The Girl in the Clockwork Collar. Kady Cross
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but then he’d just bring more trouble down on himself. No, he had to do this right if he wanted Dalton out of his life for good.
And now Griffin was in town. The thought both worried him and gave him hope. If Griffin was here, it meant he was still his friend. But he didn’t want to risk Griffin’s safety, especially if Sam, Miss Finley and that pretty little Miss Emily were with him. Then there was the fact that if they tried to help him they might very well get themselves killed. Still, if anyone could help him get out of this mess and save Mei, it was Griffin King and his friends.
“Relax,” he heard himself say as he reached for another biscuit. “You’re in charge here. I’m not going to burn you.”
But if he could find a way to save his loved ones and destroy Reno Dalton, he’d do it. Even if it cost his own life.
* * *
“You know Griffin is going to pitch a fit when he finds out what you’ve done.” Emily chewed on a fingernail as she spoke.
Finley shrugged before taking hold of her friend’s hand and pulling it away from her mouth. “Not if we bring back information on this Dalton fellow, which is exactly what we’re going to do.”
“Did we have to go to the worst part of the city to get it?”
She’d shrug again, but that might seem facetious, as though she didn’t take Emily’s fears to heart. They were in the worst part of town—Five Points was a lot like the slum areas of London, but with a tad more pride—looking for information on a criminal. There were bound to be those who took offense to their snooping about.
Finley was fairly certain she and Emily could look after themselves, and if Griffin was angry that they had taken matters into their own hands, that was his problem. She was still a little angry at him for last night—more because he hadn’t kissed her—and he hadn’t spoken to her since. How was she supposed to react to that? How was she to know when he acted all interested one moment and then walked out on her the next?
It wasn’t her fault Jack had sent her flowers. She hadn’t asked for them. In fact, the prat had probably sent them knowing it would irk Griffin.
It was enough to make a girl wonder if there was something wrong with her—and Finley had had quite enough of that already, thank you. So if Griffin wouldn’t acknowledge her on his own, she’d make him.
People stopped to stare at the two of them as they strolled down the dusty sidewalk, putting Finley on her guard. It was a sunny day with a light breeze, which unfortunately carried the smells of this part of the city on it. Behind run-down buildings, clothing fluttered on battered lines. Some of those items were so grimy they barely looked washed at all.
Someone here had to know how to find this Dalton fellow, who was apparently a friend of Jasper’s. When Griffin had returned from the Tombs that morning, he’d said he’d run into a lawman who’d claimed that Jasper may have returned to his former lawless ways. That Jasper might have been responsible for a man’s death in California. Finley didn’t believe it. Oh, she had no doubt Jasper had his own sense of right and wrong—just as she often did—but he wasn’t a killer. Not without reason. If Griffin was going to give up just because of a murder suspicion, then he should have tossed her out when Scotland Yard believed she killed Lord Felix, a fellow who had attacked her.
Finley and Emily defended Jasper, much to Sam’s chagrin. It was no secret Sam was jealous of how the cowboy flirted with Emily. Couldn’t the brute see how much Emily adored him? Finley didn’t understand it, but it was obvious to everyone but Sam that Emily loved him.
Regardless, when Griffin had said that he and Sam were going to see what they could find out about Dalton, Finley had taken his attitude and the fact that he’d refused to make eye contact with her to heart and decided to do a little detective work of her own. Emily, of course, had refused to let her go alone.
“Do you think the lads are here, as well?” Emily asked, glancing about.
Finley was busy trying to catalog everyone watching them. “Dunno. I’m more concerned with us at the moment, Em.”
Her friend glanced at her, face even paler beneath her freckles. “Do you think we’re in danger?”
“I think we’d be idiots to assume otherwise,” she replied, oddly calm. This was one of the things she had to accept when Griffin began the process of helping her merge the two aspects of her personality. She thought things now, did things that she wouldn’t have before. So being cocky yet anxious in the face of potential danger was new to her—and most inconvenient.
Slowly, she nudged her small friend toward the center of the square. She’d rather be out in the open than risk being hauled into a building or alley. These people weren’t the sort to shoot someone in cold blood; they were fist-and-blade sort of people—the kind that took killing personally. There was more honor in meeting a foe toe-to-toe than picking them off from a distance.
She could respect that. She was also thankful for it.
“You girls don’t belong here” came a thick Irish brogue.
Both Finley and Emily turned toward the voice. It belonged to a young man, not much older than themselves. He was tall and thin, his dark auburn hair glinting in the sun. His shirt and brown trousers had been washed so many times they were both a muddy color and mended in several spots. Still, he stood there like he owned the place.
Cheeky bloke, Finley thought. “We’re looking for someone,” she told him.
His eyebrow jumped at her voice. “There be no one you want here, English,” he informed her in a mocking tone.
Finley smiled coolly. “I haven’t even told you who it is, Irish.” She kept her gaze focused on him, but her peripheral vision was filled with the sight of a crowd gathering around them. Damnation.
“Ye’re not wanted here” came a female voice from behind. “Why don’t ye just go back from where ye come.” It wasn’t a question but a command.
Finley turned. The girl was about her own height—a little heavier built—with dark hair and bright blue eyes. Black Irish, they called it. Behind her was another girl with dusky skin and an exotic prettiness, which was heightened by the emptiness of her lavender, catlike eyes. She was the real danger here, not the mouthpiece in front of her. Still, Finley didn’t reckon they were in any immediate danger from cat-girl.
“Gladly,” she replied. “As soon as someone tells us where I can find Reno Dalton, we’ll be on our way.”
“Dalton?” It was the dark girl—the one with the catlike eyes that asked. Her voice was low and smooth, with no trace of hostility, yet Finley felt it in the base of her spine. “What do you want with him?”
“No offense,” Finley replied, “but that’s personal.” She wasn’t about to give Jasper’s name and have that get back to Dalton.
The girl nodded. “Fair enough.”
“She’s probably knocked up with his brat,” the auburn-haired boy sneered, his gaze raking over Finley like a pair of dirty hands.
The blue-eyed girl stepped forward, flanked by two more who had reddish-brown hair. One of them carried a cricket bat. “We don’t appreciate strangers comin’ into our home, bringin’ their trouble with ’em.”
Finley stood her ground. She turned her face but not her gaze toward Emily. “Get out of here,” she commanded. “Now.”
She didn’t have time to see if her friend listened to her or not. A fist came flying out of nowhere. She dodged it but got smacked with the bat for her trouble. Pain exploded in her skull. It also woke up that part of her that wasn’t used to being welcomed just yet. When the next blow came, she deflected it and countered with one of her own, her fist connecting with a jaw. She struck again and again, but for every one she knocked down, there seemed to be two to take their place. Fast as she was, she couldn’t escape them all, and if they got her to the ground she’d be in serious