The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(3)
If he had some of Miss Emily’s salve, he’d be set to rights; but he didn’t, and so he had to heal the old-fashioned way instead of letting her “beasties” do it for him.
He thought of his new friends often since he’d been forcibly taken from Griffin’s mansion by men claiming they were going to bring him to America to face murder charges.
Jasper went willingly, almost eager to face his past, maybe clear his name in the process. It wasn’t until he was on the airship, without any chance of escape, that he discovered the men worked for Dalton.
Once they’d landed, he had tried to run. It had been stupid, but he had to try. They caught him, beat him, trussed him up and brought him here, where’d he’d been for more than twenty-four hours.
Finally there came the sound of a key in the lock. Jasper moved to the dresser, a heavy piece of furniture he could dive behind if someone started shooting.
It was Little Hank’s huge form that filled the doorway. Over six and a half feet tall and as wide as a bull through the chest, Little Hank was Dalton’s chief muscle. He was strong and surprisingly fast. Jasper’s only advantage came in being faster, but he didn’t want Dalton to know just how fast he had gotten.
Little Hank ducked his head into the room. “Boss wants to see you.”
“Now’s not a good time for me,” Jasper replied, words as stiff as his jaw. “Come back later.”
The behemoth hesitated, clearly uncertain of what to do. Jasper would have smiled if he thought it wouldn’t hurt so much. Then a scowl settled over Hank’s heavy-boned face and he glared at him. “Still a jackass.”
Jasper shrugged. “Sometimes a fella has to live up to expectations.” He moved stiffly toward the door. Dread twisted in his belly, but he refused to let it show.
Little Hank seized him by the back of the neck, practically dragged him out of the room, along the hall and down the scuffed staircase. From there they took a right turn and ended up in a parlor, where Jasper was finally released. He might not exactly like Griff ’s friend Sam Morgan, but he wished the large fellow was there at the moment. He’d teach Little Hank a lesson in manners.
Then again, Morgan was just as likely to sit back and smile while Jasper was pounded senseless. Miss Finley, then. She’d knock Hank on his gigantic backside. Jasper would have no problem letting a girl rescue him, but Finley was in London. They thought he’d been taken in by the law and had no idea that it was just the opposite.
Reno Dalton stood at the window, puffing on a cigarillo. He was a little shorter than Jasper’s height of six feet. Leaner, too. He was what in a woman might be called pretty, with longish dark brown hair and ice-blue eyes. He wore a perfectly tailored gray suit that made him appear a gentleman.
In truth he was more like a sleeping rattlesnake. There was just as much chance that Dalton would leave you alone as there was that he’d kill you—and with very little thought to, either.
“Ah, Jasper.” A cold smile curved Dalton’s lips. He was around twenty, but lines fanned out from his eyes—a sign of time spent out of doors. “Looking none the worse for wear, I see.”
If Jasper had been wearing his hat he would have tipped it. “I look good in black and blue.”
Dalton waved a negligent hand. “The ladies will be back to swooning over you soon enough. Have a seat.”
“I’d rather stand.”
The smile vanished. Finally the rattler revealed himself. “Sit.”
Little Hank shoved him into a nearby chair before Jasper could reply. It was spindly and felt as though it might split apart if he sneezed. He jerked free of Hank’s hand—flinching at the pain that followed—and fixed his gaze on the man before him.
“All right, I’m sitting.”
Dalton was back to looking pleasant. “Good.” His voice had a slight Southern accent. Years of living in San Francisco had almost erased all traces of the poor kid from Virginia Territory. “We have business to discuss, you and I.”
Cold—heavy and menacing—settled in Jasper’s stomach. He ignored it. “’Fraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dalton smiled—without any trace of pleasantness this time. Slowly, he moved around the desk to sit behind the large wooden structure. He plucked a plum from a bowl in front of him. “Let’s not play this game, Jasper. You know where the device is. You stole it from me, and I want it back.”
Jasper yawned. It hurt like blazes, but at least he looked bored. “I stole it when you went back on our deal and tried to kill me rather than pay me for it.”
“I paid you for half the job. The way I see it, you got away with my money and my device.”
“You can see it however you want. I don’t have your money or the machine.” There was no point in lying and no point in arguing that Jasper had taken the money as what was rightfully owed to him.
Dalton’s eyes narrowed. “Who has it?”
Jasper forced a smile. “No one has it. But I know where it is. Seeing as how it’s the only thing keeping you from killing me, I’ll keep the location to myself.”
To his surprise, the gleam in Dalton’s eyes brightened. “I’m disappointed, Jas. You know I’d never kill you.” When Jasper arched a brow, Dalton continued, “I’ll kill someone you care about.” With that, he flicked a small switch on the side of his desk. A door to Jasper’s left swung open.