The Girl in the Clockwork Collar

Finley.

Suddenly, he was breathless for an entirely different reason. She smiled but didn’t speak. She simply stood there beside him, holding his hand as they slowly climbed to their destination. Griffin wanted to reach up and touch the streaks of black in her tawny hair. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her close, lower his head and…

The bell chimed. They had reached their floor.

And just in time, too, because he had started to lean toward her.

The operator opened the sliding doors and bid them good-night. Griffin slipped him a tip for his trouble and was gifted with a grin and doffed hat in return.

After divvying up the keys, each of them went to their room so that their belongings could be taken inside. Griff peeled more notes from his money clip and pressed them into the eager hands of the boys who had brought their luggage.

His room was spacious and as luxurious as he expected, with a plush carpet, large, comfortable-looking bed and heavily draped windows, which afforded a spectacular view of 5th Avenue. He went to one of those windows and gazed out. New York looked like someone had captured the stars and dragged them down to Earth.

It was late, and he wanted to be up early so they could visit the jail and talk to Jasper—or talk to someone about Jasper. He would do whatever he could to help his friend, even buy his freedom, if necessary. There was no way he was going to allow Jasper to hang for a crime Griffin was certain he didn’t commit.

It was that worry hanging over him that kept him standing rather than undressing for bed as he ought. Instead he gave in to his restlessness and turned on his heel. Unpacking would wait.

Griffin closed the door behind him and quickly crossed the corridor to knock on the one opposite. He raked a hand through his hair as he waited, then he heard the sharp clunk of the bolt and the heavy wood opened.

“You should have asked who it was,” he cautioned. “I could have been anyone.”

Finley smiled as she pulled the door fully open. She looked as tired as he felt. Still, she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. “I knew it was you. I heard you leave your room.”

Of course she had; she had that bloody sensitive hearing of hers. She was more than capable of defending herself, too. He just worried about her. She was far too reckless and confident at times. It would kill him to see her get hurt.

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as she stepped back to allow him inside. It was set up much like his own, only with a different view, as her windows overlooked 34th Street.

“I thought maybe you might be interested in taking a walk,” he said, glancing around the room. She had already opened her luggage and begun unpacking. It was a little disconcerting, seeing her underthings, even though they were stacked in an open drawer. He looked away. “Those are lovely flowers.”

Finley glanced at the bouquet of cream tea roses on the dresser. “They were here when I came in. I assumed they were part of the décor.”

“I don’t have any in my room.” He took a closer look. “There’s a card.” He plucked the folded card stock from the blooms and offered it to her.

Frowning, Finley took it. “Perhaps it will tell us who they belong to.” But as soon as she opened the card, Griffin knew the answer. She looked surprised, pleased and perturbed, all at once.

“They’re from Dandy, aren’t they?” He didn’t really need her to respond. Who else would send her flowers? Not him, obviously.

She nodded, clearly bewildered. “How did he even know where to find me?”

Griffin shrugged and tried to look as though he didn’t care. “It would be easy to ascertain that we had left and for where. Then all he had to do was contact hotels.”

“Still, I don’t know why he’d bother wasting the time.”

“Don’t you?” Griff studied her face closely. “Surely you know he has feelings for you.”

Finley blushed. “We’re friends.”

As he ran one of his fingers along the petal of a rose, Griffin’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Perhaps you ought to enlighten Mr. Dandy as to that.”

“Do you believe I’ve led him on?”

He choked on a bark of laughter. “You spent the night at his house. Could you blame him for making assumptions?”

Hands fisted on her hips, Finley glared at him. “And I live with you. What assumptions have you made, Your High and Mightiness?”

He should have stayed in his room. “None. I know better then to assume anything where you are concerned.”

Instead of placating her, it only made her frown deepen. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Griffin shrugged. He couldn’t win. “Nothing, Finley. It means nothing. I’m sorry I bothered you. Good night.”

He moved to the exit and had just wrapped his hand around the brass knob when a hand slapped flat against the door. He turned the knob and pulled, but the door refused to budge—she was that strong.

Slowly, Griffin turned his head toward her, his temper and his power rising. The runes tattooed on his neck and shoulders to help him focus his abilities warmed and tingled. Only Finley had the ability to get under his skin like this. She made him think and act like an idiot. “Don’t make me blow this thing off its hinges,” he said, voice low.

Her eyes sparkled with disbelief, taunting him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Not like I can’t afford to replace it.”

“Where would you expect me to sleep in the meanwhile?”

“I’m sure I can think of someplace.” Yes, he could. As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back. Heat crept up his cheeks.

Finley’s lips parted on a soft gasp, and he noted with some pleasure that her cheeks darkened, as well. He also noticed that she did not immediately drop her hand from the door.

Her other hand, however, came up to touch his face. Her fingers were cool against his cheek. It took all of his strength, but he wrapped his hand around hers and pulled it away. “I care about you, Fin. More than I should probably admit, but I’m not going to share you or fight for your affection.” Then—because he couldn’t help himself—he kissed her fingers.

“Good night, Finley.” He opened the door and stepped over the threshold. When the door clicked shut behind him, Griffin tried not to be too disappointed that she hadn’t tried to stop him.

* * *

It was a good thing Dalton’s men had taken his guns, because Jasper would have shot the rat between his eyes without much of a thought—he was that angry. Angry and helpless.

He was still angry hours later, standing alone at one of the windows in his “cell.” It was well past midnight, but if he went to bed, he’d only stare at the ceiling.

Of all the secrets and weapons his former friend could have used against him, why did it have to be Mei? He knew why—because Dalton knew Mei was the best weapon to use against him, his guarantee that Jasper wouldn’t try to escape.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window and breathed deep through his nose, but it didn’t make him any less angry. He hadn’t seen Mei since he left San Francisco a year ago. He’d left to protect her. And he had hidden Dalton’s blasted stolen contraption not only to ensure his own life, but to keep Dalton from becoming an even snakier rascal.

He should have known better than to leave her alone.

If he had just washed his hands of the situation, let Dalton have his contraption before escaping to England, he wouldn’t be in this mess and Mei would still be safe. He should have taken her with him. But she hadn’t wanted to leave.

When he thought of all the things that could have happened to her in Dalton’s clutches…

The sound of a key in a lock brought his head up. Slowly, he turned as the hinges creaked and the door eased open.

He expected to see Little Hank, his knuckles wrapped to deliver another beating, but the person who entered was more than a foot shorter than the thug.