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“is Jonas Sharpe’s agent.” He let that sink in, then lifted his gaze to Cole, all traces of levity gone from his face. “Now tell me, Captain, is there any reason I should doubt you’ll do everything within your power to make sure she gets to Old Capitol?”
    Devon Blake was Jonas Sharpe’s agent. Cole felt his blood run cold as he absorbed the news, picturing the woman in his mind: petite, vulnerable, yet unafraid to show her scorn for the men who held her captive. The grudging respect he’d held for her turned instantly to seething contempt. Unfortunately a good deal of that contempt was directed at himself. Before he’d left the gunboat, he’d given one of the crewmen money and instructions to buy the woman a pair of shoes. He clenched his jaw in silent rage, sickened by the weakness he’d displayed in the gesture. That he should have been concerned about her bare feet when his men had been blown to bits so that there weren’t even enough parts left for proper burial…
    Damn her. God damn her. She would talk, he swore silently. She would tell him exactly where to find Sharpe. His eyes locked on the admiral’s. “I’ll take care of her myself,” he said.
    Devon jumped to her feet the instant she heard Captain McRae approach. She’d already taught herself to distinguish his brisk, purposeful tread from that of the other men who moved past her tiny chamber. Within seconds, the door flew open, causing her to blink against the bright glare of sunshine that flooded the room.
    “I suppose it would be asking too much for you to knock before entering a lady’s room,” she said.
    “Lady? You must mean yourself. What a novel interpretation of the word.”
    Devon hesitated uncertainly as a thick silence filled the chamber. The words he flung at her were undeniably hostile, yet the crewman who’d brought her the pair of dainty demi-boots she now wore had told her that Captain McRae was responsible for the gift. Even though she’d tried to hide it, he’d seen her abject humiliation at being forced to walk through the streets barefoot. Deciding that the gesture deserved to be acknowledged, she chose to ignore his verbal jab and focus instead on the small kindness he’d shown. She raised her filthy skirts, allowing the dark leather of the shoes to peek out from beneath the hem. “I wanted to thank you for…”
    Her voice faded away as she glanced up at him, watching his expression darken as he stared at the boots, his face becoming a mask of cold fury. Obviously the footwear had been a mistake. Captain McRae loomed in the doorway, light bouncing off his broad shoulders and menace emanating from him. Confusion and fear raced through her as Devon struggled to understand why the sight of the shoes he’d bought her would make him so furious. As he moved forward into the cabin, she bravely held her ground. “What do you want?” she asked.
    “Tell me where I can find Sharpe.”
    So that was it. Again. Devon had been through this exercise in futility so many times she’d lost count. If she was going to go through it once more, she might as well make herself comfortable. She let out a sigh, then turned and seated herself on the bed, taking her time in arranging her skirts. She folded her hands in her lap and daintily crossed her ankles. “I have no idea where to find Captain Jonas Sharpe. Shall I repeat that now, or do you prefer to ask the question over and over again first?”
    When he didn’t reply, Devon suggested, “I know, perhaps you can rephrase it in some clever way and trick me. How about, ‘Where was Sharpe heading when you last saw him?’ Or—”
    “Do you deny that Sharpe arranged your passage from Liverpool?” Cole cut her off.
    “No, I do not.”
    “Do you deny that you were carrying sketches of battleships being built for service against the United States?”
    “How could I?” she asked reasonably. “They were found in my luggage, after all.”
    “And you were apprehended while still