The Girl in the Clockwork Collar

He opened the box and unwrapped the paper inside. This particular section of the device—which looked like a crown of tuning forks—was exactly as he remembered. In the back of his mind, he realized he’d been hoping to find it destroyed, so Dalton wouldn’t be able to use it.

“Is that it?” Mei asked, leaning over him with the lantern.

She smelled of cherry blossoms, he thought. He could close his eyes—just for a moment—and pretend they were somewhere else. Instead, he nodded, shoved the “crown” back into the box and rose to his feet. “Part of it. Do you have the sack?”

He could feel her confused gaze on him as she gave him the leather pouch. No doubt she wondered why he didn’t look at her, why he was so curt. But if she did have a talent for knowing what people needed, she’d know that right now he needed to put some distance between them, because the last thing he needed was to fall in love again when both their lives hung in the balance. Love was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.

With their bounty in the sack, Jasper gestured for her to walk in front. There was nothing he could do about the bricks and mortar dust on the floor—that would be someone else’s mess to clean up.

No one was around to see them as they slipped out of the cellar opening. The crowd was louder up here—the fights being held in a nearby room. They exited into the vestibule, where spectators waited like a herd of cattle to be allowed inside. Little Hank was waiting for them by the door and corralled them toward the main hall. Apparently Dalton wanted them to stay for the fight, as well. Tarnation, there went any hope of Griffin not seeing him.

There was a bit of a commotion as the night’s fighters were brought in. These brave—or insane, however you wanted to look at it—scrappers would be put in a ring against each other and machines in a “last man standing” sort of event. Killing your opponent wasn’t encouraged, but it wasn’t against the rules, either. The only rule was that to win, you had to be the only fighter left alive and conscious. It was nasty and brutal and not at all the sort of thing Mei should see—never mind that she had been the one to teach Jasper the Chinese martial arts.

He turned his head to watch the parade of fighters, because it was less painful than looking at Mei’s pale but pretty face. Tonight’s contenders were a hard-looking lot of criminals and thugs…

“Good God!” He exclaimed.

Mei’s head whipped around. “What?”

His heart was beating hard against his ribs, and his breath seemed to have caught in his throat. One of the fighters had looked straight at him and winked.

“Jasper, do you know that girl?” She sounded jealous.

He shook his head, watching in horror as Finley walked into the hall with the rest of the fighters—her opponents. What the tarnation was she up to? She had to be there to get close to Dalton—that was the only explanation.

This night couldn’t get much worse. If he thought Griffin would never look at him the same now, it was going to be even worse if Miss Finley got herself killed.

CHAPTER FOUR

No one had told Finley that this was an ongoing night of continuous fighting, weeding out the opponents until you were the last one left. The first time one of the fighters injured another so badly the results surely had to be fatal, she almost heaved the contents of her stomach all over the rough-hewn floor.

Emily was with her, watching the violence from the sidelines, dressed in a white shirt, vest and striped green trousers with high thick-soled boots. Her ropes of hair were pinned up on the top of her head, and she sported a silver hoop through the right side of her nose. It didn’t really pierce her skin, but clamped on in order to appear as though it did. The hoop and the trousers were gang related. Apparently there was some kind of Irish gang in the city who wore the same jewelry and trousers. They were known as fighters—either being tough themselves or handling fighters who were tougher.

It was a good disguise. Emily wasn’t as tall and muscular as Finley, so the kit provided some protection. No one would mess with a member of the Uisce Beatha gang. Ish-ge Bah-hah, Emily pronounced it. It meant whiskey in Irish.

“Right,” Finley said when another man was carried—groaning in agony—from the ring. “I’m going to knock ’em out as soon as I can, Em. Do as little and take as little damage as I can.”

“A sound notion,” her friend replied in a strained voice. “Just be careful, Finley. I’m not certain this was such a grand idea after all.”

Finley’s smile pulled tight. “It’s not, but it’s the best I have, unless you think me throwing myself at Dalton would be better?”

“He is lovely to look upon, but I reckon that’s not the way to win his trust and respect. Plenty o’ women have been practically swooning over him all evening.”

Emily was right. The criminal was possessed of an uncommonly fine face. They’d spotted him shortly after their arrival, because he had Jasper with him. Dalton was almost too handsome with his silky brown hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones. It bothered her to look at him for too long.

Griffin, on the other hand, was a bit more rugged-looking, not quite so perfectly put together. He wasn’t as overtly chiseled, but she could look at him for days and not get bored.

She glanced at Jasper. From where they stood, they could see him fairly clearly, though she doubted he could see them, shrouded in shadows as they were. Jasper did not look like the carefree, smooth-talking cowboy she’d met in London. He looked weary, guarded and strangely dangerous—as though he was a man on the verge of violence.

“Jasper doesn’t look as though he’s enjoying himself,” she remarked, not taking her attention off of him as Emily wrapped her hands.

“No,” Emily agreed. “I think he must be with Dalton against his will. Who do you suppose the girl is?”

Ah, Finley had wondered when that would come up. “No idea. They appear to know each other quite well.”

“Quite.” There could be no mistaking the jealous tone of Emily’s voice.

“I thought you’d set your cap at Sam.” She turned her head to look at her friend. “Has that changed?”

Crimson splotches bloomed on pale cheeks. “No. Although, I’m not sure what it says about me that, even though I prefer Sam’s attentions to Jasper’s, I still do not like Jasper turning that attention elsewhere.”

Finley chuckled at her honesty. “I don’t know a girl who would.” She paused. “You saw that Sam is here?” She hadn’t been surprised to see the big lad at the fight, but she had been surprised to see he was a contender. She should have known Griffin would come up with a similar plan, blast it all.

“Yes,” Emily replied, expression grim. “Don’t you hurt him.”

The warning in her friend’s tone startled her, but she heeded it all the same. Emily’s bad side was not a place she wanted to be. “I won’t.”

“Up next,” boomed the announcer’s voice, “Harpy O’Malley versus Finley Bennet.”

Her stomach felt as though it had dropped between her ankles. She’d given them an alias she had used before, in case anyone started asking questions—no way to link her name to Griffin’s. “I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“Harpy’s not intimidating,” Emily informed her, giving her a gentle shove. “Bird woman. You can defeat a bird woman. Off with ye now, before we attract even more attention. And be careful.”

There was no turning back. One look at Jasper, and Finley knew she couldn’t walk away. Besides, she wasn’t a coward. She simply wasn’t used to walking into a fight without aggression already driving her. She wasn’t going up against an enemy, just another person.

Another person willing to kill her to win. That realization drove the importance of the evening home. Calm settled over her. Calm determination. She had not come here to lose.

She stepped out of the shadows and walked the short distance to the raised platform where the ring sat. Slipping between the ropes, she forced herself to think of one thing and one thing only: survival.

“Harpy” turned out to be a strapping woman of Irish descent. She had long ginger hair, which she wore in thick braids on either side of her head, and arms the size of Finley’s legs. Some might have called her heavy or sturdy but there wasn’t an inch that wasn’t muscle. She wouldn’t go down easy, but when she did, she’d stay there.

Finley smiled and flexed her wrapped hands. She almost regretted the fact that she wouldn’t be able to cut her knuckles on Harpy’s teeth. Oh, yes. Her fighting side had shown up in full force. The runes Griff had tattooed on her back tingled so slightly it might have been her imagination.

The Irishwoman came at her fast and furious, swinging her meat-hook-like hands with such force they created a breeze. Finley avoided one swipe but took another on the chin. It felt as though her teeth had been driven up into her brain, it hurt so bad. But as she’d learned in the past, pain was often a trigger for her particular “talents,” and this was no different. She managed to avoid another couple of swings by dodging out of the way. Once her head cleared, she could concentrate on the anger that being hit brought out in her—and the single-minded determination to not feel that pain again.

Harpy was already panting, having exhausted herself with all that constant exertion. Her movements had slowed, and that was all the enticement Finley needed. She whirled around in a move Jasper had shown her, pivoted her body down toward her left leg and brought her right up, connecting with her opponent’s head with a solid kick. She was right—Harpy went down hard.

As the woman’s unconscious body was lugged out of the ring, Finley caught Dalton’s appreciative gaze. She’d grabbed his interest; now to see if she could keep it. She waggled her fingers at him in a way she hoped made her appear flirtatious, rather than deranged, and was rewarded with a lopsided grin.

“Get out of the ring” came a stern male voice from behind her. “We got another fight comin’.”

Finley did as she was told. Her victory guaranteed that she’d be back in the ring later, so she could continue to work on Dalton then.

As she approached the shadows where Emily stood waiting for her, grinning like an idiot, Finley glanced out into the audience. Her gaze locked with another—one the color of a stormy sky and every bit as volatile.

It was Griffin. And he wasn’t nearly as impressed with her as Emily was.

* * *