“What kind of work?” Griffin asked, rubbing his jaw. When he noticed the flush in Finley’s cheek, he dropped his hand.
She glanced away with a shrug. “Dunno, but I’m supposed to accompany Jasper somewhere tomorrow, so I’ll hopefully have the chance to get some answers from him.”
“Or he might get some from you,” Sam cautioned. “Dalton might use him to spy on us. You don’t know that Jasper didn’t tell him who you really are.”
“You don’t trust anyone, do you?” Finley asked, incredulous.
Sam scratched his jaw. “I trust them.” He pointed at Emily and Griffin.
“Did you get a sense that Jasper has betrayed us?” Griffin asked, ignoring the fact that Sam had deliberately left Finley out. The two of them seemed to like picking on one another.
Finley shook her head. “No. He’s being used. I’m certain of it. I’m just not sure what the game is. I’m fairly sure Mei’s in the middle of it.”
“Mei?” Emily’s eyes narrowed. “The Chinese girl who was at the fight?”
And Griffin added, “Mei Xing?”
Finley nodded. “Has Jasper ever mentioned her to you?”
“Once.” He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to remember the circumstances. “I believe he had a photograph of her in his lodgings in London. I think they had been romantically involved.”
“Then it makes sense if Dalton is using her to keep Jasper in line,” Finley remarked. She shifted on her feet, her gaze not quite meeting his. “Dalton wants me to move into his house.”
It was as though the world stopped—even Emily and Sam went eerily silent. Griffin gave the words a moment to sink in and fought his immediate instinct to forbid her to leave the hotel ever again. If it was Sam in this situation, he wouldn’t be the least bit worried. Then again, Sam wasn’t really Dalton’s type.
“Are you comfortable with that?” he inquired. “Or do we need to come up with another plan?”
Was it his imagination, or did her shoulders actually relax? “I’m fine. Dalton’s flirty, but he’s more interested in what I can do for him.” Her gaze locked with Griffin’s. “Honestly.”
“But why did you hit Griffin?” Emily demanded, hands on her hips. “Why are the two of you looking at each other like that? What are we going to do about Jasper? We can’t let Finley walk into what could be a trap. What?” She turned her head to look at Sam, who had put his big hand on her shoulder.
“You have had too much coffee,” he said, taking her by the hand. “Let’s go for a bit of a walk. Get rid of some of that energy.”
She protested, but it was weak, and Sam managed to drag her from the room without much fuss. The door clicked shut behind them.
Griffin ran his hand through his hair—it must be a mess by now. No doubt it stuck up in all directions, making him look like a hedgehog. “My jaw really hurts, and this plan of yours had better work, because by tomorrow morning, I’m going to be the laughingstock of Manhattan Island.”
She winced. “I’m sorry for that, but Dalton has to believe I’m on his side. He took me there to fight anyone who got in our way. He was there when you came in. If I hadn’t hit you, he’d be suspicious.”
“I know. He would be even more suspicious once he found out it was the Duke of Greythorne who stumbled upon you. Doesn’t make my jaw ache any less.”
Finley moved toward him, a sorry expression on her pretty face. She tossed the silk gown on the bed and lifted her hand to his face. He tried not to flinch, but part of him actually expected her to haul off and cosh him again.
She noticed that he pulled away. Her mouth tightened, but she went ahead and placed her palm against his cheek. Her skin was cool; her touch seemed to ease the ache.
“Part of me likes to hit people,” she informed him as she looked him dead in the eye. “But not you. I want you to know that. I did what I thought I had to do.”
He believed her. “Did you like it?” he asked. “Stealing the plans, I mean?”
This time she withdrew from him. She dropped her hand. The ache in his jaw tripled.
“I did.” It came out as a whisper. “I didn’t want to, but I did.”
Griffin’s stomach clenched at her honesty. How was he supposed to feel about her candor? He appreciated that she’d told him the truth, but what did he do with it?
“What did you like about it?”
“The excitement. The danger.” Her eyes and cheeks seemed to brighten. “It was like when I was out on the bow of the airship, or like when we went up against The Machinist. I knew there was a chance it could go bad, but it didn’t.”
“Adrenaline,” he told her. “A perfectly normal reaction.” “You think so?”
She looked so hopeful it was hard to breathe. Griffin forced a smile. “Of course. I’ve felt the same way myself.” That was true, but not when committing a crime. Then again, he had never committed a crime, so he didn’t know if it was the same or not. It could be that Finley simply liked being ... bad.
Her shoulders sagged in relief, and when she put her arms around him, he put his around her, as well.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she hugged him. “Thank you for being my friend.”
Griffin swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “I’ll always be your friend.” He meant it, and that was what made it so difficult. He would do anything for her, but if Finley gave in to the darkness inside her, he would have no choice but to stop her—even if it meant losing her forever.
Chapter 8
Jasper wasn’t really surprised to see Finley walk into Dalton’s house at five minutes to eleven the next morning. He was, however, surprised to see that she had shabby luggage and dust on her boots. Dirt was easy enough to find around these parts, especially the closer a body got to Five Points, where the grimy automaton street sweepers would be stripped down for their parts, but the Duke of Greythorne was the type of fella to share his wealth with his friends.
So he was left to reason that Griffin—or Finley—was as smart as he assumed and picked up the obviously worn items to protect the ruse that Finley was a girl looking to make a little blunt on the wrong side of the law.
Didn’t she look the part, as well, standing there in kneelength gray trousers, heavy-soled boots and a leather corset over a linen shirt.
He was plumb touched at the amount of effort that had already gone into trying to help his sorry hide. Guilty, too. She shouldn’t be involved in his mess.
“Can I help you with those, miss?” he asked as he walked toward her. He knew full well she could easily carry both bags, but showing her to her room would give them a chance to talk.
She eyed him warily. Either she was a good actress or she truly didn’t trust him any further than she could throw a buffalo. “All right.” She handed him the lighter of the two pieces. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” she said sweetly. There was a sparkle in her eye that made it impossible not to grin in response.
He tapped the brim of his hat. “Much obliged. Follow me.”
They made it perhaps two or three steps before Dalton arrived. He strutted into the foyer like a banty rooster on a spring morning, all decked out in head-to-toe gunmetalgray.
“I admire punctuality in a woman,” Dalton remarked as he joined them, his pale eyes glinting at Finley. And didn’t she look at Dalton as though he was the prettiest thing she ever saw. She wasn’t really infatuated with him, was she?
“My papa—” she said it the English way, pah-pah “—used to believe that tardiness was a sin. It only takes a few blows from a strap to knock that out of a person.”
Dalton inclined his head. “A very efficient man, your father.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
It was all Jasper could do not to stare at her in openmouthed amazement. He knew for a fact that this was a lie— Finley’s father had died before she was born—but his mind wanted to accept it as truth from the simple, sincere way she’d delivered it.
“I was just
going to show Miss Finley to her room,” he told Dalton, hoping the other fellow would leave them alone once more.
“I can do that.” Dalton held out his hand to take the luggage from Jasper. “You go tell Little Hank to bring the carriage around. He’ll take the two of you to your destination. Shall we, Finley?”
Jasper looked at her, but Finley didn’t so much as blink in his direction. She merely smiled at Dalton as though they were the only people in the room. “Lead on, good sir.”
He watched them walk away, torn between wanting to protect her from Dalton—or perhaps protect Dalton from her—and wanting to walk out the door and run as far away as he possibly could, like a coward. Instead, he went to the kitchen, where he knew he would find Hank.
“It’s time,” he told the giant. “Dalton wants you to get the carriage.”
Little Hank, who was sitting at the table eating what appeared to be an entire apple pie in the company of a tired-looking kitchen maid, stared at him for a moment before nodding his head. “Fine.”
Jasper didn’t bother to wait for him but went outside to sit on the steps. He’d gathered other bits of the machine faster than he’d wanted, and there was only one more piece to collect after this one was recovered. He couldn’t stall much longer. Dalton had him running other “errands” for him, and each left a sour taste in his mouth. He hadn’t had to do anything serious, but standing there while Little Hank beat up a man because he hadn’t yet delivered some forged documents was bad enough.
He’d been made to pick out a rifle, as well—a good one that felt right in his hands and had sights so accurate he could have shot a fly from two hundred yards.
Whatever Dalton had planned, he was making certain Jasper played a part in it, so if there was trouble or things went south, he would share the blame—and the hangman’s noose.
He hadn’t figured out how to get Mei and himself out of this situation without letting Dalton win. There was no way to get the collar off her—the fear in her eyes when she spoke of it was enough for him. He could only imagine how it felt when the thing began to tighten, but short of putting a bullet between Dalton’s eyes, what else could Jasper possibly do?
Dalton had wanted the machine badly enough in the first place that he had killed a man when he originally stole it. Whatever it did, Dalton would use it for his own purposes— and those were never good.
He wished he had his guns. He’d feel better with them strapped around his hips. Cleaning them helped to clear and settle his mind. Without them he felt naked—vulnerable. Which was exactly how Dalton wanted him to feel. He wasn’t allowed to have the rifle, either. Dalton knew him too well.
Since being exposed to the Organites Griffin’s grandfather had found, Jasper doubted anyone could beat him in a gunfight. He was faster than a blink. Dalton was smart to keep him unarmed, because he’d take the outlaw out in a second.
But that chance wasn’t worth risking Mei’s life. What if little Hank or another of Dalton’s henchmen also knew how to work the collar? If Jasper did anything to Dalton, Mei would be the one to pay for it.
His only choice was to do exactly what Dalton demanded and wait for the right opportunity. It was his own dang fault for getting involved with the gang in the first place. His mother had warned him not to be swayed by the promise of big money for little work, but he’d needed the money, and he would be the first to admit that the dangerous life was also fun and exciting at times. It hadn’t taken long, though, to realize how stupid he’d been.
A fella couldn’t outrun his past, no matter how fast he was.
The door opened behind him, and he leaped to his feet. He should have known better than to leave his back open like that.
Dalton smiled, as though he knew the direction of Jasper’s thoughts. “Jasper, there you are. Don’t keep my Finley out too long.” He smiled in a way that reminded Jasper of a shark.
Dalton went back into the house, leaving Jasper and Finley alone for a few moments before the carriage arrived.
“What did he tell you to do?” Jasper asked, pretending to watch for the vehicle in case they were being observed.
Finley’s eyes narrowed as she glanced up at the sky. “To make sure you found some mechanical item. And to put a ‘serious hurt’ into you if you try anything dodgy.”
He kicked a tiny pebble off the step. “Not surprising.”
“What’s this thing do?” she asked. “The thing you’re supposed to retrieve?”
“Damned if I know, but whatever it is, it’s bad or Dalton wouldn’t want it. I brought it here to Manhattan and dismantled it, thinking that would keep Mei safe back in San Francisco, but I was wrong. There’s only one more piece to get after we collect this one.”
“He wanted it bad enough to send men to London after you.”
“Their payment is part of the debt he figures I owe him.” He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I should have left the damn thing where it was. He wouldn’t have cared less what happened to me.”
“He’s gone through a lot of trouble for it. Anything that important can’t be good. We have to find out what he’s up to and stop it before anyone gets hurt.”
Jasper rubbed the back of his neck. “If we can.”
“He’s threatened Mei, hasn’t he?” She shot him a sideways glance. “That’s how he’s making you do this.”
There was just enough hope in her voice that Jasper’s throat tightened. That was friendship—she and Griffin had no idea if he could be trusted, but they acted as though he was.
He set his hat on his head. “Yeah. That collar she wears, it ... it tightens if she tries to leave or does anything to upset Dalton.” He met her gaze. “He’ll kill her, Miss Finley. He’ll do it in a blink. He’s done it before.”
She didn’t say anything, just nodded, but he could tell from her grim expression that she believed him, and like him, she had no idea just how they were going to get out of this situation without anyone getting hurt. Going to the authorities was not an option, not when Mei’s life was in Dalton’s hands.
The sound of hooves on cobblestones drew their attention, and Jasper watched as a somewhat scuffed and dusty carriage pulled up to the curb, Little Hank at the reins.
“Hasn’t Dalton ever heard of steam engines?” Finley asked, eyeing the archaic mode of transport.
“He fancies himself a proper cowboy,” Jasper told her as they walked down the steps. “Horses all the way. Only thing a steam engine’s good for is robbin’. Plus, Little Hank’s afraid of steam, aren’t you, big fella?”
The behemoth glared at him, but Jasper saw him cast a glance at his left hand—which was encased in a leather glove. Hank had scars from a steam burn he got during a robbery. It was cruel to tease him about what had been a horribly painful experience, but Jasper figured he owed him a couple of insults after the beating Hank had given him upon his arrival in New York.
He held the carriage door open for Finley. Before he followed her inside, he looked up at Hank. “Mulberry Street. Bandit’s Roost.”
If nothing else, he had the pleasure of seeing the big man’s face pale. Mulberry Street was part of Five Points and one of the worst areas of the slums. Little Hank would have to be far dumber than he looked to not be worried. Even a man his size couldn’t survive an attack by an entire gang.
Jasper grinned. “Don’t worry, Hank. I’ll protect you.” Then he ducked inside the carriage and closed the door.
Finley regarded him with an arched brow. “You simply cannot help that tongue of yours, can you?”
He touched the brim of his hat. “No, ma’am. I cannot.”
She smiled and glanced out the window as they started to move. Jasper leaned back against the worn cushions and enjoyed being out of the house. He felt calm—calmer than he had in the long months since leaving Dalton’s gang. Maybe it was because the smell of horse reminded him of home. Or maybe it was because he knew that he might very well die in this city and never see San Francisco, his family
or even London again.
At least he’d die having seen Mei one last time. At least he wouldn’t have any regrets there.
Other than getting her into this mess, that was. “I hear they’re going to raze the Five Points neighborhood,” Finley remarked, pulling him from his maudlin but strangely serene thoughts.
Jasper nodded. “Apparently they tried to a couple of years ago, but a new gang headed by a gal named Wildcat McGuire stepped up and put the kibosh to that. Some think she bribed or blackmailed the right people. Others say she’s a witch.”
Finley’s lips curved into a skeptical smile. “What do you think?”
“I think she’s effective.” That was all he cared to reveal on the subject for now. He glanced out the window to see if Whip Kirby was following them. He’d spotted the lawman outside Dalton’s house on a couple of evenings, just watching—waiting for the opportunity to grab Jasper and drag him to the nearest noose, no doubt.
He almost wished Kirby would make his move—at least that would put a dent in Dalton’s plans.
He and Finley didn’t talk much for the remainder of the trip, mostly because there was no way of knowing if Dalton had installed any kind of devices in the interior of the carriage that might allow Little Hank to overhear their conversation. Jasper didn’t much mind the silence. He liked Finley, but neither of them needed to waste time jabbering. What they needed to do was think of a way to stop Dalton. They needed the others. If anyone could figure out how to get the collar off Mei without causing injury, it was Emily.
He felt guilty thinking of the pretty little red-haired girl when he ought to be thinking of Mei. It felt like being unfaithful, but that didn’t change the fact that Emily was the smartest and most capable girl he knew.
A few minutes later, he was saved from having to justify his own thoughts to himself by the carriage coming to a stop. He peeked out the window. Bandit’s Roost.
He opened the carriage door and stepped out, followed by Finley. They were at the mouth of a narrow lane—not much bigger than an alley—which ran between crammed, sagging buildings, most housing more people than they were ever intended to hold. Lines of clothing ran from second and third floors, from one house to the opposite. Worn trousers, stained and grungy shirts, mended socks and the odd pair of yellowed drawers waved in the breeze, but smoke from cooking fires kept all laundry from ever smelling completely clean.