Seleste deLaney - [Badlands 02] (9 page)

Carson forced himself upright, his back against the wall, a poor mirror of Mahala’s pose. “I’m U.S. Marshal Carson Alexander, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to Henrietta that way.”

The warrior woman, Ever, snarled something, her fingers going for a weapon. Captain Pierce laid a hand over hers. “I’ll take that on advisement. But since you two obviously know each other, maybe you can both fill us in on what kind of shitstorm’s brewing.”

Before Carson could open his mouth, Henrietta blurted out the worst of it. “The marshal and I met at a gala I attended before leaving Philadelphia. As for why he’s here...he wants Tobias. I’m guessing it has something to do with the mafia and my father’s work.”

Carson let out a slow sigh. At least he didn’t have to explain her father’s business arrangement to her. He reached out toward Henrietta, his fingers brushing along her arm. “I don’t know what web of lies he’s spun for you, but he’s the last link we have to Lupo’s organization. Tobias St. Clair is the only person alive who can bring him down. Which means, regardless what he thinks, they’ll never let him live. He knows too much.”

“But the research. He said there are things the mafia wants. If that’s the case—”

“It is,” Carson said matter-of-factly. The captain groaned, and the warrior woman closed a fist around the handle of a blade strapped to her waist.

Henrietta worried at a fingernail, something that looked far too much like fear for Carson’s liking inching over her features. “Then they aren’t going to stop when you take Tobias back. They already shot at us once. God knows what they’ll do if or when they get their hands on us.”

The urge to hold her and tell her everything would be okay was almost too much to resist, but he wouldn’t lie. He’d lost Lily to Lupo’s army. He wouldn’t let Henrietta dismiss the danger they faced. “Maybe if you can play stupid, they’ll let you off, but if they have any idea that you could take your father’s place... It would just be wise to hide your knowledge of mechanicals.”

For the first time since they’d launched into their explanation, the captain spoke up. “What if we sent the research back with you? Would they leave Henri alone?”

Carson shrugged, the motion pulling on the stitches along his side and making him wince. “It’s possible. A lot will depend on what they know about her. If they think she’s just a physician? They’ll only go after the research. But if they know she’s capable of duplicating her father’s work, they’ll do anything to get their hands on her.”

Henrietta shivered, looking far too small and delicate to have this thrust at her. Then she glanced at the others in the room—her crew—and set her jaw. “Tobias has no idea who you are or why you’re here?” When Carson shook his head, she continued, “Since I don’t know what the mafia wants, I suggest we keep it that way. Let him finish his blasted search while you recover from your injuries. As soon as we have what’s needed, you can take him and the files back to the Union.”

Something in the way she said it told him she’d sacrifice a lot to keep her friends safe. That, more than anything she’d said or done so far, made him want to learn even more about Henrietta Mason. “It could work. But after what happened in the hangar, we need to move quickly. Joe Gambini isn’t known for giving up.”

Henrietta squared her shoulders. “Unfortunately for him, neither are we.”

Chapter Nine

After the others had left, Henrietta lingered in the infirmary. Though everyone—except perhaps Mahala—had believed the excuse that she needed to clean up the mess from tending to Carson, she couldn’t lie to herself. She hadn’t wanted to leave him. Unlike the gala in Philadelphia, here she could only flee so far from his presence.

If she truly wanted to forget him, she had to confront at least some of the issues standing between them. Perhaps tackling the first would make the others disappear. Straightening the supplies in her bag, she asked, “Did you find me at the gala because of my father’s connection with this Lupo person?”

“Look at me.” He sighed when she didn’t turn. “Henrietta, look at me.”

If she did, she’d fall into his eyes and believe whatever he wanted her to. She knew she would. His face had crept into her dreams every night since the gala. It had been hard enough keeping her distance when she tended his wounds. Without the distraction of her work, he would be too real, too close, for her to stay objective. But if she wanted to forget him, she needed to know.

Staying on the other side of the room, she twisted toward him. “Did you?”

Still propped against the wall, he gave a slight smile and shook his head. “No. The information I had on you said you were somewhere in Europe. I went to that thing for no reason other than to keep my superiors happy. Even when you told me your name, I didn’t make the connection. All I could think about was the strange society woman who talked to me like a person and not just some...thing.”

No. Wrong answer. Couldn’t he make this easy? Tell her what she needed in order to move on instead of the words that secret place inside her wanted to hear?

“When I met you, I mentally went off duty for the first time in years. I wasn’t thinking about the mafia. And I certainly wasn’t thinking of your father. Not until after you ran off and I found out your whole name. Then my biggest worry was that someone else would get to you before I could.”

Her hands started shaking and she clutched at her skirts. His eyes were so earnest, so gentle, she wanted to cross the room and fold herself against him. Out here what society thought didn’t matter. In the Badlands, no one would care that it wasn’t proper or that he wasn’t an appropriate match. “And so you commandeered a military airship to come find me?”

Pain crossed his face as he laughed, and he pressed a hand to his side. “Only after that idiot St. Clair dropped me onto the roof of the hangar.”

“What?” For a second, she gave serious thought to turning Tobias over to the mafia herself.

“Don’t worry, it hurt less than landing here. As for the airship, I called in a favor. If things go badly, I’ll probably be in more than a bit of trouble for it.” He shrugged.

What was it about people who carried weapons as part of their jobs that made them always neglect the worst that could happen? She worried at the fabric in her hands. “Carson, if things go badly, we could all end up dead. I don’t know much about the mafia, but I’m aware they tend to be rather unforgiving of people who get in their way.”

Carson shifted, swinging his legs over the side of the cot and scooting toward the edge. Considering how much blood he’d lost, she didn’t know how he was even holding himself up. She rushed to his side. He grinned at her, the kind of smile that was both genuine and horribly disarming.

“I really didn’t think that would work. So much more effective than asking you to come here.” He wrapped an arm around her waist when she started to get up. “Don’t. Please.” Carson didn’t speak again until she settled back onto the cot. “In my line of work, pretty much every day could get you killed. And you’re a medical officer on a trading ship that seems to see more trouble than any I’ve heard of. Death is
always
a possibility.”

Henri shivered in his embrace. Death shouldn’t be that commonplace in anyone’s life. “It’s another reason I want to go back to Philadelphia. I don’t want blood on my hands unless it’s from saving someone.”

With a gentleness someone his size shouldn’t possess, Carson took her chin in his hand and forced her gaze away from the blood that still coated her fingers. Looking at him fully, a strange calm settled on her, one that felt too much like contentment. He ran his thumb over her cheek and she tipped her head toward the caress, letting her eyes drift shut.

“Unless you pulled the trigger or held the blade, Henrietta, you haven’t killed anyone. Saving a life doesn’t always involve stitches and bandages. Sometimes it’s as simple as reminding someone that they have a life to live.”

He didn’t understand. She’d brought death to the Badlands—to Zeke—and here she was, possibly doing it again by trying to hide her father’s research. No matter what Carson thought, how favorably he saw her, she hadn’t needed a trigger or knife. She had her own stupid pride.

She straightened, abandoning the warmth of his touch. “At the very least I can do what I promised and go through the crates in the hold, find what you need. That should save more than one life if I’m lucky.” He reached for her hand as she stood, but she turned toward the door, moving her fingers out of reach. “Noah will bring you some dinner, and I’ll be back to check on you later. Get some rest.”

Every step toward the cargo hold, Henrietta wanted to spin around and return to the infirmary. As awkward as being with Carson was, it also felt good. Right.

Too bad what she wanted was secondary to what had to be done. She trudged to the crates where Isabelle stood watch over the lawyer as he searched. Henrietta approached the warrior woman first. “No trouble, I trust?”

She stretched, cracking her back, and stowed the knife she’d been twirling between her fingers. “None. He has been quite dull.”

That was something at least. “Good. Thank you for your assistance.”

Isabelle nodded and ducked out of the hold, heading off to her own people and dinner.

“Does this mean I don’t need a watchdog anymore?” The words were harsh, but Tobias smiled as he said it. Unlike Carson’s, this was the kind of smile Henri didn’t trust, mainly because it seemed to ask her to do just that.

“It means I won’t keep her from her meal. Whether or not you’re to be under guard is up to Captain Pierce.” She settled next to him, taking a sheaf of papers from the crate. “Have you found anything else useful?”

“A couple bits and baubles I’d like you to look at.” He indicated a small pile of brass and copper. “I thought you owned the
Dark
Hawk
. Why is the captain deciding anything while you’re aboard?”

That he knew she owned the dirigible wasn’t a surprise, and truly the question shouldn’t have been either, but it set her on edge. “I make the business decisions. Captain Pierce has the run of the ship. He’s more a partner than an employee.” She sifted through the scraps, pulling out two pieces to examine more closely. “This could be a piston for a mechanized appendage. An arm or leg, perhaps. Likely the former due to size, but the rest have no logical use in prosthetics.”

He took the metal from her fingers and placed it in the box they’d set aside for the items going back to the mafia. “Speaking of finding things...who is the man that was brought on board? I feel it’s only right to let you know he looks very much like someone I saw during the escape from the hangar.”

Freezing with one of her father’s notebooks half open on her lap, Henri studied Tobias. Was this truly how he wanted to describe his part in things? Regardless of the way Carson had dismissed it, the fall from the
Dark
Hawk
could have killed him. Whatever guilt she’d felt about turning the lawyer over to him vanished.

“In fact, you did. It seems you weren’t the only one intent on telling me I was in danger. His interest, however, is somewhat less business-minded than yours.” Let the slimy liar sit on that for a bit.

Tobias arched an eyebrow at her as he discarded another pile of parts back into the crate. “You do realize the man’s a ruffian, hardly a suitable match for someone of your social status.”

The pages crinkled in her hands as she fought the urge to throw the notebook at him. He of all people—considering his blasted connection to the mafia—was hardly the person to lecture
her
on what was appropriate. Doing her best to keep up the charade of friendliness, she forced her society smile into being. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing we aren’t in Philadelphia. I would hate to give the dowager gossips anything more to prattle about. After all, at the rate we’re going, they’ll have plenty to discuss over my corpse when your friends are finished with me.”

* * *

While the boy, Noah, had given him extra bedding when he’d brought supper, Carson’s night in the infirmary was far from comfortable—or restful. He dreamt of Lily’s death again, only this time, the woman in the coffin had had Henrietta’s face.

“Please wake up before you hurt yourself.” A gentle hand gripped his arm.

His eyes shot open to find Henrietta alive and well and leaning over him, close enough to breathe in. Almost close enough to kiss. “Sorry. Bad dreams.”

Biting her lip, she brushed hair off his face, her fingers lingering several seconds longer than necessary. Then she stood and straightened her corset. “Are those common for you?”

He tried not to miss the warmth of her touch. She was alive, and for now that was enough to chase away the pieces of the nightmare tangled in the last cobwebs of sleep. Slowly he sat up. Hopefully she’d let him off the cot today. “Sometimes. They come with the job.”

“And here I was hoping you might be able to help me deal with mine. They have nothing to do with my work, though.” She picked up a bowl from the desk against the wall. “Breakfast.”

When he reached for it, she shoved his hands away and sat next to him. “You’re still recovering.”

As much as he liked having her close, he felt ridiculous as she lifted the spoon. “I have a couple gashes and bruises, Henrietta. I’m capable of feeding myself.”

“Humor me.” When he frowned at her, she lowered the spoon and settled her gaze on the bowl. “Can you just pretend for a moment that I need to do something with my hands that has nothing to do with finding research and clockworks for the mafia?”

Pretend? That meant she wanted to do it for some other reason—and the only one he could think of was as an excuse to be close. He’d happily oblige. “I can do that.”

They sat in silence for a while, her feeding him and wiping his lips. Then she sighed and glanced toward the door. “We have a slight problem. And the truth is I’m not sure what to do.”

The damn woman tried to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. “No one, least of all me, expects you to figure out everything on your own. What is it?”

“Tobias and I are almost finished searching through what’s on the ship. We’ve found half a dozen bits and pieces of equipment and one notebook that might have something of use in it. It’s not going to be nearly enough to convince the mafia that you have everything.” She clutched the bowl in her hands so fiercely her knuckles turned white.

He tugged it away from her and set it on the cot, taking her hands in his. “Just hold your cards tight when dealing with the lawyer after we take off today. As long as he doesn’t figure out that we’re headed east instead of west, he’ll be none the wiser. Then fill the box with junk when we get back to Philadelphia. As long as it looks like I have everything and we have St. Clair in custody, they should leave you alone. Besides, they’ll have their hands full trying to deal with law enforcement. They won’t have time for you.”

“Why can’t I believe it’ll be that simple?” She stared at their hands, her long, soft fingers twined in his rough grip.

Carson raised them to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Because you’re stubborn and refuse to accept that fate might be on your side every once in a while. I used to be like that. Then when I needed help, fate stepped in and brought me a beautiful butterfly to fix my cufflinks.” He squeezed her fingers gently before letting go. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He only hoped it was a promise he’d be able to keep.

* * *

For a long moment, Tobias stood frozen in the corridor outside the infirmary. He still didn’t know the man’s name, but obviously Henrietta’s patient was here because of more than affection for the good doctor.

Take him back to the Union “in custody”? He thought not. From the beginning, Tobias hadn’t given Henrietta Mason enough credit. He’d treated her like any other society woman—frail and helpless and witless. A mistake on his part. And the blond stranger had thrown a rather large wrench into his plan.

The mafia could reach him in a Union prison even more easily than they could here. No. He needed the senator’s research if he wanted to live. But he didn’t have nearly enough of it yet, especially since Henrietta had taken the notebook to examine more closely. The mechs on hand were next to useless.

He peeked out the doors of the loading bay, surveying the camp. Hiding would do no good. While he detested the idea of running, they were leaving him little choice. The rest of the research was the only thing that could save him, and it was all hidden somewhere atop the mountains. The horses were too far away—the women had let them wander after the glider incident. He’d never manage to run to them without being caught.

Scrubbing at his face, Tobias pondered how far he would get crawling through the tall grass before he’d be located. Beyond that, how much time did he have until Henrietta came looking for him? Could he make it to the horses?

The scent of meat cooking on an open fire made his stomach rumble and drew his gaze to the center of camp, where he caught sight of the edge of a wide, high wheel. His lips twitched. It was a way out, and likely faster than the horses anyway. He’d grab a couple of the better pieces they’d found. Then it was only a matter of getting to the fortress, finding what he needed and turning it over to Gambini, or preferably Lupo. He shuddered as Gambini’s face hovered in his mind.

That was one man he’d prefer never to have to deal with again.

Plan in place, he strode back inside and plunged his hands into the box of mechs they’d separated.