Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(99)

“Mr. Brown,” she greeted awkwardly. “I’m sorry, but this has to happen. These two gents need to be inside…now.”



“Miss, I can’t allow that. They don’t look—”

Flaherty pushed forward, pressing his knife against the butler’s fine coat just at heart level. “Best not to think, my friend. Just let us in, nice and gentle, and this’ll go right fine.”

The butler’s eyes widened as his hand headed for his pocket. Cynda grabbed it, then removed the pistol lodged inside.

Too close.

The knife pressed harder, to the point where Brown winced.

“What is this?” he demanded.

“I’ll tell you more once we’re inside,” Cynda said. She started to put the gun in an empty pocket, but Paddy took possession of it.

That was fine. As long as they don’t know about the other one.

Brown’s face grew grave. “If any harm comes to the Wescombs, I’ll see all of you hang for this.”

“Fair enough,” Cynda conceded. “Inside, now. The longer we’re on the street, the more danger there is.”

The moment the door closed, Brown’s quick breaths rose in intensity. His eyes moved to the coat rack and back to her in a silent plea. Two bowlers.

Ah, crap. “Who else is here?” she demanded.

“People you don’t want to annoy,” Brown replied. “I suggest you be on your way.”

“Who is it?” she pressed.

Brown glowered. “Besides my employers, a chief inspector of Scotland Yard and Dr. Montrose.”

“Chief Inspector Fisher?”

The butler gave a terse nod.

Oh, stellar.

Flaherty chuckled. “We’re playin’ to a full house. Take us in quiet as ya can. Yer gonna announce the woman, and then she’ll tell ’em who we are. Course, two of the gents’ll know me right personal.”

Every step down the hallway drew them closer to the moment when it could all fall apart. If Flaherty didn’t keep his word, he could kill the lot of them. When they stopped at the door, the anarchist flicked his knife closed. He casually lit a cigar and took a long puff. Smoke clouded around them.



“Put that out!” Brown grumbled.

Flaherty ignored him. “Don’t raise a fuss. I don’t want to hurt anyone, and that’s God’s truth.”

Brown shifted his eyes toward her, making one last silent appeal.

“We’re here about Sergeant Keats, nothing more,” she said.

A low sigh came from the man. He tapped on the door, awaited the response and then entered.

“My lord, my lady. I…apologize, but a situation has arisen over which I have no control.”

Wescomb leaned forward. “What sort of situation, Brown?”

Cynda stepped around the butler.

“Jacynda?” Alastair called out, rising with a smile. “Were you able to—”

“I’m sorry about this, but there is no other way.”

She stepped aside to allow the most dangerous man in Britain into the room.





Chapter 4




“Good God!” Fisher shouted, leaping to his feet. “Flaherty!”

The cop’s wide-eyed stare brought her attention back to the Fenian. Flaherty brandished a tight bundle of dynamite, three sticks bound with cord. One short central fuse rose from the creation.

Oh God, what have I done?

With a grin, he puffed on his cigar, causing the end to grow brilliant red. Then he brought it uncomfortably close to the end of the fuse.

“Good evenin’, all,” Flaherty greeted jovially. “I hope ya don’t mind me smokin’ here.”

Alastair rose, his hands balled into fists. Next to him, Sephora’s pale fingers clutched the arms of her chair, her eyes riveted on the dynamite.

“What is this?” Wescomb demanded, rising from his chair as well. “Why are you here with…that?”

Cynda cut in before things got any worse. “As the chief inspector noted, this is Desmond Flaherty,” she glared at him, “who failed to mention he was bringing dynamite to this meeting.” She shifted her eyes back to the others in the room. “And this is Paddy O’Donnell,” she told them, indicating the man to her left. “They’re here about Keats.”

Despite his wary expression, realization dawned on the peer. “I see. Brown, come over here and sit next to the chief inspector so as not to alarm our…guests.”

“But my lord—”

“Not to worry, Brown. Just have a seat.” The butler did as he was told, glaring at Cynda the entire time. “The rest of you, please settle in so Mr. Flaherty does not feel inclined to use his cigar in an explosive fashion.”

Cynda didn’t sit, but purposely positioned herself behind the anarchists. Tempted as she was to jam her hand into her pocket to feel the comfort of the pistol hidden there, she didn’t dare. That was her edge. Could she shoot Flaherty faster than he could light a fuse? And what about Paddy?



“Holding us hostage—”

“Not doin’ that,” Flaherty replied to Fisher’s accusation. At his nod, his companion produced a couple sheets of dog-eared paper from inside his coat and handed them to Alastair. “Yer little sergeant’s due to hang in the mornin’,” the anarchist explained. “I’m here to see that doesn’t happen.”