by Kady Cross
Jasper pushed against Little Hank’s hold, but it was as though his posterior was glued to the chair. “If you hurt her ... ”
Dalton whipped around, coming toward him like a striking rattler. “Hurt her? I don’t think you understand me, son. You owe me. If you don’t do exactly what I want, I’ll damn well kill her.”
Chapter 2
The combined Waldorf and Astoria hotels on 5th Avenue were the height of opulence and elegance. At seventeen stories, the redbrick structure had only recently been completed by John Jacob Astor IV.
As they climbed out of their hired carriage, Griffin was the least impressed with their lodgings, and even he thought it splendid. He held his beaver hat on his head as he glanced up. “Grand, isn’t it? What do you make of it, Finley?”
“It’s bloody marvelous,” she replied, without taking her eyes off the building.
He grinned at her openmouthed wonder. He had made arrangements to stay at this place, specifically hoping that his friends would love it. That Finley would love it.
Top that, Dandy, he thought to himself. He knew it was foolish to think of the criminal as competition, but Dandy appealed to Finley’s dark side. Never mind that the two halves of her personality had already merged; they still fought for dominance, and there was still a part of her that found Dandy fascinating. Griffin had never been one for physical violence, but Finley’s attachment to the older fellow made Griffin want to punch someone—Dandy—in the nose.
A handful of bellmen and young boys eager to make a few cents came forward to carry luggage and belongings. Griffin noticed with a smile that none of them tried to take possession of Emily’s cat—a mechanical life-size panther. They all gasped when she powered it up and it came to life, stretching like the real thing, digging dagger-sharp claws into the sidewalk. It’s reticulated joints were well-oiled and moved silently.
“Don’t fret, gents,” she chirped in her soft Irish brogue. “She’s no danger.” Not unless one of them tried to hurt Emily. Of course, she had Sam for protection, as well. Griffin would rather take on the cat than his best friend.
They filed into the hotel lobby, which was just as grand as the exterior. Griffin spoke to the man at the desk, who was clearly impressed at having a duke as a guest. America might have separated from England over a century earlier, but a title and a fortune were still cause for celebrity. The man gave him keys for four rooms. Certainly it would have been more economical to share, but they had separate rooms in London, so it seemed only right to have them here, as well— especially since it was the only way they could escape each other, if they wanted.
They had to take two lifts to their floor—an operator, the four of them and Emily’s cat in one, their belongings in the other. Being inside the small box, packed tightly with his friends, made Griff feel as though someone sat upon his chest. He clenched his hands and tilted his head back and closed his eyes, trying to force himself to remain calm. Soon they would be at their floor.
A soft hand curled around his fist, loosening his fingers so they could twine with hers. He lowered his head, opened his eyes and found himself gazing into eyes the color of warm honey, framed by thick, dark lashes.
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 goodnight. 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 b
rass 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.
“Mei.” To say he was surprised to see her was an understatement. “How ... What are you doing here?”
She set a finger to her lips, telling him to be quiet as she closed the door. She was dressed as she had been earlier that evening, and the Western style seemed odd on her, even though the fabric was Chinese. He was so used to seeing her in more traditional clothing. When they were shut in, she locked the door once more from the inside. Gracefully, she moved toward him, her hair shining in the lamplight. “I had to come see you,” she explained.
“How did you escape your quarters to get the key?”
“The key is on a hook outside the door.” Delicate hands went to the collar around her throat but didn’t quite touch it. “This is my prison. I can move about the house however I wish, but if I try to leave, it tightens.”
Jasper reached out to touch it. “Can’t you just take it off?”
She stepped back, avoiding his hand. “Don’t. If anyone else touches it, it sets off the tightening mechanism. It will strangle me, and you will have to ring for Dalton. I do not want him to know I am here.”
Damn Dalton. Jasper’s jaw tightened. “How long has he had you?”
“Only a few months. He found me in Chinatown. I had gone back to the house.”
By “the house,” she meant Ms. Cameron’s. Donaldina Cameron had been helping girls and women brought over from China for more than twenty years. A lot of the females were sold into domestic slavery or prostitution once they arrived in the city, as they were illegal immigrants. Jasper had worked for Ms. Cameron as a rescuer and, on occasion, a protector. That’s how he had first met Mei—when he rescued her from being sold to a merchant.
The same merchant for whose death he was wanted.
Dalton hadn’t liked that Jasper helped the house. He thought Jasper should talk Mei into convincing some of the girls to work for him instead. He referred to it as “diversifying his business practices.” Jasper had never been above helping relieve a few richies of a little pocket change—he had to eat—but he drew the line at profiting from another’s pain.
“He went to Ms. Donaldina’s?” That was ballsy, even for Dalton.
Mei shook her head, her poker-straight hair sliding about her shoulders. “I was trying to rescue another girl. He found me.”
Jasper’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Did he hurt you?” He’d kill Dalton with his bare hands if he had to.
Dark eyes widened as Mei gazed at him. “No. He didn’t want me for ... that. He only took me because he knew he could use me to get to you.”
And he had been right.
“He put that collar on you to keep both of us in line.”
She nodded. “Yes.” And then, “It’s good to see you, Jasper.”
Despite his frustration and anger, Jasper smiled. “It’s good to see you, too.”
She turned away, but not before shooting him a glance that was as coy as it was shy. Mei stood at the dresser and ran her fingers over his old, battered hat. The Brits called it his “cowboy” hat, but he had never worked with cattle in his entire life, though he had once slept in a train car full of them. Like big dogs, only they stank worse than any hound ever could.
“Did you miss me at all?” she asked.
“Of course,” he replied with a frown. It wasn’t the sort of question a fella felt comfortable answering. “Did you miss me?”
Mei tossed a satisfied smile over her shoulder at him before gliding to the bed and leaning against one of the tall posters. “I knew you’d ask.”
“You asked first,” he reminded her with a shrug. “Figured since I was being honest, maybe you would, too.”
“Still as prickly as you always were about your feelings. Yes, I missed you. I missed you very much, Jasper Renn. You left me all alone.”
There was just enough bite to her words to get Jasper’s backbone up. “I left so the law would think I was guilty. I left to protect you.”
“And here we are.” She gestured to the collar around her neck. “Maybe I would have been better protected had you stayed.”
Her accent was thickening. It always did when she was riled up. It used to get to the point where he didn’t understand half of what she was saying, her English would get so bad.
“Mei, you and I both know if I had stayed, they would have hanged me for murder. Is that what you wanted?”
“Of course not!” She glared at him. “How can you ask me such an awful question?”
“Because you’re angry at me for protecting you.” He would not shout, no matter how much he wanted to.
“For all the good it did!” She threw her arms out to her sides. “Look at where we are!”
Jasper drew a deep breath. It wasn’t Mei he was angry at; it was Dalton—and himself. “I’m going to get both of us out of this mess. Promise.”
She actually looked surprised. “Us?” She glanced at him as she moved
away from the bed, toward the dresser again. “You are going to get Dalton his device?”
Jasper caught sight of himself in the mirror. His light brown hair stood up in all directions. He raked a hand through the mess but it only made it worse. “Yeah—I’m going to get it for him. What other choice do I have?”
She kept her attention fixed on his hat once more, rather than him. “You could try to escape. Run.”
“And leave you with him?” He made a scoffing sound. “Blossom, you know me better than that.”
The old nickname he’d given her brought color surging to her cheeks.
“You do not owe me anything, Jasper. I do not wish to have the responsibility of your life on my hands.”
“Too bad, ’cause I’ve got yours on mine.”
Her full lips thinned, and then she snatched the shaving mug from the top of the dresser and threw it at him. Suddenly, everything around him slowed as Jasper reached out and snatched the mug from the air.
Gone was her frown, replaced by shock. “You’ve gotten faster.”
“And you’ve gotten crazier,” he replied with a grin. “Come here.”
He set the mug aside as she came toward him. When he opened his arms, she stepped into the embrace, wrapping her arms around him as though she was a human version of the collar she wore.
“Can we do this?” he asked, softly. “The collar ... ”
Mei shook her head. “As long as you don’t touch it, we are fine. You can touch me.”
Jasper pulled her closer and rested his cheek on the top of her head.
“I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger for me,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I can help you escape— tonight.”
He shook his head, his arms tightening around her. Old feelings came rushing back so hard and fast he felt unsteady on his own feet. He had loved her once, and now he knew he had never stopped.
