Mulroney approached her, grabbed a handful of her hair, and pulled with such force, tears stung her eyes. The cold barrel of his pistol jammed into her temple. “Where is the great H.E. Montgomery’s bravery now?”
“You can both still go to hell,” she bit out, refusing to give in or show her fear.
Mulroney slapped her. The pain was sudden, ferocious. “I warned you,” he growled. “This can be painful, or painless. It can be even more painful if you force our hands. The choice is yours.”
“You can start by telling us about the Special League,” Flannery demanded. “Beginning with Arden. What does he know?”
“He knows nothing,” she lied flatly. Her cheek stung. Already, she could feel her flesh swelling.
The pistol barrel dug into her temple harder, and Mulroney pulled on her hair a second time. “Try again.”
She decided to go on the offensive. “He knows you are both responsible for planting bombs on the railway. He has your names, and he has agents in New York investigating the Emerald Club as we speak. Indeed, I would be surprised if arrests had not already been made. When was the last time you had word from McKenna?”
“Just yesterday.” Mulroney slapped her again. “And that is how I know you are lying, Miss Montgomery. I will give you another opportunity to tell us the truth, and if you do not oblige me, I will start breaking those pretty fingers of yours, one by one.”
She would have to tide them over. Pacify them with information, even if it was wrong, and pray Lucien would somehow come looking for her. Pray he would find her. But as the thought hit her, she knew it was futile. Even if Lucien discovered her missing, he would have no way of knowing where she had gone.
If only she had left him a note. Or waited for him. If only she had never left the Duke of Strathmore’s townhome on her own that morning. If only she had not followed her instincts.
Her instincts, ever infallible, had not betrayed her. No, rather, her own pride had. And now she had no choice but to continue to distract the two men.
“What do you want to know?” she asked them, trying her best to pretend pain wasn’t blossoming from her cheek where she had been hit.
“Wise choice. I would hate for the Duke of Arden to find your dead body covered in hideous bruises.” Mulroney stroked her cheek, almost tenderly. His expression, however, was harsh. Murderous.
She struggled not to flinch away from his sickening touch, even as her stomach lurched at the thought of Lucien discovering her body much as he had his mother’s. He had already carried one lifeless woman. And because she had been too hasty and clumsy in her investigations, it was entirely possible he would now have to relive that horrible day from his past all over again.
This time, with her.
Instinctively, she fought against the ropes on her ankles and wrists, but they were tight. They held firm. She had no hope of escape, other than using her wits, and they were failing her fast.
“The Duke of Arden will not give a damn how my dead body looks,” she evaded.
“Lying again.” Mulroney gave her hair a violent jerk. “Do you truly believe we haven’t been watching Lark House and following you and your lover about town? How naïve you are. You have shown us your hand repeatedly.”
Though she had done her best to be vigilant at all times, she had never noted anyone trailing them. Fear, true and real, caught her heart in a cruel, icy grip. What if they intended to harm Lucien next?
“We had heard, of course,” Flannery added, “that a Pinkerton had been sent to London. But we never would have known H.E. Montgomery and Mrs. Mulligan were the same, until that day in the hotel. And then to discover you are the Duke of Arden’s whore! Why, imagine our surprise.”
“I am assisting Arden in investigations,” she allowed coldly. “That is all.”
“There is more between you than that.” Mulroney’s smile was feral. “You ought to realize by now, that lying to us will only hurt you.”
He delivered another brutal slap to her face, but this time, her skin was already numb from swelling and previous pain. She was prepared for the blow.
“Tell me the names of his New York City agents.”
“I do not know,” she said honestly. And even if she did have that information, she would never betray a fellow agent and deliver them to certain death, even if it meant avoiding her own.
Before Mulroney could inflict further torture upon her, an explosion rocked the warehouse, jarring the walls and ceiling of the room they inhabited. Dirt rained from overhead, and the building itself gave a loud groan, almost as if it were a giant creature that had just been wounded.
“Damn it,” Mulroney cursed. “We have to go, Sean.”
“What will we do with her?” Flannery asked, jutting his chin in Hazel’s direction.
Mulroney’s lip curled as he cast a hateful eye over her. “Leave her to burn.”
With that ominous statement, Mulroney released his grip on her hair and withdrew his pistol from her temple. He lowered his face to hers. “I could have put a bullet in your head so you wouldn’t suffer, but I’m not going to.”
