Page 131 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“Negotiate?” Rick practically spat the word. “With the woman who’s been building a case to expose us since the day she picked up that sword?”

“She doesn’t know what she’d be exposing.” A chair creaked. Hopkins must have sat down.

“Or we kill her and take our chances.”

“No.”

“Theodore⁠—”

“I said no. The risk is unacceptable.”

My whole body shook. My knees pressed hard against my chest, and I covered my mouth and nose to keep from breathing too loudly. Leave, leave, leave. Please, leave.

Footfalls thundered somewhere farther off. Shouts of “She’s gone!” rang out, followed by more running.

Rick’s steps receded, and the chair creaked like Hopkins might have been standing.

Yes! They were going to leave! The place would be crawling with guards. The windows in this room had bars—the only ones I’d seen in the house, so they must have been protecting something in here. There was no getting out that way. But if I could slip out behind them and make it to the rear door, I’d be home free unless someone was watching outside.

“The woman’s gone!” came a rushed voice, far too close. One of the guards must have come to the study.

“Fucking bitch,” muttered Rick as he came back toward the desk. That’s the wrong way! “I’m going to take the sword⁠—”

I tried to make myself smaller.

His boots came around the desk, and he pushed the chair out of his way to reach for the sword. And then he was glowering down at me.

Run!

He grabbed a handful of my hair and hauled me out from under the desk, tossing me against the nearest wall. I hit one of the paintings and tried to run, but the door slammed shut at the same moment the back of Rick’s hand exploded across my face.

My head snapped sideways, into the painting. The bruise he’d given me on the boat screamed under the new impact. All I saw was the small dog at the bottom of the painting, once white, now flecked with blood.

His hand clamped around my upper arm, and he shoved me into the desk chair. He put a hand on the back of the tall chair and leaned in close enough that I noticed the hint of green in his brown eyes. “You little cunt. How’d you get out?”

Big Hands blocked the doorway. “She climbed out the fucking window over the door.”

Rick turned to him and spat, “Get the fuck out of here, you incompetent prick.”

“She’s⁠—”

“Out!” shouted Rick.

Big Hands glowered at me, but did as he was told.

My cheek was on fire, and from the dampness on it, he’d likely split it open. The blood on the painting might have come from my cheek, from where I’d bitten the inside of my mouth, or from his knuckles. Or the blood on his knuckles was mine.

Don’t cry. Do not cry.

Rick’s jaw tightened as he turned back to me. “You know you aren’t leaving here alive, don’t you?”

“Rick, please.” Hopkins settled into his chair at the small table by the bookshelves. He didn’t share Rick’s anger, at least not on the surface. “You’ve put us in a difficult position, Dr. Lyons.”

Put them in a difficult position? Neither of them had blood in their mouths.

Hopkins held my gaze. “What’s in the email?”

What could I say? Did I actually have enough in the email to keep me alive? Or would my theories be too weak for them? Would they decide letting the email go was better than letting me leave?