The Girl in the Clockwork Collar

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