Finley couldn’t help but grin. She loved having a friend, especially one that cared so much for her welfare. “All right, fine. But save your worrying for when I catch Dalton’s attention. He won’t bring me into his gang immediately. So why don’t we concentrate on the fight tonight, and you can worry about me being in Dalton’s clutches when the time comes? You do know I can pound most grown men senseless, right? I mean, I can fight.” In fact, she liked it. It had been part of her darker nature before, but now that she had brought the two halves together—though she still had a lot of work to do on sorting herself out—it was simply part of her.

“I just hope Dalton doesn’t have any abilities of his own.” Emily chewed on her thumbnail. “I’d rather we not have any surprises.”

Finley had thought of that herself. “If I think it’s too dangerous, I’ll run. I promise. Now can we talk about tonight? I have to win a fight, and then I have to deal with Griffin’s wrath.” She grinned. “It is a good plan, isn’t it? Dalton’s bound to notice me, and if I can get into his gang, I can get to Jasper. You know Griffin and Sam will hate the fact that we managed to do what they couldn’t.”

It was obvious that Emily tried to fight her smile, even though it was futile. Her pink lips parted, flashing straight white teeth. “They will at that, lass. They will at that.”

Jasper expected that Dalton might put a watchdog on him when he went to collect the first piece of the disassembled device. What he hadn’t expected was that Mei would be that watchdog.

He was certain Dalton had sent her to taunt him—to taunt them both. They were alone, and in any other circumstances, they could escape to safety. But Dalton could kill her with that damn collar, and there was nothing Jasper could do to help her. Wasn’t as though he could shoot the thing off her, even if he had his guns.

If only he could find Miss Emily. She’d know what to do. But if she’d heard the rumors about him, she was just as likely to tell him to bugger off.

“Exactly what does this device do?” Mei asked as they navigated the darkness, which was the cellar at O’Dooley’s, with only a feeble hand torch to light their way.

“Danged if I know,” he replied, mentally counting out in measured footsteps to the correct spot. “But it’s important enough that Dalton hunted me down to find it.”

Not for the first time, he cursed himself for taking the blasted thing at all. He had deliberately broken it down into components to buy himself time if this sort of situation ever arose, though he really hadn’t thought it through. It was only because Dalton didn’t want to draw attention to himself that he didn’t send Jasper after the entire device in one night. Some of the locations were going to require stealth, as well as unlawful entry. Jasper had to remember exact locations—it wasn’t as though he’d drawn a map. He was relying on memory.

But Dalton wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to sit back and let Jasper be lazy about it, and he wouldn’t put it past the outlaw to punish Mei over every delay.

He counted out the right steps, pivoted on his heel and faced the rough brick wall. As soon as he saw the patch, he knew exactly where to use the mallet and chisel he’d brought with him for this bit of business.

When they’d first stolen the thing, Dalton had been as excited as a kid let loose in a sweetshop. That was how Jasper had known how important the device was.

Obviously he had overestimated his own importance where Dalton was concerned. Dalton hadn’t cared if Jasper bolted or not. What he cared about, apparently, was the device. And now Mei was paying the price for Jasper’s mistake.

If he got them both out of this mess alive it would be a miracle.

“Hold this, please.” He handed the torch to Mei. She took it and immediately held it at exactly the right angle for him to work. But then, it always seemed as though she had a knack for knowing what people needed. He didn’t know if it was a “talent” exactly, but she just seemed to intuit the right thing, all the time.

Crouching, Jasper applied the chisel to a seam between two bricks and gave it a hard tap with the hammer. Bits of mortar crumbled and fell to the dirt floor. When he’d hidden the piece in this wall, he hadn’t had the time nor the inclination to put it back exactly the way he found it. He’d patched it up so that it could be easily accessed if he ever needed it but stand up to scrutiny at the same time.

It took a few minutes to chisel a hole big enough to stick his hand in and draw the part out. He had packed it in a small box to protect it from dust and rodents. As he pulled the rough wooden box from the wall, he could hear the dull roar of the crowd above—a bunch of bloodthirsty men and women feeding off each other’s aggression. Were Griffin and Sam there yet? He knew they would come. Would they think the worst of him when they saw him? He knew better than to hope that somehow they wouldn’t notice him.

God, he hoped Emily and Finley weren’t with them. He had a soft spot for each girl—especially Emily—and the idea of being less in their estimation … Well, it hurt.

He opened the box and unwrapped the paper inside. This particular section of the device—which looked like a crown of tuning forks—was exactly as he remembered. In the back of his mind, he realized he’d been hoping to find it destroyed, so Dalton wouldn’t be able to use it.

“Is that it?” Mei asked, leaning over him with the lantern.

She smelled of cherry blossoms, he thought. He could close his eyes—just for a moment—and pretend they were somewhere else. Instead, he nodded, shoved the “crown” back into the box and rose to his feet. “Part of it. Do you have the sack?”

He could feel her confused gaze on him as she gave him the leather pouch. No doubt she wondered why he didn’t look at her, why he was so curt. But if she did have a talent for knowing what people needed, she’d know that right now he needed to put some distance between them, because the last thing he needed was to fall in love again when both their lives hung in the balance. Love was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.

With their bounty in the sack, Jasper gestured for her to walk in front. There was nothing he could do about the bricks and mortar dust on the floor—that would be someone else’s mess to clean up.

No one was around to see them as they slipped out of the cellar opening. The crowd was louder up here—the fights being held in a nearby room. They exited into the vestibule, where spectators waited like a herd of cattle to be allowed inside. Little Hank was waiting for them by the door and corralled them toward the main hall. Apparently Dalton wanted them to stay for the fight, as well. Tarnation, there went any hope of Griffin not seeing him.

There was a bit of a commotion as the night’s fighters were brought in. These brave—or insane, however you wanted to look at it—scrappers would be put in a ring against each other and machines in a “last man standing” sort of event. Killing your opponent wasn’t encouraged, but it wasn’t against the rules, either. The only rule was that to win, you had to be the only fighter left alive and conscious. It was nasty and brutal and not at all the sort of thing Mei should see—never mind that she had been the one to teach Jasper the Chinese martial arts.

He turned his head to watch the parade of fighters, because it was less painful than looking at Mei’s pale but pretty face. Tonight’s contenders were a hard-looking lot of criminals and thugs …

“Good God!” He exclaimed.

Mei’s head whipped around. “What?”

His heart was beating hard against his ribs, and his breath seemed to have caught in his throat. One of the fighters had looked straight at him and winked.

“Jasper, do you know that girl?” She sounded jealous.

He shook his head, watching in horror as Finley walked into the hall with the rest of the fighters—her opponents. What the tarnation was she up to? She had to be there to get close to Dalton—that was the only explanation.

This night couldn’t get much worse. If he thought Griffin would never look at him the same now, it was going to be even worse if Miss Finley got herself killed.

No one had told Finley that this was an ongoing night of continuous fighting, weeding out the opponents until you were the last one left. The first time one of the fighters injured another so badly the results surely had to be fatal, she almost heaved the contents of her stomach all over the roughhewn floor.

Emily was with her, watching the violence from the sidelines, dressed in a white shirt, vest and striped green trousers with high thick-soled boots. Her ropes of hair were pinned up on the top of her head, and she sported a silver hoop through the right side of her nose. It didn’t really pierce her skin, but clamped on in order to appear as though it did. The hoop and the trousers were gang related. Apparently there was some kind of Irish gang in the city who wore the same jewelry and trousers. They were known as fighters—either being tough themselves or handling fighters who were tougher.

It was a good disguise. Emily wasn’t as tall and muscular as Finley, so the kit provided some protection. No one would mess with a member of the Uisce Beatha gang. Ish-ge Bah-hah, Emily pronounced it. It meant whiskey in Irish.

“Right,” Finley said when another man was carried— groaning in agony—from the ring. “I’m going to knock ’em out as soon as I can, Em. Do as little and take as little damage as I can.”

“A sound notion,” her friend replied in a strained voice. “Just be careful, Finley. I’m not certain this was such a grand idea after all.”

Finley’s smile pulled tight. “It’s not, but it’s the best I have, unless you think me throwing myself at Dalton would be better?”

“He is lovely to look upon, but I reckon that’s not the way to win his trust and respect. Plenty o’ women have been practically swooning over him all evening.”

Emily was right. The criminal was possessed of an uncommonly fine face. They’d spotted him shortly after their arrival, because he had Jasper with him. Dalton was almost too handsome with his silky brown hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones. It bothered her to look at him for too long.

Griffin, on the other hand, was a bit more rugged-looking, not quite so perfectly put together. He wasn’t as overtly chiseled, but she could look at him for days and not get bored.

She glanced at Jasper. From where they stood, they could see him fairly clearly, though she doubted he could see them, shrouded in shadows as they were. Jasper did not look like the carefree, smooth-talking cowboy she’d met in London. He looked weary, guarded and strangely dangerous—as though he was a man on the verge of violence.

“Jasper doesn’t look as though he’s enjoying himself,” she remarked, not taking her attention off of him as Emily wrapped her hands.

“No,” Emily agreed. “I think he must be with Dalton against his will. Who do you suppose the girl is?”

Ah, Finley had wondered when that would come up. “No idea. They appear to know each other quite well.”

“Quite.” There could be no mistaking the jealous tone of Emily’s voice.

“I thought you’d set your cap at Sam.” She turned her head to look at her friend. “Has that changed?”

Crimson splotches bloomed on pale cheeks. “No. Although, I’m not sure what it says about me that, even though I prefer Sam’s attentions to Jasper’s, I still do not like Jasper turning that attention elsewhere.”

Finley chuckled at her honesty. “I don’t know a girl who would.” She paused. “You saw that Sam is here?” She hadn’t been surprised to see the big lad at the fight, but she had been surprised to see he was a contender. She should have known Griffin would come up with a similar plan, blast it all.

“Yes,” Emily replied, expression grim. “Don’t you hurt him.”

The warning in her friend’s tone startled her, but she heeded it all the same. Emily’s bad side was not a place she wanted to be. “I won’t.”

“Up next,” boomed the announcer’s voice, “Harpy O’Malley versus Finley Bennet.”

Her stomach felt as though it had dropped between her ankles. She’d given them an alias she had used before, in case anyone started asking questions—no way to link her name to Griffin’s. “I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“Harpy’s not intimidating,” Emily informed her, giving her a gentle shove. “Bird woman. You can defeat a bird woman. Off with ye now, before we attract even more attention. And be careful.”

There was no turning back. One look at Jasper, and Finley knew she couldn’t walk away. Besides, she wasn’t a coward. She simply wasn’t used to walking into a fight without aggression already driving her. She wasn’t going up against an enemy, just another person.