Clockwork Mafia
By Seleste deLaney
Inventor Henrietta Mason is retiring from airships and adventuring to return home to Philadelphia. Determined to erase all trails leading to her late father’s duplicity, she dismantles his lab and removes all records of the Badlands gold. While in the city, she can’t resist the lure of a charity gala but winds up regretting the whole experience. Well, everything except a heart-racing dance with a certain U.S. Marshal.
His career and vengeance on the line, Carson Alexander must prove a connection between Senator Mason and the mafia. He lucked out happening across Mason’s strikingly beautiful daughter, only to have her slip through his fingers. On a desperate hunt to track her down, he never expects his search to take him into the brutal Badlands.
With a mechanically enhanced enforcer after them, only Carson knows the extent of the danger they face. He’ll have to win over Henrietta’s trust, and her heart, before it’s too late...
Sequel to Badlands.
64,000 words
Dear Reader,
April is when the romance conference season really starts to get busy for me. Every spring, I attend the RT Book Reviews convention, a gathering of about 500 authors, readers and publishing professionals who come together to celebrate their love of both romance and genre fiction. Each year, I come away from that conference, and the many others I attend that are focused on the love of books (like the Lori Foster Reader Get Together in Ohio), with a renewed enthusiasm for diving back into my to-be-read pile. As well as a long list of authors and books to add to that to-be-read pile! But because it’s a busy travel time of year for me, that also means more time on the plane and in airports for reading.
Maybe you’re like me—traveling to conferences and in need of some plane reading. Or maybe you just need one more book to add to your to-be-read pile. Possibly you’ve got a newborn baby who keeps you up at night and gets you up early in the morning, and you need something you can read on the ereader in one hand while the baby is in the other. Or perhaps you’re just in search of a good book. You’re in luck; our April books can fill all those needs!
The first book in our newest genre addition, New Adult, releases this month. If you love contemporary romance, sports romance, a (mostly) Jewish, spunky heroine and a hero who will make your heart melt, you’ll want to read Rush Me by debut author Allison Parr.
This month, I’m pleased to introduce the first book in a six-book series written by four authors. Ginny Glass, Christina Thacher, Emily Cale and Maggie Wells kick off a series of contemporary romance short story collections with Love Letters Volume 1: Obeying Desire. Each volume will center around a different seriously sexy theme. I’ll bet you can’t guess what the theme of the first volume is, with a title like Obeying Desire! Look for the second volume, Love Letters Volume 2: Duty to Please, releasing in May 2013.
Fans of contemporary romance will enjoy Saved by the Bride, the first book in a new trilogy by RITA® Award-winning author Fiona Lowe. Who knew that being a klutz
and combining it with a distrust of wedding bouquets could lead to a black eye?
Joining Fiona and Allison in the contemporary romance category is Kate Davies, with Cutest Couple, book two in Kate’s high-school reunion trilogy, Girls Most Likely to… Look for the conclusion of the trilogy, Life of the Party, in May 2013.
Co-authors Anna Leigh Keaton and Madison Layle deliver another scorching Puma Nights story with Falke’s Renegade, while Jodie Griffin joins them in heating up your ereader with her third erotic BDSM Bondage & Breakfast book, Forbidden Fires.
On the paranormal and science fiction front, we have a number of titles for fans. Veteran author Kate Pearce begins a new series with Soul Sucker, in which Moonlighting meets The X-Files in San Francisco Bay and two worlds collide. Kat Cantrell, winner of Harlequin’s 2011 So You Think You Can Write contest, joins Carina Press with her first science fiction romance, Mindlink, while returning author Eleri Stone gives us another jaguar shifter in Lost City Shifters: Rebellion, book three in this compelling series.
Clockwork Mafia by Seleste deLaney brings us back to the Western steampunk world of Badlands. Inventor Henrietta Mason is retiring from airships and adventuring to return home to Philadelphia. Determined to erase all trails leading to her late father’s duplicity, she dismantles his lab and removes all records of the Badlands gold. And last but certainly not least in the paranormal category, Night of the Dark Horse by Janni Nell continues the adventures of Allegra Fairweather, paranormal investigator.
This month, Bronwyn Stuart follows up her fantastic debut historical romance, Scandal’s Mistress, with her unique regency romance, Behind the Courtesan, featuring—you guessed it—a courtesan heroine.
On the non-romance side, Jean Harrington brings us the third Murders by Design cozy mystery installment, Killer Kitchens.
And joining Carina Press with an epic fantasy trilogy, Angela Highland tells the story of a half-elven healer with no control over her magic. Faanshi has always been a pawn of the powerful, but after healing two mysterious and very different men, she faces a choice that may decide the fate of a whole kingdom. If you love fantasy, pick up Valor of the Healer, book one in the Rebels of Adalonia trilogy.
As you can see, April is full of books to distract you wherever you are, whatever you’re supposed to be doing, and even if you have a baby in your arms. I hope you enjoy these titles as much as we’ve enjoyed working on them.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
To Mom and Dad for all the books, all the stories,
and the knowledge that different can be a good thing.
Acknowledgements
As with every book, this one wasn’t created in a vacuum. To Katee and Janelle for talking me through all the stress and issues when I first wrote it and for tearing that draft apart with the kind of loving bloodletting only you can manage. To Katee, Janelle, Kelly and Tamy for tearing apart the second draft. Without all your help, the manuscript never would have been worth a tinker’s damn.
As always, my husband and my kids deserve a ton of thanks for putting up with my late nights, stress-outs and hours spent desperately banging my head on my keyboard. Thanks for your patience...and for the ibuprofen and ice packs. Much love always.
Thanks to Angela James and the staff at Carina Press for not only taking a chance on Badlands, but for embracing me as an author. This series means the world to me, and I’m glad it matters to Carina as well.
Most of all, to Gina Bernal. You are a brilliant editor and force me to be my best. I am forever grateful to you for pushing me beyond what I thought were my limits and for reminding me that change can be good.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
&nbs
p; Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
Carson growled a curse at the contraption creeping toward him, and the thing cowered like a beaten dog before scuttling back through the door. Half machine, half animal, one hundred percent abomination. The creature had no place in the world as far as he was concerned. At least this one seemed harmless enough, unlike the others.
He rubbed at the scar on his neck—his reminder that in this new world, sometimes the dead didn’t stay that way for long. With every stroke against the thickened skin, a man’s face—what was left of it—grew clearer in his mind. Gears and filters where a nose had been. A shiny lens and brass rings in place of a right eye. Metal that should be flesh. Flesh that should have been dead many times over.
Gambini.
Carson shuddered, trying to shake away the image and the memories.
To think that was what people like St. Clair and Mason brought into being turned his stomach. The two of them had all the money and brains in the world and not a lick of sense between them. Only fools would turn to the mafia for employment. Only madmen would create and loose something like Gambini on the world.
At least St. Clair he could almost understand. Lawyers were a slippery bunch that fancied themselves above the very same law they swore to uphold. William Mason, however... The man had served on the Senate for as long as Carson could remember and was a well-respected scientist to boot. The kind of person a desperate man might turn to in order to save the woman he loved. Too bad he’d found out that Mason was the worst sort of liar far too late.
Now, with Senator Mason dead and his home freshly emptied, Carson had no choice but to focus on Mason’s “assistant,” Tobias St. Clair, instead. Their connections were the answer to more problems than Carson wanted to admit. Judging by the papers and broken machines scattered around St. Clair’s house, he may have been too late—again. He shuffled through the documents on the high table behind the sofa, hoping for some information on where Mason’s private lab was tucked away or where St. Clair might hide. Nothing.
He swept the lot of it onto the floor, sending the dog-thing skittering to a corner once more. Hunting for anything, Carson stalked back and forth through the room.
The machines were shattered and useless.
The papers nothing but notes on old cases.
Clothes gone.
Any documents linking St. Clair to Mason—gone.
Carson had spread his net so carefully, and now everything was trickling through it like water—his little fish washing away with it and the damn shark nowhere in sight. He should have grabbed both of them when he first found the link between their work and the mafia. Someone needed to pay for Lily’s death. He’d staked his damn career on finding a way to destroy the men responsible, and now his off-the-books investigation had dead-ended with nothing to show for it.
Fury and frustration boiled inside him until he snatched a meaningless chunk of metal and pitched it at the wall. Cracks radiated from the point of impact, one reaching up and spreading several feet across the ceiling before it stopped, raining plaster down on him.
Veins stood out on his arms, his pulse throbbing visibly. Closing his eyes, Carson pushed the rest of his emotions deep. He needed focus, not rage. St. Clair had disappeared, and the man prided himself on his lack of emotional ties. His home and office were both empty, which meant Carson had to move back to the dead senator. Searching for the man’s private lab had seemed a waste of time before, but he’d run out of options. Mason’s haunts were the only trails left worth following.
For now, he had to stop for the night—empty-handed—to go to a ridiculous gala. He wanted to skip it, pretend he’d forgotten, but it was too important to the program. An opportunity to remind people in power how vital the marshals are. The government had pinned a medal on his chest and called him a hero. Too bad they wanted all the heroes to stop working and parade like show horses in front of a bunch of debutantes and housewives to raise money for charity.
Of course, many of the very senators Mason worked with would be there. Perhaps even St. Clair. The possibility of new information helped him believe it might be worth the time. A tingle of anticipation only cemented the idea that he’d find something tonight. What, he didn’t know, but he always trusted his feelings.
* * *
Her bustle secure and her corset tied tightly, Henrietta Mason checked one last time to ensure the brass butterfly clockworks hadn’t slipped from her coiffure. One couldn’t be too careful—at the slightest hint of weakness, the women would attack. Of course, if they didn’t see a weakness, they would take care to ferret one out.
Church bells chimed nearby. Eight o’clock. She was late.
Sighing, Henri lifted her skirt and descended from the steam carriage. The building loomed in front of her, one more challenge to overcome. Considering all she’d been through, this should have been the least of her concerns, but if she wanted any chance to maintain her status, she had little choice but to go inside. Damn her father for sending her away for so many years.
“I am Dr. Henrietta Mason.” She held her head high, speaking to the brisk evening air. “I have survived far worse than anything this night can possibly bring.” Curving her lips into the perfect ghost of a smile, she made her way past the bowing doorman and into the hotel.
She had attended any number of galas in this very building when her parents were alive. This should have been second nature to her. Her tiny infirmary on the trading dirigible, Dark Hawk; the Badlands, where violence was the rule of law and criminals cavorted with queens; among the unwashed—very unwashed—masses of Texas...those were places she didn’t belong. If she truly had a place anywhere, it was here, among the elite of Philadelphia. This was home. This was what her mother had always wanted for her, what she’d been destined for since birth. At least until Mother had died and her father had sent her into exile aboard the blasted airship.
No matter. The past was past, and Henri was home now. At the entrance to the ballroom, she donned her last accessory for the masquerade, slipping it over her eyes with practiced ease. The mechanisms hidden inside the brass and silver butterfly mask whirred to life at the touch of a button, the gears spinning until the hooks wrapped around her head and latched securely in her hair.
A curt nod to the attendants, and they swung open the doors. The grand ballroom stretched before her, tables draped in white linens spread throughout the room. Servers, also in white, roamed through both levels with trays of hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne. But they were just the canvas.
All the guests milled about, laughing and drinking, painting the ballroom in a dizzying array of color. The women spun in gowns of crimson, turquoise and violet, sometimes all three combined. In order to match their masks, fur, feathers and scales adorned their clothes. Even many of the men had abandoned their basic black tailcoats in favor of something with more flair.
Henri smoothed her hands down her gold brocade corset and sought comfort in the feel of the hand-embroidered silk bustle. Compared to the other women, she was plain, simple, her elaborate clockwork butterfly mask notwithstanding. Perhaps she had been away from society for too long.
The urge to duck out before she was seen melted away when a man stepped up next to her. She could hardly disappear without notice now. Tiny mirrors within the m
ask allowed her to observe him without turning. He towered over her by at least a foot with the broad shoulders and muscles of someone more accustomed to hard labor than formal wear. The way he fidgeted with his cufflinks and tie confirmed it.
“Are these damnable things always so uncomfortable?” His voice was deep, gravelly and sent a tiny shiver through her.
Definitely not society. His language had him better suited to the more common parts of her life—the one she intended to leave behind as soon as she made all the necessary arrangements. Still, propriety dictated she respond even if his introduction had been less than polite.
Her practiced smile in place, she turned toward him and inhaled sharply. The mirrors needed adjusting. They had done him a great disservice. Even though his brass and silver wolf mask hid much of his face, the man was breathtaking, with long, dark gold hair tied back at the nape of his neck and blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through her façade of ease into the deepest recesses of her soul. She had to swallow hard in order to make her mouth work properly.
“Fashion is rarely designed for comfort. However, perhaps I might be of some assistance?” She tilted her head to the side in the way that made most people see her as less abrasive. As soon as she moved, she wondered why on earth she cared how this stranger looked at her. But she did. The moment those eyes, bright even beneath the shadow of his silvery wolf mask, locked on hers, she wanted very badly for this man to speak to her further.
“Of course.”
Pressing her lips together, Henri slid her fingers over his right cuff, easing the shank through the hole and twisting it to hold the cloth securely. She repeated the exercise on the other arm before rising on her toes to adjust his tie. He flinched as her fingers brushed a scar along his neck. Then his hands found her waist as she teetered, holding her steady. It wasn’t proper, and she should insist he release her. But it didn’t feel wrong. On the contrary, warmth radiated from his touch, chasing away the remnants of the chill from outside. She didn’t want him to let her go at all.
Seleste deLaney - [Badlands 02] Page 1