The Girl In The Clockwork Collar (26 page)

Sam’s scowl returned. “You’d have to do it before I ripped his arms off.”

Griffin winced. It was one thing to hear someone make such an overly exaggerated comment and another to know they could actually do it.

A knock on the door put an end to the conversation, and they all snapped to attention.

Quickly, Kirby gathered up their plates and piled them in the sink. “In the back, all of you.”

“You think it’s Dalton?” Griffin asked, holding the heavy door open for the others.

The marshal met his gaze with his flinty stare. “I’m expecting him.”

Griffin only nodded and followed his friends down the hall. It would be better to have the element of surprise against Dalton. He wouldn’t expect Griffin to have come for Finley.

The girls stepped into the cell Finley had been in earlier, while Sam stood just in the entrance of it and Griffin out in the hall. He didn’t want to risk the door closing and shutting them all in. They’d be easy targets then.

His gaze slipped to the wall of the cell behind Finley. What the—? He shook his head.

“What?” Sam demanded, glancing over his shoulder.

“The wall. I thought it moved.” As soon as he spoke, the strange phenomenon happened again, only this time he was certain of it. The wall rippled.

“Bugger,” Griff muttered.

Dalton had arrived.

As if by magic, a figure literally stepped right through that back wall. It was a huge man Griffin recognized as one of Dalton’s men. Right behind him came another, then Jasper, then Dalton.

In the other part of the building, there was a commotion, and before Griffin could yell for Kirby, the door burst open and Whip came running in. Past him, Griffin could see a man lying on the floor. Obviously Dalton had sent a distraction for the marshal while he used Tesla’s device on the building’s outer wall.

Kirby pulled out his gun and aimed it at Dalton, but the criminal had already pulled a pistol of his own and had it leveled not at Kirby, but at Emily. “Put it away, Kirby, or the little redhead gets a haircut.”

Griffin stiffened. He thought he heard Sam growl. This feeling-helpless shite was getting to be a bit much. He could try to summon enough Aether to disarm Dalton, but he’d never tried focusing it down to a single bolt of energy. There was too much of a chance he’d seriously hurt his friends.

“Jasper, take Miss Finley outside, will you?” Dalton asked. Griffin’s gaze jumped to the fellow standing at Dalton’s side. Jasper’s face was pale, and when his friend’s gaze locked with his, Griffin saw anger and helplessness there. He knew the feeling.

“No one’s going anywhere,” Whip informed Dalton in a cold tone and pulled back the hammer on his pistol. “Least of all you, Dalton.”

Dalton responded by doing the same to his. “Don’t think I won’t kill her. Should I prove it by putting one in her leg first?”

Finley stepped forward, and from the look on her face, Griffin knew she would gladly snap Dalton’s arm in half. He shook his head ever so slightly, telling her not to give herself away. Dalton might just as easily shoot her—or use that damn machine—and he would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.

The second Dalton squeezed the trigger, Sam stepped in front of Emily, taking the bullet meant for her in the leg. He didn’t even stumble.

But he ripped the cot from the bolts that held it to the floor and threw it.

Startled—horrified—Dalton fired again and began pushing his people toward the back wall. “Go!” he shouted.

The second bullet hit Sam, as well. This time, in the shoulder. Still, the large lad did not falter. He kept moving toward Dalton, despite Emily shouting at him not to. One of Dalton’s men pushed the cot back at him from where it had fallen, trying to trip him with it. Sam grabbed the bed once more and used it to throw the man against the wall.

Dalton raised his gun again. The muzzle was pointing straight at Griffin. For a split second, Griffin felt his mortality slip, and the Aether pulled at him. If only he had something he could charge and throw. If only he was as physically tough as Sam.

Just as he braced himself, committed himself to at least attempt to bend the Aether into a single bolt of energy, Finley grabbed Dalton’s arm, lowering it. “We’ve got to go,” she told him.
“Now.”

Dalton nodded. He backed toward the wall as Jasper shoved Finley through it, as though it was nothing more than fog. Only half of Dalton remained when he raised his weapon one more time and fired. Whip Kirby fell to the floor.

He’d been shot in the chest.

Emily never traveled without her bag of “goodies,” as she called them—basic tools that allowed her to work on almost any type of problem, mechanical or organic. She also carried Organites, the primordial ooze from which all life was said to have sprung.

It was fortunate for Whip Kirby that the bullet went all the way through, just below his right collarbone. Sam placed the man on the mattress that had fallen off the cot and ripped open his shirt and leather vest, as though they were tissue paper.

After cleaning the wound, Emily was able to stick the nozzle of her special Organite syringe directly into the bloody hole and inject the unconscious lawman. Sam and Griffin helped her with bandaging and then took care of cleanup while Emily sat with Whip.

“So I guess we can say that Tesla’s machine works,” Sam commented as he washed the blood from his hands at the sink.

Griffin joined him and chuckled drily at the irony in his tone. “We can at that.” He glanced at his friend’s bloody pant leg. “Do you need medical attention?”

“I’m fine. Dalton pointed a gun at Em.” All trace of humor was gone from his voice, replaced by a hardness that froze Griffin’s insides. Dalton was lucky Sam hadn’t gotten to him, because Sam would have killed him.

“We’ll get him,” Griffin promised, even though he had no bloody idea just how to make that happen.

Sam offered him the towel. “If not for Finley, he would have shot you, too.”

Griffin kept his gaze on his hands as he dried them. “I know.”

“Hope she doesn’t break Dalton’s neck before I get a chance to.”

A reluctant grin took hold of his mouth. “That would be unfortunate. For Dalton.”

They shared a grin—the sort that couldn’t be helped after such a stressful event. Griffin would never admit it, but he was still a little jittery. He didn’t know if it was adrenaline or the Aether, but it ran through his veins like an army of sprinting spiders.

Did Dalton know they were onto him? Did he suspect that Finley was one of them, rather than someone Griffin tried to press for information? If so, Finley could be in danger. She could take care of herself, but Dalton wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

Which meant that they would have to act soon. There had to be a way to extricate Finley and Jasper from Dalton’s control. They knew what the machine did, and they had a fair idea of where he was going to strike, so Finley didn’t need to be there anymore.

“What do we do about Whip?” Emily asked when she joined the two of them.

“How is he?” Griffin asked.

“Still unconscious, of course. But the beasties have already begun to work their magic. He’ll be stiff and sore for a day or two, but at least there’s little risk of infection, and his flesh has started to repair itself.”

Sam ran a large hand over her hair. It was an oddly gentle and intimate action, which embarrassed Griffin to witness. But it spoke volumes that Sam didn’t care if Griffin noticed or not. Usually the bigger lad was terribly self-conscious and private.

“You have such a big, fat brain,” he told her. It was obvious from his tone and his smile that Sam meant it as a compliment.

She rolled her large blue eyes at him. “Fool,” she muttered, but the only heat to her words was in her flushed cheeks.

Sam grinned. Such an amazing transformation happened when he smiled—it changed his face so much, made him look the teenager he was. Usually he stomped about looking ten years older, for all his brooding.

“What I meant,” she said, leaning into Sam’s touch, “was what are we going to do with Whip? Even though he’s recovering, it doesn’t seem right to just leave him here, but it’s going to look odd, us lugging a shot-up cowboy back to the hotel.”

Griffin nodded. “There’s no knowing if Dalton’s gang will return to finish him.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Sam offered. “I can handle whatever Dalton throws our way. Wouldn’t mind a crack at the knuckle-dragger he’s got working for him.”

Emily’s face pinched. “I don’t like the idea of you being here alone.”

He smiled, obviously both amused and touched by her concern. “I’ll be fine. Plus, I won’t be alone.”

“An unconscious man doesn’t count as company or protection,” she informed him.

“Em, I can look after myself—and an unconscious man.” As if to prove his point, Sam’s statement was followed by a
plink.
The three of them looked down to see a bloody bullet on the floor by Sam’s feet.

“Must be the one that was in my leg,” he remarked, as though bullets fell out of him every day.

A horrified gasp tore from Emily’s mouth as she reached for him. “Oh, Lord! Sam, I’m so sorry. In the flurry to help Mr. Kirby, I forgot that you were shot. How could I have been so stupid? Let me take a look at you.”

Sam chuckled. “Nothing to look at.” As if on cue, another bullet popped out from somewhere around his shoulder. Sam caught it before it hit the floor. And held it up between his thumb and forefinger. “See? That’s the last one.”

It was so absurd, Griffin couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Sam looked so comical, standing there, holding up the bullet that had just popped out of him with all the discomfort of a drop of water falling from a tap.

“Don’t laugh!” Emily chastised, swatting him on the arm. “It’s not funny.”

“But it is!” Griffin insisted, eyes watering. Sam began to laugh, as well, and soon the two of them were holding each other up, laughing like lunatics.

Emily shook her head at them and, at some point in their foolish fit, walked away from them in disgust. Griffin and Sam kept going. They hadn’t laughed much at all since Sam was killed by an automaton seven months ago. Emily saved him by replacing his heart with a mechanical one, but the attack had changed Sam—made him more serious.

When their laughter faded, they stood shoulder to shoulder, slumped against the counter.

“So you’ll stay with Whip long enough for him to wake and ascertain if he’s well enough to be left alone.”

Sam nodded. “If he’s not, I’ll bring him back to the hotel with me. I may, anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to have his input into whatever plan you’re scheming up.”

Of course everyone would assume he had a plan, Griffin thought with a sigh. He supposed he’d better start thinking of one. “Right. Always helpful to have another brain involved.” He clapped his friend on the back. “Any trouble, you send for us, understood?”

Sam’s dark gaze met his—intently. “I’ll send for you.”

“Oh, no.” Griffin shook his head. “Don’t put that on me. I’ll be the one who has to tell Emily you want her to stay behind—and you know how she’ll react.”

Broad shoulders shrugged. “So don’t tell her.”

“You don’t want to do that, Sam. I know you want to protect her, but she’ll not take it well, and you know it.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to worry,” Sam moaned, running a hand over his jaw. “I’m terrified she’ll get hurt.”

Didn’t know what it was like to worry? Griffin punched him in the arm—hard. It was like punching a wall. “You great arse. I worry about all of you all the time. I’ve barely eaten or slept since Finley infiltrated Dalton’s gang.”

Sam made a face. “Finley can look after herself. She could rip Dalton’s head off.”

Griffin fixed him with a pointed gaze. “She’s still human, Sam. Still mortal. And now Dalton knows we know her by sight.”

“Bugger.”

“Exactly,” Griffin agreed, fighting down the fear that churned in his stomach. “I have to get her away from him. Fast.”

Sam shook his head. “Always the hero. Now take Emmy back to the hotel where I know she’ll be safe.”

“Right,” Griffin said, clearing his throat. A bloody hero? “Hopefully Dalton doesn’t know where we’re staying. Yet.”

He waited for Emily to check Kirby’s condition one last time, and then the two of them exited the building, and Griffin hailed a cab on the street.

Once back at the hotel, they made themselves comfortable in Griffin’s room, both of their portable telegraphs out and within easy reach should anyone try to contact them.

“What do we do now?” Emily asked, slumping onto the bed. “Go after Finley and Jasper?”

Griffin took a pack of cards from the desk. “We do what you and I do best, Emmy. We think. We think, and we wait.” They could hardly go charging after Dalton when he had a machine that he could easily use to kill them. As much as he might want to, it just wasn’t smart.

She made a face—it was as close to a pout as he’d ever seen on her. “I hate waiting.”

Griffin sighed and sat down opposite her. “Me, too, love. Me, too.”

Finley didn’t get a chance to talk to Jasper immediately when they arrived back at Dalton’s. First, Dalton wanted to talk to her. She tried to beg off to go have a bath, but he told her it would just take a second and then she could go get cleaned up.

“What was the Duke of Greythorne doing at Kirby’s?” He asked with fake pleasantness.

Finley shrugged. “Kirby told him he had me. Mr. FancyPants asked me about Jasper—and what you had planned. Didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t know.”

He stared at her with those unnerving eyes. “Which is exactly why I never tell anyone my plans. Good girl. Go ahead and go get your bath. I want everyone to convene in the library in an hour. It’s time I told you our next move.”

With a promise to be there, Finley went to her room, gathered fresh clothing and went to draw a bath. She didn’t linger in the hot, soapy water. Dalton seemed to believe her story, but he believed it a tad too readily for her liking.

Once she was clean and had dried off, she quickly dressed in shin-length pantaloons, high boots and an Oriental blouse of bright blue, embroidered silk. Over that, she laced a black corset. Then she twisted her damp hair up on top of her head and secured it with one of her favorite chopsticks. Now she was ready for whatever Dalton threw at her.