Seleste deLaney - [Badlands 02] (4 page)

“Perfect. And it is an interesting idea. One way or another, I’ll let you know what I decide.”

“Thank you, and have a safe journey.”

After nodding at her, he spun on his heel and headed back toward the gray skies outside.
Damn
. He needed to be on that dirigible. He paced outside the hangar, scowling. They had cargo to transfer to the ship, so they wouldn’t be ready to take off for a while yet. He’d have to time it carefully, but one way or another Tobias was catching a ride to the Badlands.

Considering he’d recognized the man in the bowler hat outside the lab, he hoped the
Dark
Hawk
left the confines of the hangar sooner rather than later. Preferably much sooner.

Chapter Four

People huddled under black umbrellas and ducked from one patch of cover to another in order to escape the rain. While he didn’t relish the way wet hair clung to his face, Carson appreciated the downpour. No one wanted to stand in it long enough to ask what he was doing at the door to the warehouse.

Kneeling, Carson opened the pouch containing his lock picks and pulled out the two he wanted. With the tension wrench twisted securely, he slid the rake into the lock and dragged it over the pins, praying Henrietta would still be here. He’d staked out Mason’s home all night, waiting for her. No one he asked seemed to have any information on her at all. Instead, a neighborhood child had volunteered the general location of Mason’s place in the city—his warehouse laboratory. The next time Carson needed information, he would remember to ask children. They weren’t nearly as cagey as their parents.

If Henrietta wasn’t here, Carson didn’t have another lead. Of course, there was the possibility St. Clair or one of the mafia goons had reached her first. No. If he didn’t know where she was, the mafia wouldn’t either—he had to trust in that—and St. Clair would have to play things quietly. If Carson found the lawyer, it would likely be in the lab as well.

He had to adjust the tension wrench once, but then the door popped open readily. In one move, he swung inside and latched it closed again.

Then he waited.

If Henrietta or St. Clair were here, they were unnervingly quiet. She might not want to see him for some unknown reason, but he doubted Henrietta would ignore his presence. The lawyer, on the other hand, could be here—either hiding or taking up position to get a clean shot. Only the pounding of the rain kept Carson company, which likely meant another dead end.

The echo of gunfire never came, and Carson relaxed a bit, even as frustration ate at him. Then his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he muttered a string of profanities.

Empty. Well, not entirely, but empty e-fucking-nough. Carson stalked through the space, sure now that St. Clair wasn’t tucked away in a corner. The only things left in those shadows were dust and a few scraps of metal and glass.

Something glittered on the floor near the doorway into an office at the back. He bent and picked it up. A tiny clockwork butterfly, probably from Henrietta’s hair. Part of him—the part still angry about the way she’d left—wanted to crush the thing and throw it to the darkest corner of the lab. His fingers clenched around it until he felt the delicate wings starting to give way. Then he remembered wishing she’d left something when she deserted the ball and shoved it into his pocket.

Pushing thoughts of that nature aside, he strode into the room. If he wanted the opportunity to play the prince, first he had to find his Cinderella. Other than the desk and chair in the back office, dust, metal and glass were the
only
things that remained. His lip curled up in disgust. Mason’s senate office had been taken over months ago, his things delivered to his house—which was empty and sold as well. Everything of Mason’s was gone. And so was St. Clair.

And so was Henrietta. As much as Carson didn’t want to, he couldn’t help but think about what the mafia would do to her if they found her first, especially if they thought she had something they wanted. Considering she had inherited her father’s entire estate, it was likely some experiment, some clockwork, some device the mafia craved now rested in her possession.

“Damn it to the seven hells and back!”

The pattering of rain on the road grew suddenly louder, and a creak made Carson spin toward the door. It stood open once more. A man with not much more substance than a shadow stepped inside, streams of water running from the thinning strands of his black hair.

“Oh! Can I help you, sir? I was under the impression Dr. Mason had finished. Are you part of the ship’s crew?”

Doctor
Mason? Henrietta. She’d been here, recently from the sounds of it. While Carson was a world-class liar, he didn’t have enough information, or time for that matter, to weasel her whereabouts from this man. At least not entirely. And he could hardly use his credentials since he wasn’t supposed to be looking into any of this.

“No, but I do need to speak with her. It’s a matter of some urgency.” The specter squinted at him, and Carson threw out the one thing that made most men rush forward with information—at least when it came to women. “I have reason to believe her life is in danger. The sooner—”

The idiot didn’t change his suspicious expression; he just reached into his pocket. Without hesitating, Carson dropped the concerned citizen attitude, grabbed him and threw the man against the nearest wall. A derringer tumbled from his fingers, and Carson kicked it into the depths of the empty warehouse. The re-emerging sun shone through the windows and glinted on the metal as it spun across the floor. “Let’s try this again, Mr....”

“Harkner,” the man squeaked. “Jebediah Harkner. Please...I’m just a banker. I’m only here to make sure the property is ready to sell.” All pretense of bravery slipped away. Harkner’s face was a mask of terror: eyes wide and darting, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“Well, Jeb, I really don’t have time to play nice with you. I actually do need to speak to Miss Mason, so now would be the ideal time for you to tell me where to find her.” When Harkner didn’t answer quickly enough, Carson grabbed him by the throat with one hand and lifted him off the ground. The other hand went into his pocket. “Though you had no compunction about violence, I’d prefer to not resort to that in order to get an answer.”

Harkner’s gaze shifted to the pocket, even as he struggled to breathe. Carson’s hand flexed under the cloth as dust motes danced in the air around them, sparkling in the wan sunlight. The words rushed from the man on a single breath. “She’s the medical officer on the
Dark
Hawk
, an airship docked at the main hangar not far from here. If she isn’t there right now, she will be soon. They’re set to return to the Badlands tonight.”

The Badlands? She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said her father sent her away from society. That was some good news at least. It should put her out of the reach of the mafia—if they didn’t know about her working on the airship.

“Was that so hard?” He lowered Harkner to the floor. “Now you’re going to sit here quietly while I step outside. If you stay, I’ll let you go, but if you move, it just means I have to find you. Neither one of us wants that, do we?”

Jebediah Harkner was still shaking his head as Carson shut the door behind him. Hell, the banker was probably still doing it when Carson hailed a steam carriage at the corner three blocks down.

Perched on the edge of the seat as the wheels sloshed through puddles outside, Carson wondered for the briefest second if he should have dragged Harkner with him. The man could’ve been lying. Carson couldn’t dismiss the possibility, but everyone knew Mason had sent his daughter away a few years earlier. Everything official said she’d gone to the far reaches of the earth studying medicine. There had been a bit of a fuss made by people saying her father had put her life in jeopardy. The fools didn’t know what they were talking about. If anything, sending her to the Badlands had removed her from danger.

And now that very menace was likely closing in on her.

* * *

Since she’d moved from the
Dark
Hawk’s lone stateroom, the simple crew quarters had become the closest thing Henri had to a home. Bed, desk, closet and nightstand all standard issue, the gilt-edged mirror hanging over the desk the one visible nod to her society upbringing. Henri took off her dress—the same one she’d worn to her father’s memorial—and hung it up, smoothing her hand over the rich dark gray brocade. Appearances were everything. Before Henri had left the Badlands, Queen Laurette had pulled her aside and insisted the real circumstances of her father’s death be kept quiet. “
There’s
no
reason
to
incite
more
difficulties
between
our
nations
,
and
I
would
hate
to
have
the
Union
believe
we
countered
my
mother’s
assassination
with
that
of
your
father
.”

They both knew her father hadn’t been assassinated. Princess Everette—Henri sneered—had killed him in defense of the new queen, and in self-defense as well. Henri could have told everyone the truth, but Laurette was right. The government wouldn’t want to believe the truth. They’d rather swallow a lie that would lead to war.

So Henri had bought the dress for the memorial, keeping up appearances through the entire ordeal. She’d even managed tears. No one needed to know they weren’t for her father.

Now, away from the prying eyes of her society friends, she shoved away her finer things. A flight to the Badlands didn’t require her to dress formally—especially since travel in recent months had involved blood as often as not. She pulled out a dingy blue bustle-skirt and slipped it on with a clean shirt. The gold threads on her navy corset had started to come unwoven; she’d need to see if she could repair it. Heedless of the damage, she put it on, tugging the laces until the boning pressed against her ribs hard enough to make her eyes well up. The laces loosened slightly as she sucked in a breath, and she tied them tight.

Removing her hat, she took a moment to make sure her hair was in place. The mirror—the one gift from her father she hadn’t been able to part with yet—showed a woman much like the one that had stared at her six months before. Same figure, same hair, same clothes. Only now it all looked worn and tired, as if she had been left in the desert too long. More than the twenty-seven years claimed by the calendar lined Henrietta’s face. Too many cares. Too many worries. Too much death. Retiring from this life was rapidly becoming a necessity rather than an option.

“If you watch that glass long enough, does it turn into something else?”

Henrietta turned toward the tall, curvy brunette leaning casually in the doorway. The way her hand dangled by her hip suggested she didn’t have a care in the world. Henri knew better—the position just kept the Badlands warrior’s fingers closer to her weapons. This was no social call. “Can I help you with something, Catherine?”

“The captain wants your cargo secured so we can take off. There’s been some...unusual activity in the hangar, and he wants to be in the sky in case there’s trouble brewing.”

She gave a curt nod. If Spencer was worried then they’d be in the air soon whether her father’s things were stored or not. He’d become very cautious since he met Ever, taking more care in some strange attempt to balance the princess’s impetuousness.

Watching as Catherine narrowed her eyes, Henri couldn’t decide which of the women she preferred to have onboard. Catherine’s disdain and suspicion were almost worse than Ever’s hostility. Of course, Ever at least had a reason for the hatred.

“Is there something else?”

Catherine tipped her head toward the wall, her simple braid bobbing with the motion. “The mirror. Does it do anything?”

“
Do
anything?”

“Is it one of your machines?”

Oh
. For a moment, she’d thought Catherine had been making a joke. “No. It isn’t a clockwork of any sort—just a mirror.”

“Pity. A mechanical that well disguised would be of great use in espionage.” She spun, her braid swinging through the air as she stalked off to whatever her security duties entailed.

And if Spencer thought they were in danger, Henri could only assume such duties involved the warrior woman readying more and much larger weapons than the pistols at her sides. Glancing back at the mirror, she shuddered. True, it came from her father, but the idea that it could be anything other than it appeared unnerved her. Surely she would have recognized it as a machine by now if it were one.

Her fingers trailed along the edges, searching for anything unusual. A clasp. A gear. A—

“Henri.” She jumped at the sound of Spencer’s voice. “Get your ass to the hold and help Noah or he’s going to have your mechs mixed with your parts mixed with your files. Then you’ll never find anything.”

“Yes. Of course.”

He ducked back into the corridor, calling behind him, “We’re leaving as soon as we get clearance.”

“Good,” she whispered, abandoning her ridiculous search of the mirror. She needed to get out of Philadelphia before she gave in to the urge to find Carson again and apologize for her behavior last night. She’d rushed off because of cowardice, not even giving him the courtesy of an explanation. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop seeing the confusion in his eyes as the carriage had pulled away from the hotel.

But how could she explain that she wanted to spend more time with him? Especially since it could never mean anything? Not even friendship. In her world, he could never be more to her than a hired hand.

She closed her eyes and sought to picture someone more suitable. Even the lawyer, as unappealing as she found him, would be a wiser choice. She tried to imagine walking into an event with Tobias St. Clair, her arm linked in his. Her gown swirling about the sharp creases of his trousers. She’d tip her head up to laugh at some witty remark and...

Long blond hair framed Carson’s strong jaw as he gazed down at her.

No.

Putting Philadelphia far behind her for a while was the only way to forget about the man. Henri shook her head and made her way to the loading bay. She needed to focus on the tasks at hand: sorting through her father’s things, ensuring the protection of the Badlands as best she could and planning for her emergence into society life upon their return. Carson Alexander had no place in any of that.

* * *

Edging around a stack of crates, Tobias shifted his eyes from one side of the hangar to the other and back again. Everything gleamed, from the wooden decks to the brass railings. Only the ships themselves, with their faded canvas or battered aluminum shells, and the men rushing between them lacked the hangar’s glow. It was one reason the man in the bowler hat who kept checking his pocket watch and the one in the dapper suit leaning against the wall reading the paper stood out so much.