by Kady Cross
Keeping her breathing shallow, she feigned sleep, waiting for her would-be killer to make his or her move. They would choose an up-close-and-personal method of death, of course, as firing a pistol would attract too much attention. Her eyes were open just enough to watch the shadows in the room.
One of the shadows moved, taking on a human shape as it drifted toward her. It was too big to be Mei. Disappointing, that. She’d rather hoped she would get the chance to square off against the detestable chit. It was also too small to be Little Hank. Either it was one of the other fellows, or Dalton had hired a professional. Or perhaps an amateur, given how easily she had sensed his presence.
The shadowy figure came closer, moving up the side of the bed to hover by her head, blocking out most of the moonlight. Closer it came, bending over her, a length of rope stretched between both hands. Finley waited until that rope just barely touched her neck before reaching up, grabbing the assassin’s coat and pulling him down to smash her forehead into his nose. He cried out—her assumption that her attacker was a man had been correct—but she didn’t let go.
Finley came up onto her knees, still holding the man. He’d regained his wits and struggled against her hold, but he wasn’t much of a threat without his rope. She coshed him with her head again—this time hard enough to knock him out.
Then—still in her unmentionables—she climbed out of bed, flipped him onto his stomach on the floor and used his own rope to tie his hands behind his back. She used the laces out of one of her corsets to secure his feet and then tied the lace to the rope, effectively “hog-tying” him.
The thought of Jasper’s colloquialism made her think of the cowboy himself. If an assassin had come for her, one might have come for Jasper, as well. Or maybe hers was supposed to eliminate both of them, but she couldn’t be certain.
Hastily, she threw on the trousers she had borrowed from Griffin and the shirt, as well. They hadn’t been laundered, but they would do for the moment. In her bare feet, she hurried silently from her room and just down the corridor to Jasper’s.
The door was locked. Bollocks.
Finley ran back to her room, hopped over the unconscious man on her floor and leaned out the window. Jasper’s room was two doors down from hers, but the only way to get there was to traverse the narrow brick ledge that ran around the building.
Good thing she wasn’t afraid of heights.
Sighing, she slipped half of her body out of the window and unhooked the assassin’s climbing apparatus. It landed on the sidewalk below, the attached rope muffling the crash.
She braced her toes on the ledge and got a good hold on the window frame with her right hand before easing the rest of her body out. Then she pressed her back against the rough brick and quickly moved toward Jasper’s room, legs moving in wide strides.
As she approached, she spotted a rope dangling from Jasper’s open window. Don’t let me be too late. She couldn’t bear to get there and find him already dead. She would have to kill Dalton herself if that happened.
Neither finesse nor silence played any part in how she launched herself through the window. Her ungraceful sprawl onto the floor was quick as she immediately sprang to her feet. Jasper was struggling with his attacker, who appeared to be a bit more skilled than hers. The cowboy couldn’t use his incredible speed to hit the man because he was trying to keep the rope around his neck from cutting off his supply of oxygen.
Finley walked up behind the man and kicked him hard between his legs. As he doubled over, crying out in pain, Jasper turned and punched him hard in the jaw, sending him sprawling.
Jasper pulled the rope from around his neck, coughing and gasping. “Thank you,” he said.
Finley grinned and snatched the rope from his hands. “Happy to be of service. Help me tie him up.”
It was at this point that the door to the room crashed open—thanks to the sole of Sam’s boot. He, Emily and Griffin all rushed in. Sam in trousers and an untucked shirt, Emily in her nightgown and Griffin in nothing but a pair of trousers.
Finley wasn’t the least bit ashamed of stopping what she was doing to simply admire the view.
“What happened?” Griffin demanded.
“Assassins,” she replied as she pulled the limp man’s legs up so Jasper could bind them with a pair of braces and then secure them to the man’s wrists. “One for me and one for Jasper. A lovely gift, courtesy of Reno Dalton if I’m not mistaken.”
“You’re not,” Jasper replied. His voice was slightly hoarse from being strangled. “He’s the only one who would know to find you and me in the same place.”
Griffin offered his hand to help her to her feet. She didn’t need any help, but she accepted the gesture, regardless. When she stood, he pulled her against him in a fierce hug. If he planned to do this every time someone tried to kill her, she might risk her life more often.
She returned the hug—shamefully, more so she could touch his naked back than comfort him in any way. His skin was warm and smooth. Muscles twitched beneath her palms. When he pulled back their gazes locked, and she knew— knew—that if they had been alone, he would have kissed her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No.” Reluctantly, she released him. “But Jasper is.”
Emily swept forward, her bare toes peeking out from beneath the hem of her white cotton nightdress. “Let me see.” Jasper had no choice but to stand and offer her a view of his bare throat.
And of course, Sam scowled because the cowboy was wearing a robe and showing an indecent amount of collarbone.
“Sam, could you fetch my bag?” Emily asked. “I need to put some salve on these abrasions.”
Sam hurried off to do as she asked and returned in a few moments. While Emily tended to Jasper, the big lad hoisted the assassin over his shoulder.
“There’s one of those in my room, too,” Finley informed him. “Do you want me to help?”
“I’ve got it” came the stern reply, and he walked from the room as though carrying nothing more than a sack of potatoes.
“You’re going to have to pay for that door.” Finley nodded at the splintered wood.
Griffin shrugged. “I would have had him go right through the bloody wall if necessary.” He glanced at Jasper. “Your window’s seen a lot of traffic tonight.”
The cowboy chuckled—a hoarse sound. “Maybe I should put in a toll.”
Griffin turned back to Finley. “I feel as though I should apologize for all the trouble you’ve had since meeting me.”
Both of her brows shot up as she looked at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I was attracting trouble long before I met you.” She didn’t say it in a self-pitying way, because she didn’t feel the least bit sorry for herself. She felt sorry for the people who tried to harm her.
Sam appeared in the doorway, a man over each shoulder. He looked massive—like a mythical hero—standing there with his mussed long hair and fierce expression. “Oy, Finley. What’s the address of Dalton’s house?”
She told him. “Why?”
He shrugged, lifting each man as though the answer was clear. “I’m going to deliver a present.”
“I’ll come with you,” she announced. “If he’s waiting for them to report, he’ll be watching. He might use the device on you. It will be faster if I come along. The sight of me might throw him off.”
“Be careful,” Griffin urged, but he didn’t try to stop her. She liked that. He knew she could look after herself, and even though he worried about her, he had faith in her and her abilities.
That was something like trust, wasn’t it?
“I will.” And then, out of impulse, she kissed him on the cheek before following after Sam.
Since it was so very late, they had to operate the lift themselves, which was just as well. It also meant that the lobby was deserted, also a blessing. How would they ever explain why Sam had two men trussed up like Christmas geese over his shoulders? They might be able to lie about the men, but they could never,
ever come up with a believable explanation of Sam’s incredible strength.
For the same reason that the hotel was so quiet, Finley assumed they would have a difficult time finding a cab. She was wrong. There was one sitting just around the corner. Apparently New York, like London, was a city that rarely, if ever, slept.
Or perhaps the carriage was waiting for the assassins to finish the job and return them to Dalton.
“You waiting for these two?” Finley asked the driver.
The man’s eyes grew wide, the whites clearly visible in the light of the streetlamps. Sam turned his back to the man, so he could see his captives’ faces. The driver nodded. “Yes. They paid me to wait for their return.”
“Well, they’ve returned,” Sam replied glibly and proceeded to toss his burdens into the carriage.
Finley gave the driver Dalton’s address and climbed into the carriage behind Sam. The large young man sat across from her on the opposite side of the coach. The two men were piled on the floor between them. It might have been her imagination, but she was fairly certain the cab leaned to one side—Sam’s.
“How much do you weigh?” she inquired.
He frowned. “Plenty.”
Fair enough. She leaned back against the upholstery and remained silent for the rest of the trip. Obviously Sam had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Huh. One might think that he was the one who was attacked by a hired assassin.
When they pulled up in front of Dalton’s abode, several windows glowed with light despite the late hour. Obviously he was expecting company.
Finley opened the cab door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She pulled one of the men out into the night and tossed him unceremoniously onto the ground. His grunt was the only indication that he had regained consciousness.
Sam tossed the other out of the carriage. He landed with a groan next to his partner, so that both of them lay on the walkway leading to the front steps. Finley jogged toward the house. Her bare feet slapped on the cool ground—she’d have to wash them before she went back to bed.
She climbed the steps and rang the bell—several times— before turning and running back to the cab. “Get in,” she commanded Sam. Then to the driver, “As soon as I give the word, you get us out of here as fast as you can.”
He nodded. “Yes, miss.”
The front door of the house opened just as Finley jumped into the coach. Pivoting on her heel, she turned with a grin. Little Hank bent his head to walk out the door. It didn’t take him long to see the men on the walk.
“Give Dalton my best, will you, ducks?” she called out. The behemoth looked at her in disbelief, and then she had the pleasure of seeing Dalton come to the door. His too handsome face hardened into sheer rage. Finley waggled her fingers at him and then yelled at the driver to drive away. She didn’t want to risk the poor man’s life, and Dalton was sure to have a pistol nearby if not on him.
The steam carriage sped down the street, but no shots were fired. Finley was almost disappointed.
“That was a bit of fun, wasn’t it?” she remarked, feeling as though she’d eaten too much sugar—her insides positively buzzed with energy.
“We could have grabbed him,” Sam replied, his frown slightly deeper than usual.
“And do what with him? We can’t prove he hired those men. We can’t prove he means to steal anything. The only thing we could prove is that he shot at Jasper and myself, and Jasper is still considered a wanted criminal. No, we let him make his move, and then we take him.”
To her surprise, a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re starting to sound like Griffin.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“By all means, if you reckon sounding arrogant, demanding and overbearing is a good thing.”
She stared at him for a second before bursting out laughing. He laughed, too. She didn’t know what she’d done to warrant this friendliness, but it was nice being able to talk to him without feeling like there was bad blood between them. It was almost as though they could forget that he had tried to kill her and that she had almost killed him.
They arrived back at the hotel and had to use Sam’s telegraph machine—that he had been smart enough to bring— to ask Griffin to come down and pay the driver as neither of them had any money on them. When he arrived Finley noticed, with chagrin, that he had put a shirt on.
“Did Dalton see them?” Griffin asked.
“He certainly did,” she replied. “I’ve no doubt he wants my head so badly now, he can taste it.”
His smile twisted. “Nice image.”
The three of them rode the lift up to their floor, and after checking on Jasper, Griffin walked Finley back to her room. He kissed her on the forehead before she slipped through the open door. Smiling—more from the kiss than from rubbing Dalton’s face in his failure—she closed the window and locked it, then pulled the drapes closed, as well. Then she climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin. There was so much to think about—so much to do and so much that had already been done—that she doubted she’d get any more rest that night.
She was sound asleep within five minutes.
Chapter 18
Finley liked dressing up, especially if the gown was also designed to give her freedom to kick arse.
The gown she had found at the shop—so pretty and dark purple—was just that sort of dress. The little puff sleeves did nothing to restrain her arms. The bodice was snug, but she wore a flexible corset beneath so she could bend and move without difficulty. But the skirts were the true masterpiece. Today’s fashions were for lean skirts, which created a lovely silhouette, but were absolute rubbish for kicking or anything else that required lifting one’s leg any more than a thirty degree angle. The skirt on Finley’s gown was constructed of individual pieces and layers of fabric. The result looked very much like the petals of a rose. It was beautiful, and best of all she could kick as high as her head in it—it would reveal a shocking amount of her leg if she did, but the mobility was worth it.
She and Emily had helped each other with their hair and in getting dressed. Emily was beautiful in her golden gown that made her skin look like ivory. Finley had coiled the ropes of her hair on top of her head in an elegant topknot, which showed off the length of her neck. In exchange, Emily had gathered Finley’s hair into a loose cloud high on the back of her head. It looked like the whole of it might fall at any moment, but it was as secure as Westminster Abbey.
Neither of them had much jewelry, just the small gold earrings they’d purchased the day Griffin made them go shopping. But with gowns like these—especially Emily’s—little jewelry was better.
“The lads are going to fall all over themselves when they see us,” Emily predicted, patting her hair.
“They’d better,” Finley added. “It’s taken hours for us to look like this. I would hope they’d appreciate it.”
They were just about to meet the boys in Griffin’s room when Emily hesitated. “What’s wrong?” Finley asked.
“It’s Jasper,” the redhead replied, her pretty face all concern. “His poor heart must be broken, being used like that by a girl he loved.”
“This whole mess is because of her,” Finley added. “I wager she was the one who knew Jas would recover the machine to protect her. The collar was probably her idea, as well. She’s a coldhearted slag.”
“Maybe we could find him someone new in London.” Finley smiled. Emily seemed to have a penchant for matchmaking. Maybe her love of fixing machines made her want to fix people, too. “Or we could let him do that himself— when he’s ready.”
Emily obviously preferred her own suggestion but saw the merit in Finley’s, as well. That was the end of their discussion of the brokenhearted cowboy. They had an event to get to and a villain to stop.
And then they could go home. As fantastic as the city was, Finley couldn’t say that she’d be sorry to leave it. Not after the “adventure” they’d had.
Her friend had been correct in
one thing, however, Finley realized as they entered Griffin’s room—the boys did look as though they might fall over at the sight of them.
“Amazing what the right dress can do, isn’t it?” Finley asked with a slightly embarrassed grin.
Griffin offered her his arm. “It’s not the dress—it’s the girl.”
She blushed as she tucked her arm around his. She wasn’t certain how to react when he said such things, because she knew he meant them.
Behind her, she heard Sam tell Emily how pretty she was. She could tell he meant it, too.
“I think we’re all dang pretty,” Jasper commented, sounding more like his former self. “Me especially.”
Finley grinned at him. “Perhaps we can simply dazzle Dalton into surrendering, eh, Jas?”
He stared at her, a surprised light in his green eyes. Finley realized she had started to refer to him by the nickname a few days ago. It was a sign of how quickly she had come to think of him as a dear friend, and he knew it.
Poor thing. She really just wanted to hug him and tell him it would be all right. Bloody hell, now she was starting to think like Emily. Next, she’d probably try bringing nice girls home to meet him.
“Maybe, Miss Finley. Maybe.”
Despite the gravity of their situation, their spirits were fairly high as they climbed into a shared cab that was fortunately large enough for the five of them—Sam took up the space of two people. And why shouldn’t their mood be bright? They knew what they had to do, how to do it and had the confidence that they would each be able to play their roles. Sam was their physical strength and would provide muscle, as would Finley. Emily was in charge of gadgets and anything mechanical. If she was able to get close to Dalton’s machine, she would be able to disarm it with a touch, but if she couldn’t, then Griffin would find its Aetheric signature and do it remotely. And Jasper would do anything that required speed or accuracy. The boy could shoot a marble at a hundred yards while at a dead run—faster than any of the rest of them could ever imagine.