Chapter 2 #3
Leo wasn’t entirely certain how Nate had retrieved the financial status of everyone around Joshua, and he didn’t think he wanted to know.
What he gathered was that Tristan’s family was filthy rich and didn’t believe in placing restrictions on their son, that one of Mo’s modelling gigs paid more than Leo made in a year, that Ed Sheeran must be the least millionaire-like multimillionaire, that leading the Royal Communications unit came with a decent salary, and that those in Joshua’s immediate employ were rewarded for their discretion with generous pay cheques.
And that one of Joshua’s bodyguards had a problem holding onto that pay cheque regardless.
Which was why Leo had charmed his way into the good graces of a neighbour to that Johnson guy.
While Nate searched the man’s flat and Carole stood guard, Leo had tea with wiry old Ms Adams. Initially, she hadn’t been too pleased at receiving an unannounced social call so late in the day, but by now, they were having a pleasant chat about the Royal Ballet’s classic staging of Romeo and Juliet and the upcoming world premiere of The Winter’s Tale.
In between trying not to fuss with the starched collar of his button-up, Leo managed to steer the conversation towards Johnson’s habits and the guests he tended to entertain.
All in the interest of a covert, royally sanctioned background check, of course. Because Mr Johnson Bales was in line for a great honour. Or in line for prison, whichever.
“He used to be such a nice chap,” Ms Adams said.
“A quiet neighbour, never any problems, really.” After that, she faltered.
Leo refilled her teacup and smiled, resting his hands on his thighs.
She continued while studying him carefully.
“You told me you are looking for input into a nomination of Mr Bales for—what was it, dear?”
“The Order of Bath,” Leo supplied, tone confident.
“The Queen usually awards it for outstanding military service, but civilians may also receive it for acts of bravery. And she believes that someone who keeps her son out of harm’s way would merit such an honour.
” In all honesty, he was relying on shaky memories of the Honours systems and could only hope that Ms Adams wouldn’t be able to spot potential mistakes in his narrative.
Leo was an ace bullshitter, though. It was how he’d caught James’ attention in the first place.
When her indecisive expression held, Leo leaned forward just a little, looking up from under his lashes to make himself appear harmless and trustworthy.
His tone was smooth like melted butter. “Provided, of course, that he is a role model in every respect, and that the candid opinions of those in his vicinity would recommend him for it. We will hold everything you say in strict confidence, I assure you.”
“Well. I am not generally one to speak ill of anyone.” Ms Adams’ chin lifted proudly, and wasn’t it funny how that sort of statement was always, without fail, followed by its originator speaking very ill of someone?
“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Leo made his voice low and soothing. “I am merely trying to ensure that the Crown honours individuals who are deserving. True model citizens.”
Another second passed in silence. Then Ms Adams set her cup down with a dainty clink, laced her fingers in her lap and pursed her lips. “Well then.”
“Two nights before Joshua’s trip to Spain, some guys forced their way into Johnson’s flat.
” Leo dropped into the backseat of Carole’s car and folded his legs up onto the upholstery.
“Four of them, and the neighbour says they looked like a bad sort. Also says that Johnson’s become increasingly curt and tetchy in the last few months. ”
“Shoes off the seat,” Carole told him without even looking into the rearview mirror. She pulled off the kerb with a little jerk, her sad excuse for a car reluctant to launch into traffic. At one point, the old Fiat would turn to dust right under their arses.
“Caz, one of my shoes is worth more than this pile of trash,” Leo said. “So what did you guys find?”
“Gambling.” From the passenger seat, Nate handed his phone to Leo.
The screen was open to a picture folder, overly bright in the darkness that was beginning to settle.
When Leo enlarged the images one after the other, he made out slips of paper covered in a lazy scrawl, numbers and figures, ticket stubs.
Oh, he so loved this part, gathering the puzzle pieces until everything came together.
He passed the phone back and undid the first three buttons of his shirt. “Did you copy his hard drive?”
“Course. But if I had to bet,”—Nate snorted at his own phrasing—“it wasn’t the guy himself. Doesn’t seem the type, does he? Maybe he just gave them a tip to get them off his back. Or maybe he did set it up, but I don’t think it was his idea.”
“We shall see.” Leo steepled his fingers together and beamed, wide and broad like a criminal mastermind. In his next life, he intended to become a supervillain. In this one, he was saving a prince from public exposure.
Not too bad.
* * *
Joshua was tipsy.
Not drunk, mind, but a little blurry around the edges, loose-limbed and his lids heavier than they had any right to be.
Made no sense in terms of, like, volume and weight…
things. Lids were thin and not very large, right, so unless they had suddenly turned to lead, it couldn’t possibly be this difficult to keep them open.
Sniffling, he turned his face in against Tristan’s shoulder and took a deep breath.
“Are you smelling me?” Tristan asked, sounding amused and far too sober for Joshua’s liking. He needed everyone to be drunk and swimmy and unfocused. He needed this day to never have happened.
“Smells like home,” Joshua muttered, and Mo puffed a laugh into his hair.
Tristan pulled Joshua closer by the sleeve. “Weirdo.”
“You love me.”
“Amazingly, I do,” Tristan said.
Joshua was about to return the sentiment, go into a ramble about how he loved both Tristan and Mo a whole damn lot and was so, so grateful to have them in his life—maybe he was more than a little tipsy—when his phone buzzed against his thigh.
He made a disgruntled noise and considered ignoring it.
If this was George calling him about The Backup Plan, ominous capital letters and all, Joshua would rather saw off his own leg than deal with it at this very moment. Saw off his own leg with a spoon.
After three rings and an utter lack of reaction from Joshua, Mo dug into Joshua’s pocket for the phone. He picked up with, “This is Joshua’s phone, Mo Puri speaking. What’s up?”
They were close enough that Joshua caught the lilt of Leo’s voice. Sitting up with a start, Joshua snatched the phone from Mo and uttered a quick, “Hi. Leo? Hey.”
“Sir Joshua,” Leo acknowledged. “Making your non-boyfriend answer the phone for you, really? I take it this is the glamorous royal lifestyle the papers keep talking about.”
Was this teasing? It felt like it, what with the spark of brightness to Leo’s voice. Joshua tried to collect his skittish thoughts and wind them into a reply that made sense. “Sorry. Needed to wash down the caviar with some champagne. One shouldn’t talk with a full mouth, you know.”
“Given the circumstances, I’m strongly tempted to make a pun about you having your mouth full.” As soon as the words were out, Leo seemed to regret them, his tone growing abruptly smooth and professional. “Never mind. There’s an actual reason I’m calling.”
And just like that, Joshua’s stomach filled with ice.
“A reason?” he repeated softly. “What reason? Did you find something?”
Next to him, both Mo and Tristan stilled, then crept closer to listen.
“Might have,” Leo said. “Who’s with you right now?”
“Um.” Joshua cleared his throat, tried to focus and speak around the rawness of his throat. “Mo and Tristan. But they’re not—”
“I meant bodyguards,” Leo interrupted, and oh.
“Johnson. Leo, what—”
Again, Leo didn’t let him finish. “Thought so. Can you come to our office? Bring the bloke with you, please. And your friends if you want to, I’ll leave that up to you.”
Joshua’s chest felt carved out from the inside, as though someone had removed all the blood and flesh and muscles and bones that should hold it together. “Okay,” he whispered, and it hardly sounded like his own voice.
When the call ended, he lowered the phone, turned into Tristan’s open arms and felt Mo curl up against his back. Breathe. He needed to breathe. And then he needed to pull himself together and act normal for the duration of their trip to Boyle’s office, normal enough that nothing would seem amiss.
Johnson. Oh God. Was this—it had been implied, hadn’t it? The way Leo had specifically asked which bodyguard was with Joshua, had told him to “bring the bloke” when he’d learned it was Johnson… It had been implied. Or not?
Why? Why?
Then again, did it even matter? Did it make a difference why?
Was Joshua jumping to conclusions?
“I think…” Joshua swallowed thickly and had to start again. “I think they found something. Maybe. Please don’t make me do this alone?”
“Never,” Tristan said, and Mo nodded into his hair.
* * *
If Leo had harboured any illusions regarding Joshua’s acting abilities, he’d have been sorely disappointed.
When Joshua arrived, flanked by Tristan and the dark-haired vision easily identified as Mo Puri, he was thrumming with barely suppressed nerves, face pale and eyes wide.
He was the very epitome of discomfort. Johnson was trailing the trio with a neutral expression and tension etched into the line of his shoulders.