Fury settled her gaze on what Flint placed before her on the table. Her book. With the heart, the guts ripped from it. Not just a great deal of what she'd recorded, but the proof of it all too. Notes, statements. Malmesbury must have a quite a lot on all those she had kept tabs on.
Lucky him.
But it would be an act of unprecedented folly to say is this all? and scratch Flint's eyes out. She hadn't swept in here on the toes she'd decided to keep the loss of the book was bad enough--to do that.
No. Despite what she'd thought about her toes and her dead body and all that, onlya fool would refuse tosweep in here and get that book back when there were only two things this unsavory transaction could now involve. Sex, as it always had. Or money.
If he asked for money, then he didn't mean to ruin her. While sex, in her present state, was unlikely. Why even think it?