” Alejandro murmured, looking down at his fingernails.

  “The fire crew recovered a body from the studio in the early hours,” Patrick went on. “I’ve just had confirmation that it was Baqil al-Abbasi. I have to tell you, because this will come out, we believe he intended to wait until you arrived, however long that might be, and trigger the explosives then. Obviously, something went wrong and the bomb detonated, resulting in his death.”

  Alejandro put his hand to his mouth and took a deep, shaky breath. Then he nodded and said, “So that’s it? Oh God.”

  “That’s the end of Leviticus?” But Joe wasn’t happy. He should’ve been, but a man had died. Even if it was by his own hand. He wanted—needed—to put his arm around Alejandro, but he couldn’t in front of Patrick.

  “We believe so. I personally intend to make a very strong point to the powers that be that this could have been avoided four years ago if we’d been less concerned about upsetting the delicate feelings of some members of our society.” He shook his head. “But that’s for other ears. Our attention shifts now to mopping up the mess left by our Islamic friend and seeking out the suspiciously quiet Mr Smythe-Unwin. Although security will be scaling back, I’d like you to stay on as Mr Fuente’s CPO for the time being.”

  “Of course. I’m happy to stay on. But can I just comment on something, Commander?” Joe fidgeted on the hard chair. It had seemed a good idea at the time, to make himself look business-like rather than reclining across a chaise-longue, but it wasn’t half uncomfortable. Especially with what he was about to say. “Baqil was investigated thoroughly at the time, but there wasn’t any evidence. Unless you’ve read a different set of reports from me on the case, I don’t think anyone was sparing anyone’s feelings with the investigation. In fact, quite the opposite, Baqil was grilled. And nothing was found. To be honest, it seems to me that the investigation of Baqil was too thorough, and the result was a recluse who called himself Leviticus.”

  Patrick waited, serene and unflappable. Only when Joe had finished speaking did he nod and draw in a deep breath. “Joe, you’re a friend to me and one of the best men in my division but I’m privy to information that you aren’t. Every week things you couldn’t even believe cross my desk. Believe me when I tell you, this country is at war, and when we face men like the al-Abbasi brothers, we put ourselves on the front line. I predict great things for you if you stay in the force, but you need to lose that hands-across-the-ocean approach of yours. We’re under siege, and we all need to recognise it.”

  Joe tried not to glance at Alejandro. Should Patrick really speak like that in front of a principal?

  “Right. Well, I’m sure you’ve got a lot to be getting on with.” Joe rose from the hard chair.

  “Forgive me, Joe.” Patrick rose too and held out his hand. “What happened last night brought back some difficult memories for this old soldier. You were right, they catch you unawares.”

  Joe patted his shoulder. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  Uninvited, Joe saw again the glassy eyes of the man who’d tried to kill the duchess. A blank, hollow stare through a muddy windscreen.

  Joe blinked. “Let us know if there’s any developments. If Mr Smythe-Unwin makes an appearance, or tries to make contact, I’ll inform you and Control right away.”

  “Of course.” The two men shook hands, then it was Alejandro’s turn to say his goodbyes, though Joe wondered if this wasn’t all a little overwhelming. Alejandro wasn’t a part of this invisible world of secrets and protection, after all, and now he had to be. Joe walked Patrick to the door and saw him off into the sea of cameras, closing the door on him as he descended the steps towards his waiting car.

  “Osito.” Alejandro had moved to the doorway of the sitting room. He smiled and held out his hand to Joe. “Do you want to talk about the car that night? When you were hurt?”

  “You’ve got enough on your plate, Alejo. You don’t need me going over old ground.” But even as Joe stood there, looking at Alejandro, the driver’s eyes floated in front of him as if they were projected onto a screen.

  “My plate’s emptier than it has been in a long time.” He took Joe’s hand. “I need to process all of this but… I’ll get there. You’ve looked after me all this time. Now you look as though you need looking after, and that’s my job.”

  Joe squeezed Alejandro’s hand. “It’s just…thinking of that guy blowing himself up. It feels like this case has gone wrong. I wanted him caught, and tried. I wanted it done properly. First job back, and it’s all gone wrong. That guy who tried to kill your mum, he was mentally ill. Couldn’t stand trial. I just feel like this isn’t what I signed up for. Innocent until proven guilty. Trial by jury. Everything done by the book. Even I’m not doing it by the book. What the fuck, Alejo? I don’t know what to do.”

  “Let’s go to bed,” Alejandro said. “Nobody can see us there, no press on the doorstep or whatever, we can just cuddle and talk and you can say what you need to or say nothing. It doesn’t matter. Whatever you need.”

  “Bed. And a bottle of wine?”

  “Aye-aye,
Sergeant!” Alejandro lifted their joined hands and kissed Joe’s fingers. “And I’ve been plotting. I rented a cottage on the coast for the shoot, and since the shoot isn’t happening now, I thought maybe we could use it anyway and shut ourselves away for a week or two. You don’t have to say now, but just in case. And we’d be home in time for our first Christmas!”

  “We could both do with a holiday!” Joe chuckled. “A cottage by the coast sounds perfect. But do you know what’d be perfect right now? Cuddling up in a great big bed with you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  As the days passed, Joe checked in with his colleagues, finding out more as the Leviticus case was wound up. It seemed to be happening in a different world, as he and Alejandro remained at the house. Eventually, Alejandro would have to make a decision about his studio. He’d have to find somewhere else or wait for his old one to be stripped out. But the thought of that man dying in there, even if he had been Alejandro’s tormentor, haunted Joe.

  Christmas was coming, though. And after Christmas, Mel’s New Year’s party. The weather forecasters predicted a cold snap over the festive season, but Joe didn’t mind. He couldn’t wait to see what Alejandro would do with a snowman.

  They were safe and there was no more obvious sign of that than the depleting press corps outside. A few members still hung around in the cold, no doubt hoping that Zak would break his cover and cause another scene, but if he did, all that was waiting for him was a warrant for his arrest. In two days, Joe and Alejandro would be headed for a secluded cottage on the edge of the Kent coast, a log fire, a large bed and nothing to think about but each other.

  And in Joe’s future, a career that Patrick believed would be glittering.

  But Joe didn’t want it.

  He was settled happily on the bed as he watched Alejandro wander to the shower. There were definite upsides to being stuck in the house. Lounging about with his boyfriend, the bed cosy and the kisses soft.

  “I’ll pop downstairs and get us something to eat, shall I?” Joe suggested, although he didn’t really feel like getting out of bed. “It’ll be ready once you’re showered.”