The Girl in the Clockwork Collar (Steampunk Chronicles #2)(66)

Finley’s throat was surprisingly tight. “I see.” If she had doubted him before, she didn’t anymore.

He gave her something to wear to bed and then retired to his own room. Finley wondered if he spent the night listening to see if she’d leave.

And now here she was, sitting at his table, eating the food he cooked. The man made a delicious breakfast.

A knock on the door made them both freeze. Finley had her cup halfway to her mouth as her gaze locked with Whip’s.

“Last cell on the right,” the older man commanded, not waiting to see if she obeyed before drawing his gun and pushing back his chair.

Finley raced to the other side of the building where the cells were. She had to go through a heavy door, which would be locked if there were prisoners in residence. There were only four cells on the ground floor; all were empty and clean, awaiting another occupant.

She ducked into the last cell on the right of the corridor and closed the bars behind her. Then she sat down on the cot—which was nowhere near as comfortable as the one she had slept on—and waited, heart in her throat. Was it Dalton? She was worried for Mr. Kirby. Or was it Griffin? Would he be ashamed of her? Or was it the police, coming to take her to a real jail?

What did it say about her that she almost wished it was the police?

By the time Griff and the others managed to get away from Tesla, it was late morning. Kirby welcomed them into his lodgings/jail with a warm but expectant smile—as if he’d been waiting for them.

Griffin didn’t waste any time. “Where is she?” Kirby smiled at them and arched a brow when Sam had to duck his head to come through the door. Sam wore his customary scowl—only a little darker at the moment.

“She’s not in shackles, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He jerked his head toward a heavy door. “She’s down there. I had her take to a cell until we knew who our company was.”

Emily gestured back the way they’d come. “You need a scope on that door—something so you can peer through and see who’s come calling.”

The lawman nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll pass that suggestion on to my friend who owns this place.” Then to Griffin, who was grinding his teeth in impatience, “C’mon, I’ll take you to Miss Finley.”

It was about bloody time. Griffin only nodded in response and followed the older man through the heavy door. Emily and Sam came, as well. They walked down a hall flanked by empty cells, but they’d only gone as far as the second when he spotted her.

She was wearing the gown she had worn the night before, and it was badly wrinkled. Her long honey-blond hair hung in a tangled mess around her shoulders, the black stripe a dark contrast. Her eyes were huge as her gaze locked with his. She looked almost as though she expected him to be angry with her.

He was—or rather he had been. He’d made himself furious, thinking about all the things that might have happened. It was either be angry or terrified, so he’d chosen the former. However, now he didn’t seem capable of feeling anything other than relief at the sight of her—and a sharp happiness, which felt like a pinch in his chest.

“Finley!” Emily squealed and bounded over to the bars. She reached through when Finley approached and grabbed the other girl’s hands.

Finley blinked rapidly—trying not to cry, Griffin realized. “Em. It’s so good to see you. You too, Sam.”

Sam grinned, softening his features. “You look good behind bars.”

She laughed at that, but her smile faded when she turned to Griffin. “You lot shouldn’t be here. Dalton might be watching.”

“Hang Dalton,” Griffin replied. He couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “I … We had to make certain you were all right. What’s this all about, Kirby?”

The lawman shrugged. “Figured if it seemed like I had arrested her, they wouldn’t call for the cops. I might not be the best of hosts, but this is a damn sight better than the Tombs.”

The thought of Finley being in that place was enough to turn Griffin’s stomach. It would be easy to blame himself for this, but he wasn’t going to go there. Finley had known what she was doing, and he wouldn’t have been able to keep her from it. If he was going to blame anyone, he’d blame Dalton.

“You’re right,” he agreed, nodding. “Thank you for looking after her.”

Kirby pulled a ring of keys from his belt. “Why don’t I let her out, and the five of us have some coffee and eats while we compare information? I’m hoping you’ve figured out what Dalton’s up to.”

“A little,” Griffin allowed. He watched as Kirby unlocked the cell door so Finley could come out. He was barely aware of his feet moving until he stood right in front of her.

No turning back now, he thought, and he hugged her. In front of three witnesses—two of whom were bound to tease him mercilessly for this—he pulled her close and rested his cheek against her hair. He could have stayed like that forever, but he let her go after a second or two. Her hands slid over his shoulders and down his arms. She didn’t seem to want to let go of him, either.

They returned to the main area of the apartments and sat down at the table. Kirby took away the cold remains of Finley’s meal with the promise to make more. “Sorry, folks, but breakfast’s all I know how to cook.”

“I never turn down bacon,” Sam allowed.