Heart of Brass (40 page)

She walked up behind Fitzhugh. The needle on the device whipped toward the section of the viewer attuned to the metal detector, but that was it. Damn. She had used one other component from the crimes to track the murderer—a small sample of the skin taken from beneath Baron Lynbourne’s daughter’s fingernails. Arden moved to stand beside Fitzhugh as he lit a cigarette and pressed the small, handheld device against the exposed wrist of his hand that rested on the ship’s railing.

“Ow!”

“Oh, my apologies, sir,” Arden gushed. “I must have caught you with my compact. I am so very sorry.”

The gentleman peered down at his wrist where her invention had pinched it. “It’s nothing, my lady.” But he moved away from her so she couldn’t do it again.

Arden checked the device, and her heart fell. No match.

As she turned, she bumped into Hannah, and dropped the device to the deck floor. “Oh! Arden, how clumsy of me.” She sounded so much more sincere than Arden had in her apology to Fitzhugh.

“I’m unharmed, dearest. It’s nothing.” She moved to retrieve the device, but Clivington beat her to it.

“Here you are, Lady Huntley. I think it might be broken. I seem to have pricked my finger on it.”

“It’s of no concern, Lord Clivington. I feel responsible for your injury….” Her voice trailed off as she took the invention from him. It was open, and the needle swung wildly through the different sections.

It was him.

“It’s so beautiful!” Hannah enthused, leaning against the rail. Beneath them, the lights of London glittered like jewels in a polished tiara. “Oh, Clivington, have you ever seen anything so breathtaking before?”

“Only you, my dear.”

He meant it. The realization hit Arden like a slap on an already numb cheek. It was then that she knew Clivington was not a man who killed for sport, but rather because he had a compulsion. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. Something inside of him made him do it, and those two poor girls had “flipped the switch” to his demon. That made him more than terrifying—it made him pathetic. He might kill Hannah, or he might not, but one truth remained—he would kill again.

“Oh no,” Hannah said, lifting her left hand. “I forgot my reticule inside. Excuse me while I go and fetch it.”

“I’ll come with you,” Clivington offered, but she brushed him away with a smile.

“I’ll be right back. Lady Huntley will keep you entertained in my absence.”

Arden opened her mouth to say they could all go inside, but Hannah was already gone, leaving Arden alone with her lovely bedlamite. What the devil was she supposed to say to him? And was it wrong that she now wished she’d had Luke kill him so she wouldn’t have to see this…
human
side of him?

She drew a deep breath. Right now she had to be calm. Had to be smart. The man had no reason yet to toss her over the side. “My friend certainly seems taken with you, sir.” She moved a little closer to the door.

Clivington grinned foolishly. “Do you really think so? I adore the ground she treads upon. She is so without artifice. Her every emotion is plainly written on her face, or truthfully expressed in words. Deceit is not in her repertoire.”

“No,” Arden agreed. “It is not. Hannah does not believe in hiding her feelings, sometimes to her own detriment.”

He shook his head. “Which only shows the mean-spiritedness of the world we live in, the dual nature of it. Do you know, Lady Huntley, that I once offered my affection to a young lady only to find out she was using me to, as she put it, ‘form a better acquaintance with the ways of the world’?”

“That’s somewhat harsh.”

“Indeed.” Clivington didn’t look quite so boyish now. Arden’s stomach fluttered nervously. “Another only wanted to make her lover jealous. I offered the both of them my heart and had it tossed back in my face.”

“Is that why you took theirs?” Arden asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth as though she had no control over her mind or tongue. Where was calm? Where the hell was smart?

He staggered back a step as though she had shoved him, the surprise on his face turning to anguish, and then to anger.

Clivington’s monster had just shown its face. Blast it all to Hades.

His fists at his sides, he came toward her. Screaming would do no good. Arden shoved her hand into her bag, released the device and reached for her discombobulator. Her trembling fingers closed around the invention just as he reached her. Then there was a soft noise—a sharp bark followed by a cross between a thud and a squish.

Wetness sprayed Arden’s face. Had Clivington spat upon her?

Then she saw the hole in his forehead. A rivulet of blood ran down his nose as he crumpled to the ground. He’d been shot.

The door opened, and there was Hannah, who began to scream as soon as she saw Clivington’s corpse. Arden flew toward her as another shot whizzed by, embedding itself in the wall where she had just been standing.

“Hannah!” she shouted. “Get back inside!”

But her friend wouldn’t budge, and didn’t seem to hear. She just kept sobbing and screaming. Suddenly, Luke was there. He hauled Hannah inside and reached for Arden when another shot rang out.

Arden dove to the floor of the deck, where she would be hidden from view by the boards that filled the space between floor and rail. Luke dropped beside her.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

Arden nodded, trying to ignore Clivington’s dead gaze staring at her from down by her feet. She swiped desperately at her face, trying to wipe the man from her skin. He was the killer. “I thought it would feel good—knowing that he was dead. It doesn’t.”

Her husband’s expression was as sympathetic as it was grim. “It never does, love. Now start crawling. We need to find another way back inside. Alastair’s gone to the flying machines to take after the shooter.”

“How did you know?” she asked as she began to inch forward on her elbows. “Did you hear the shot?”

“Your theory about the frequency of the transmissions was correct. He intercepted a message just before the shot. Alastair’s trying to find who sent it. When I didn’t see you inside, I knew you were the target.” He didn’t look at her, but his mouth thinned.

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t good enough, but it would have to do for now. “I didn’t know how to refuse Hannah.” And now her poor friend’s world had been torn apart. The practical side of her insisted that it was better to have it done now than for Hannah to find the truth years into their marriage when she did something to inadvertently release the monster inside him, but the more emotional side of her also knew that it didn’t matter now.

Hannah would never know what Clivington had been capable of. No one would. He would never stand trial, never be exposed as a monster. No, he would be remembered as a minor hero, struck down by tragedy in his prime. There would be some who might even blame Arden for his death. Hannah would—at least for a while—because the man had simply gotten between Arden and a bullet.

Arden clenched her teeth against that thought to keep it from going any further. Right now she had to concentrate on staying alive, and not on whether she had bits of Clivington’s mad brain in her hair.

They continued to crawl farther down the deck. There was another door, but it seemed to be miles away, and not getting any closer. In the distance, she could hear the whirling of the sparrows as they launched from the ship to chase after the shooters. Not much longer now, and Alastair would have the assassin in custody.

The door ahead of them opened, and they both froze. A man stepped out onto the deck and closed the door behind him. When he turned, they saw it was Mr. Chiler. Arden sighed in relief.

“Mr. Chiler, get down,” she urged, coming up onto her hands and knees. Luke tugged at her, but she ignored it. “You might get shot.”

“Arden,” Luke said sharply. “Get the fuck behind me, now!”

She glanced at him. For a moment—a second really—she thought that this was the moment where he betrayed her and proved her a fool. Then, she looked into his eyes and saw his fear. He recognized Chiler.

As the traitor.

She turned astonished eyes back to the man whom she had grown fond of these last few years. Dhanya’s trusted clerk—or perhaps not-so-trusted. Dhanya had made certain he couldn’t hear one of their last conversations.

Chiler stood before them, a pistol held in his mechanical hand and a small box with a switch in the other. He wore a victorious smile on his face.

“I’m afraid my last name isn’t Chiler, my dear,” he told her in a slightly accented voice. “It’s Erlich. Not very good with anagrams, are you? Victor was my brother. Now, to take care of you two before I destroy this ship and everyone on it.”

Luke yanked her backward just as Erlich pulled the trigger. Arden watched in horror as the bullet struck Luke in the center of the forehead—the one spot he was vulnerable. He collapsed to the deck, blood trickling from the wound.

Arden screamed, but it was cut short by a searing pain exploding in her upper chest. Another shot hit her side. It didn’t penetrate her armor, but it hit hard enough to knock her to the floor. She reached for Luke, fingers grasping. She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want to die. Not like this.

“I love you,” she rasped. She thought she saw his eyelashes flutter.

Then everything went black.

Chapter 21

“I love you.”

Luke’s eyes opened to see Arden beside him, her pale chest covered in blood. It darkened the already inky fabric of her gown, dripped to the boards beneath her.

“Arden?” He reached for her, his fingers going to her throat. She had a pulse beneath the sticky warmth. It was weak, but it was there.

“How the hell are you still alive?”

Luke froze. Then he turned his head to see Chiler staring at him. “I shot you exactly in the spot that should have killed you.”

“Maybe you’re just a lousy shot,” Luke replied, slowly moving into a crouch. Blood trickled into the inner corner of his eye, but he ignored it. All of his attention was focused on the man he intended to kill.

“They did something to you.” Chiler raised the pistol once more and fired. It hit Luke in the stomach—another spot that should have been vulnerable, but was protected by a gregorite-enhanced waistcoat that Alastair had made him wear at the last moment. The shot knocked the wind from him, but his heavy, reinforced bones kept him from falling backward.

Chiler swore, and this time aimed for his throat, but Luke sprang just as the pistol fired. The bullet tore through the fabric of his coat and gouged his shoulder. He barely felt it.

With the sweep of his hand, he managed to knock the gun from the other man’s mechanical fingers. His own fingers caught Chiler—Erlich—by the throat and swept him back, into the side of the airship cabin so hard plaster fell around them. The entire ship seemed to tremble. The switchbox fell to the deck. Luke had seen one like it before. It would send a detonation signal via radio waves to a bomb somewhere on the ship. They had to land. Now.

Erlich gasped for breath. “Huntley…Five. Do not…do…this.”

The blood froze in Luke’s veins. He knew that voice. He had heard it in his head off and on for seven long years.

“You son of a bitch,” he snarled. “I ought to rip out your fucking throat.”

“You won’t,” Erlich goaded. “You’re one of us, Five. Whether you like it or not. The Wardens don’t want you. They don’t trust you. If I tell the Director you did all of this, she’ll believe me over you.”

“She won’t believe you over Arden.”

The other man’s thin lips formed a cold smile. “I think we both know your wife isn’t going to live long enough to tell anyone anything.”

Luke punched him in the jaw. It gave beneath the force of the blow like a chicken bone, breaking with a satisfying snap. Erlich made a noise like a wounded animal—which Luke supposed he was.

“I don’t care if the Wardens hang me,” Luke informed him. “Killing you will be worth it. You destroyed my life.”

“You were just another of their lackeys.” Erlich’s words were deformed by his misaligned jaw. “They never cared if you lived or died.”

“I cared,” came a voice from behind them. Alastair. How had he gotten back so quickly?

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see his friend approach. “Where’d you come from?”

Alastair gestured to the rail with his thumb. “Crane dropped me off. What’s going on, Luke?”

It was the first time since his return that the man had referred to him by his Christian name. “Chiler is Victor Erlich’s brother. And your traitor.” He used the toe of his boot to nudge the switchbox closer to his friend. “There’s an explosive device onboard.”

Disappointment, shock and disgust crossed Alastair’s face. Then he glanced down and saw Arden. Luke had never seen such horror on anyone’s face before.

“Is she…?”

“She’s alive,” Luke replied. “Get her to Dr. Stone. I’ll take care of Erlich.”

“I’d love to let you do just that, my friend.” Alastair’s voice was dark. “But your place is with Arden. I’ll take care of our traitor.”

Luke glared at Erlich. The smugness on the man’s face made him tighten his grip. That made the bastard a little more humble. “Let me kill him.”

“You know that’s not how it works.”

“It’s how it should work.”

“Luke! Arden needs you. Take care of your wife.”

His words cut through the fog of rage surrounding Luke’s brain. Slowly, he eased his grip and released Erlich’s neck. The man sagged but did not fall. He merely chuckled. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to kill me.”

Luke did the next best thing—he grabbed Arden’s discombobulator from where it had fallen near her hand, and shoved it between Chiler’s legs. The man couldn’t even scream; he just twitched and pissed himself. He slid to the floor with the sound and grace of a balloon losing its air, spasming like a dying bug.

He tossed the device to Alastair, then left his friend to take care of things while he attended to Arden. He scooped her unconscious and bloodied body into his arms and carried her into the ship where stunned guests gasped in horror. He ignored them and went straight to Dr. Stone, who stood by herself near a door.