Seleste deLaney - [Badlands 02] (7 page)

For a long moment, they stayed like that: him backed into the corner of the infirmary and her trembling, knuckles white, as she held onto the clockwork. At last she deactivated the thing—didn’t put it away, but off was an improvement. Tobias didn’t relish the idea of staring down his own death at the hands of some woman. At least if the mafia killed him, people wouldn’t see him as weak.

With a still trembling hand, Henrietta waved for him to go on. “Will they leave us all the hell alone if we give them what they want?”

“Perhaps. Your father was creating super-soldiers through mechanical implants. When he presented his initial experiments on animals to the military, they pulled his funding.” He turned away from the storm in her eyes, staring instead at the reflection of the gaslamps in the grooves on the walls, streaks of fire bright enough to forge steel...or brass. Shuddering, Tobias closed his eyes. “The government said they wanted no part in creating monsters.”

“Wise of them. What did my father expect? No soldier would voluntarily submit to such ridiculous procedures...” She huffed, the sound too close to a laugh. “He never planned on asking for volunteers. It was intended to be forced on the men.”

Opening his eyes, he shook his head. In no version of his plan did she take things this well. “You aren’t surprised.”

For the first time, her gaze darkened with something less like anger and more akin to sadness. “As I told you, I already knew my father led his life with less than upstanding moral fiber. Nothing he did ‘to benefit’ the United States would shock me. No matter how extreme or cruel.”

Whatever Senator Mason had done burned like a brand, marking Henrietta as clearly as a hot iron—an injury that would heal but she’d never recover from. How he hadn’t seen it before, he didn’t know. She was more than just some silly girl and would require enough of the truth to be afraid before she’d allow him to do what he needed.

“When the United States dismissed his plan, another group came forward and offered to fund the experiments as long as he shared the results with no one else.”

“Pragmatic to the end.”

“Nothing about dealing with Ignazio Lupo is practical. It’s all power and money.”

Henrietta blinked rapidly, her brows pulling together until a single tiny furrow formed between them. “Why do I know that name?”

“Because Don Ignazio Lupo heads the family responsible for organized crime from New York to Baltimore. Possibly farther.” Tobias searched her eyes to see how well this information played. “And your father agreed to provide him with an army of super-soldiers. Your father made him the single most powerful man on the eastern seaboard.”

Disengaged, the clockwork weapon slipped from Henrietta’s grasp, the dragonfly wings catching on the air, but doing nothing to slow its descent. They gouged through the end of the wooden cot, leaving a long, cruel scar, before the mechanical clattered to the floor and came to rest by her feet.

Through it all, she stood stock still, her mouth hanging open.

Perfect.

It appeared there was something about her father that could still shock her after all.

Chapter Seven

“And I’m telling you that you don’t have the authority to issue that kind of command.” The captain stood toe-to-toe with Carson, face calm but gray eyes showing the fire of irritation. “Without orders to engage coming from higher up, I will not attack a trading vessel.”

Carson stared down at the shorter man, resisting the urge to use his size to advantage. It would do no good with a career soldier like Captain Oyler. “I’m not asking you to destroy the ship, just encourage them to land by whatever means necessary.”

“Marshal Alexander, whatever you believe is on that dirigible does not justify shooting down a vessel with civilians aboard. I received no direct orders from a superior to do so, and you have no authority here. Need I remind you that your presence on my ship—in fact this entire flight—was done as a favor?” The captain pointed toward the bridge, his voice going tight for the first time. “I don’t care if your badge was pinned on by the president himself. This is my ship. That means you follow my rules. We will not fire on a potentially unarmed dirigible.”

Arguments about saving more lives than they could possibly take sprang to Carson’s lips, but he knew they’d serve no purpose. Besides, he didn’t want Henrietta injured either. Plus, he needed St. Clair alive.

He just wanted the lawyer in custody and to get off this damned floating barracks.

“If I’m right and my suspect is on that ship, you can explain how he got away to the president you don’t seem to care about.” Not that Carson had ever met President Roosevelt, but he was damn sure the man wouldn’t be happy about their only confirmed connection to Ignazio Lupo escaping.

Carson stalked down the corridor and slammed his fist against the wall next to the door of the cabin he’d been assigned. It scarcely dented the gleaming wood, but the throbbing in his knuckles settled his nerves a bit.

The last thing he wanted was to hole up in the cabin, with its polished brass and military precision furnishings. It was a place for someone like Henrietta, not him. Then again, the spitfire would probably find it too small, too plain. For him, it was too perfect. The room made him contemplate jumping out of the dirigible, but he could hardly stalk the corridors until they were on the ground.

The place reminded him too much of the last time he’d seen something gleaming and thought it was perfect. Gears and wires—all brass and shiny and ready to save the day. He leaned his head against the wall and scrubbed at the stubble on his chin, trying to fight off the memories.

In his mind, Lily’s laughter echoed, ringing bell-like against the walls, the only sound on the quiet street. Soft curls brushed her shoulders as they walked together for the first time in months. Senator William Mason’s clockwork inventions had made this last surgery a resounding success, and the growth that had pressed against her bones and made her an invalid was gone. Thanks to Mason, Carson had the woman he loved back and, though she didn’t know it, her father had finally given Carson his blessing. In just a few minutes they’d be in the park and he’d propose. The moment he’d waited years for.

Then the gunfire erupted, shattering what was left of the stillness and drowning out the sound of Lily’s laugh. Men with guns blazing rounded the corner, cutting across the park...and heading straight for them. Carson’s fingers tightened on Lily’s as he tugged her off the street. Steps away from the alley, she pulled on his arm. He spun around to yell at her, only to find her body sagging against the bricks of an apothecary, her free hand pressed to her chest, eyes wide, mouth hanging open as blood dribbled from the corner of her lips.

In the corridor of the dirigible, Carson’s fingers bit into the wooden door, gouging strips out of the finish, blood pooling around the edges of his nails. But at least the pain pushed the memory away. It had been eight years since Lily’s murder. Seven and a half since he learned that she’d been caught in the crossfire of a mafia turf war.

That was the day he’d signed up for the marshals. A year later, he managed to get an assignment in the division devoted to ending the reign of all arms of the mafia. Within four years, he was leading a squad against Ignazio Lupo. They’d taken down every one of his people they could—fugitives, the lot of them—but Lupo himself had remained untouchable. When Carson had found the link between the man responsible for Lily’s death and the one who’d saved her life, he’d latched onto it like a rabid dog.

And now, the last remaining connection between Mason and Lupo could be flying toward escape along with the woman he couldn’t get out of his head. He couldn’t let that happen. Even if he had to force the
Dark
Hawk
to ground himself.

The redheaded ensign rushed past, bumping into him as he went. Then he spun around, as if seeing Carson only when they connected. “Marshal! Your ship, the one we’ve been chasing, is descending. It looks like they’re setting down.”

Carson let out a slow breath. Maybe he’d manage to nab St. Clair before he made it deep into the wilds of the Badlands after all—and get the chance to see Henrietta again in the process. “Good work, boy. Go tell the captain I want use of one of your gliders while he figures out where to land this monstrosity.”

* * *

Henrietta twirled her finger in one of her curls, twisting the hair around and around until it cut off her circulation. Then she repeated the process with a different finger. The people shooting at the hangar had been after what was left of her father’s research. He’d promised them technology based on the gold he’d found in California. Her worst nightmare come true. Correction: this was worse than any scenario she had even conceived.

But they were far from Philadelphia now, over the Mississippi and touching down to trade Catherine for Ever. Normally the thought would bring Henri little joy, but on the off chance the mafia was pursuing them, she’d rather have the damn princess fighting against them. Catherine was good. Ever was better.

If they weren’t being followed, there was no reason to worry. They knew he might be trouble, but Spencer agreed to let the lawyer sort through her father’s things with her. Tobias said he could find the files Lupo wanted. He’d take enough of them to satisfy the gangster and say the rest had been destroyed. No more killing. They just needed to stay calm and...

“Why are they setting down?” Tobias’s fingers gripped her arm so tightly there were certain to be bruises later.

She cast her eyes toward his hand until he let her go. “This was a planned stop to switch our security detail. It won’t affect your search.”

Already he’d found an ocular implant that only served to confirm his story. She’d seen one like it before, but she didn’t see the point in mentioning that to the lawyer. He could have the thing if it would appease the mafia.

With a forced smile on her face, Henri looked past Tobias at the approaching negro woman, her tiny frame wending easily between the boxes and crates. “Mahala. I didn’t hear you come down. Shouldn’t you be on the bridge...landing the ship?”

The pilot leaned against a stack of crates, arms crossed over a simple blue shirt. “Cap’n wants to set us down. Having a chat with Noah to remind him not to flirt with Ever’s women. What I’m wondering, though, is why you two are hiding back here. If’n you’re fixing to—”

Tobias opened and closed his mouth, looking like a fish held out of water, desperate for air.

Henri shook her head and waved at the cargo. “First, we’re not ‘fixing to’ do anything. What we
are
doing is cataloging my father’s things, which Spencer already approved.” As if to emphasize her point, she reached into the nearest box and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “If you care to assist us, we’d be happy for the help.”

Cocking her head to the side, Mahala scoffed at the suggestion. “I got more than enough work to do.” She pushed away from the crate and dusted off the back of her suede breeches. “Gonna tell you something though, Henri. I spent a lot of years around white folk telling lies, especially the pretty kind. Seeing ’em ain’t a skill that goes away.”

Unfortunately, Tobias chose that moment to find his voice again. “How dare you accuse Dr. Mason of deceit!”

Mahala stepped right up to him, poking his chest with a single finger hard enough that he staggered back a bit. “I ain’t a slave here, Mr. Hoity-toity Lawyer. That means I can say whatever truth pops into this lil old nigger brain of mine, and there ain’t nothing you can do to stop it.” She spun on her heel and wove through the boxes, calling back to them, “’Sides, I can tell by your damn face—you’re a bigger liar than she is.”

As soon as Henrietta heard Mahala’s footsteps in the corridor overhead, she rounded on Tobias, fury pushing its way through her voice. “Don’t presume you can get away with your snake oil salesman smile and pompous bearing here. No one cares. They care about staying alive. And, quite frankly, if you try that with Ever, she’ll slit your throat and
then
ask you what you’re hiding. This isn’t the city.”

He stepped back again. “And if it’s a choice between your warrior woman and Lupo, I’ll welcome her blade.” He shuddered and an angry scowl replaced his phony smile. “Lupo’s men are the ghosts that haunt me asleep and awake. Though they shouldn’t have been able to, if they’ve followed us, then God help us all.”

Thrusting the papers into his hands, Henri turned to yank the lid off another crate. “We’re in the Badlands. God doesn’t live here.”

* * *

“I thought this was going to be a simple landing and change of guard. Why are all these women crowding around?” Tobias hovered next to her in the loading bay as the others disembarked.

Fresh air swept in to greet them and the chill raised gooseflesh on Henri’s arms, reminding her fleetingly of racing to her carriage in Philadelphia—and of the warmth of Carson’s touch. She snapped her bag of supplies shut, sealing off the contents along with the part of her brain that couldn’t seem to stop thinking of the marshal. With a “respectable” man so close, she was having a hard time seeing how a cretin like St. Clair could ever be more acceptable to society than a hero. Money and status were all that mattered, and that fact was starting to sicken her even as she planned for her new role in Philadelphia. “We’ll be staying for dinner as well. You will act like you want to be here. Pretend this is an adventure.”

Stepping from the ship, Henri shielded her eyes against the glare of the sunlight until her vision adjusted. Gentle hills rolled away in the distance, visible only by the rise and fall of the tall, browning prairie grass. In the midst of it all, a circle of tents stood around a central campfire. Between the ship and the encampment, dozens of women stood, some embracing the crew as they left the ship, others standing back.

Ever, her long brown hair waving in the breeze, kissed Spencer with a passion normal people reserved for more private settings.

Such a display would never be tolerated in the circles Henri hoped to live in. For a moment, as she watched them, Henri suffered a pang of regret. She’d never know what that felt like—desire so great that waiting to be alone simply ceased to be an option the moment they laid eyes on each other. Her lips burned with want, and she pressed them together in a pathetic semblance of a kiss that only left her yearning even more for the real thing.

Melancholy, she forced her chin up and strode onto the grassy plain, Tobias at her heels. She wished she could have left him onboard but, without a guard, it seemed foolhardy. After she tended to the wounded, she’d see if one of the younger women was willing to take on the task of watching him sort through boxes. For now, the crowd of warriors moved out of their path, staring at him sidelong as he passed. He squirmed under the scrutiny, straightening his jacket while they walked.

“Good afternoon, Bridget. I see someone used you for target practice again.” Henri smiled at the ebony-haired woman, trying to get a better look at her injury.

“It is fine. Healing up nicely.” Bridget tried to shrug off the wound, standing and pulling her muscled arm from Henri’s grip.

Exasperated, Henri pushed the woman back into her seat. “And as I’ve told you before, when the injury is fresh, it’s best if we stitch it up properly.”

She pulled needle, thread and antiseptic from her bag, setting to work before Bridget got any ideas about running away. The entire task would have been quicker and more sanitary with one of her clockworks, but Ever didn’t like the things and most of the women shared her opinion. Fortunately, the gash was less than four inches long and reasonably clean, allowing Henri to finish stitching in only a few minutes. Through it all, Tobias stood behind her, a constant—breathing—shadow.

When Bridget abandoned her seat, Henri sighed. “What is it?”

He eased onto the rough-hewn chair, little more than a log really. “What did I do that they are all looking at me with such...dislike?”

After returning her instruments to their proper places, Henrietta stood, bag in hand, and flicked at the lapels of his jacket. “Because you look like a lawyer. The law of the Union is what sends criminals over the Mississippi in the first place. Be glad they didn’t shoot you on sight.”

She strode toward the campfire and he followed.

“You could have warned me.”

“Would it have done any good?” She spun around, Tobias jerking to a stop mere inches away. Henrietta’s hand rested on his chest to keep him from running into her, but he’d already ceased moving. It felt like every woman near them, with their dingy patchwork clothes and weapons, had turned to stare, and she snatched her fingers back.

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to do the same thing I did when I first met them. Stand tall and proud of who you are. Eventually you’ll earn their respect.”

His lips curled into a quiet smile. “I can do that.”

Sighing heavily, she met his gaze. “Of course you can. If anyone can be proud of working with criminals, it would be a lawyer. We’ll be taking off and heading toward the mountains—most likely by morning.” She waved toward the foothills in the distance and the path she’d shown him on the map. She hadn’t given away the queen’s exact location, but the trail was well known enough. “Once we reach the fortress, you can claim the rest of the vile research and never have to worry what anyone here thinks of you again.”