Page 106 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
An exhale shuddered out of her. For a moment, she collapsed against the headboard.
Just a minute, she told herself.
Just a minute to let the relief wash through her. Then she straightened, carefully removed the ropes from her bleeding wrists, rolled her aching shoulders, and stood.
The floorboards creaked under Isabel’s boots as she crept to the door. She tilted her head, straining for some indication of what lay on the other side.
Two male voices. Of course, Favreau wouldn’t leave her alone.
Isabel cracked the door just enough to glimpse the hallway beyond. Two men stood with their backs to her, shoulders slumped against opposite walls. Big, armed, and bored.
Perfect.
She recognised their type immediately: hired muscle with small brains. She’d outmanoeuvred dozens just like them over the years. The tricky part would be keeping them quiet once she made her move.
If anyone downstairs heard the commotion . . .
No. When Favreau returned, she wanted him all to herself.
“Hate this sodding job,” the taller one complained, scratching at his beard. “Don’t see why we’re playing nursemaid to the boss’s bit of muslin. Not like she’s going anywhere.”
His companion rolled his eyes. “Pierce, I’ll pay you a sovereign to shut your gob for five minutes.”
“All I’m saying is—”
“No one cares what you’re saying. You don’t get paid to flap your gums.”
Isabel’s estimation of the chatty one dropped another notch. Not enough sense to take that opportunity to shut his fool mouth. No, he wanted to grouse, wanted to spread his discontent far and wide.
Idiot.
She retreated into the room, scanning for a weapon. The place was mostly bare, but her gaze landed on a pale green vase with a wide, heavy base perched on the dresser. Expensive and beautiful.
And soon to be bloody.
She hefted it in her hands and tested its weight. Not ideal, but it would do. Isabel pictured exactly how she’d swing it – right at the junction where the chatty one’s skull met his spine. The sort of impact that would either kill him or incapacitate him in seconds.
??She returned to the door with the vase clutched against her chest and her body humming with anticipation.
“She’s pretty, though,” Pierce was saying, lowering his voice. “You think the boss would mind if we had a peek? Just a quick look up her skirts?”
Time’s up.
Isabel exploded through the doorway. The guard’s eyes widened before the vase connected with his skull. The wet crack of porcelain against bone sent a familiar thrill down her spine. His knees buckled.
One down.
“What the fu—” The second guard’s hand scrambled for his weapon.
Her elbow slammed into his throat, crushing his windpipe. He choked, eyes bulging, and she followed with a swift kick between his legs.
“Look at me,” she whispered.
He raised his head, pain clouding his features. Isabel brought her knee up hard, feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose shattering. She grabbed his head between her palms and gave a quick, brutal twist.
Crack. She snapped his neck.
Isabel stood over the bodies, heart hammering against her ribs, breath coming in shallow bursts. Not from exertion. From something darker that lived in the hollow spaces between her ribs.
