Page 61 of Regally Binding

Light slipped through an open doorway, softly filling the room. Pink flowers bloomed up the walls, reminding her of her neighbours, Helen and Ted, who kept an eye on her when she was home from school.

Once a month, if her mum wasn’t working, they invited Liss and her mum for dinner. Ted was the grandad she didn’t have. He’d sip a glass of whisky at the end of the day but top it up when Helen wasn’t watching, although she always was. Liss shucked in bed, smelling the faint scent of lavender, wishing to return to the time before her mum lost contact with the couple. Liss’s throat thickened. They were another reminder that she was alone unless she accepted joining the royal family. But the cost was growing.

Suddenly, a photo caught her eye. It was of a couple around their late fifties standing with Strike and Bear. The couple beamed, and the bodyguards, in jumpers and jeans, smiled too. Were Bear and Strike brothers after all?

Liss threw on the jumper that sat at the end of the bed over her dress and crept around the room. There were more photos of the couple. Liss watched the passage of time as she spied a chuckling blond baby on the beach with a bucket and spade that was too big for him.

As she sneaked out of the room, she saw a photo of the same blond boy still young and in his school uniform. Although there were no massive muscles or telltale glare, the blond hair, beauty spot near his ear, and slightly off-centre smile reminded her of Strike. Liss continued down the corridor, spying another photoof Strike in a rugby kit. He couldn’t be more than eight but was larger than the other children.

There was a photo of the couple before the grey hair pushed through the light brown, with Strike outside Buckingham Palace. With travel guides in hand and a camera hanging around the older guy’s neck, they were the epitome of tourists. More images were taken at famous UK holiday hotspots before the wall transformed into photos of a slightly sour-faced Strike in a different school uniform.

Liss wrapped her arms around her body. The relief that her arm was healed couldn’t replace the knowledge that her grandma had ditched all her photos of Liss. There were only so many times her nana could say, “She looks like a munchkin,” before her mum gave up. Liss didn’t belong to anyone, and since her mum died, no one celebrated her life as Strike’s family celebrated his.

Liss paused on the stairs. Where was Bear in the photos? One of the images of Strike with Bear appeared as if on command. They both looked like older teenagers, but Strike carried a little more of his adult bulk. Strike was smiling broadly, as were the couple, but Bear stood to the side, out of place. Liss leant closer to study him. His hands were covered by his sleeves as if he’d dragged them down to hide something, and a bruise peeked out of the collar of his shirt.

Voices from a room at the bottom of the stairs couldn’t distract Liss from the bodyguard memorabilia. There was a collection of winner trophies with a boxer on top. The name Drew Chambers was etched on each one. Next to the awards was a certificate for Caleb Moorcroft for graduating from school.

Liss eased herself down the stairs. In bare feet, she was as silent as a mouse. A photo on the wall showed a proud Strike with the same certificate, and below that photo was anotherwhere he wore military dress. She reflected the smile of the proud soldier with her own.

She froze at the next picture. Bear held his arms aloft. He was bloody and bruised, but his grin suggested he’d won the biggest fight of his life. He probably had, based on his baggy red striped shorts and naked chest. So he was Drew, and he boxed. At least that explained the weird boxing he and Strike did on movie night.

“They still can’t find them?” Bear asked from the side room, distracting her from the photos.

“No.”

Bear and Strike stood by a rustic kitchen table topped by two empty cups and the phone on speaker that they talked into. The bodyguards wore their smart clothes from the party, although they’d undone their shirt collars and draped their jackets on chairs. Bear paced, but Strike was like stone.

“They have to be together somewhere,” Strike said, pushing the chair back with a scrape against the floor.

“Check with Liss,” Steve shouted through the speaker. “Where are you anyway? I should be with her.”

Bear suddenly stopped and hunched his shoulders, but he relaxed at a brief shake of Strike’s head. “Liss is asleep, and you don’t need to know where we are.”

Steve’s voice pitched. “Let me guess. It’s confidential except for jumped-up bodyguards who think they know best when they’ve fucked up and don’t know shit. How could you let Liss go to the palace when you suspected something? And now my brother and Isla are missing—”

Liss jumped into the room. With reflexes that made more sense after seeing the soldier photo, Strike grabbed the phone and turned it off the speaker.

“I’m on my way. I’ll find them,” Strike said and hung up as Bear grabbed Liss.

“What the hell is going on? Someone tell me before I fuck everyone up.” She knew how ludicrous it seemed, a five-foot woman threatening two men who towered above her and could toss her into a bin.

“We can’t find Isla and Steve’s brother. The royal guards are checking the palace for a bomb, and a guard we’ve worked with is at the hotel, as we got a threat there too. The bomb threat was for you, and we presume she’s safe, but in the meantime, we’ll continue searching for her as if she’s at risk,” Bear explained as Strike grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the room. “I’ll be back in two minutes, okay? But could you make us a coffee while I speak to Strike?”

Liss nodded, the wind yanked out of her from the lack of fight and how simply Bear shared the news. She busied herself at the kettle before opening cupboards and drawers. Someone wanted her dead. She rattled a biscuit tin, but it was empty. She grabbed a milk jug from the fridge. It was nearly empty. If Isla was hurt, it would be Liss’s fault. The jug slipped from her hand as she bumped into a chair. Glass smashed across the floor. The dregs of milk flowed over the hardwood floor, and glass spread to the far reaches of the room.

She cried as she imagined Isla trapped by an invisible force. She shouldn’t have gone to the party or drunk alcohol. She might have noticed what was happening. Liss reached for a chunk of broken glass, but Bear grabbed her hand.

“There’s no point crying over spilt milk,” he whispered in her ear. She spun on her toes and went to hit him, but he caught her hand in his and held her still as she wept against him.

“It’s all my fault,” she gasped between sobs.

“No, it’s the fault of some psycho who has an agenda that we’re still trying to understand. Let me pick you up so you don’t cut your feet on the glass.”

“But the coffees,” she cried.

“I’ll sort those.” He sat her on the table and ripped open a chocolate bar. “You need sugar.”

“Are you a chocolate magician? You always have one of these to hand.”

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