Molly ran a fingertip over the spines of the books on the shelf, wondering why the last owner had left them behind. Most were mechanical texts, but there were quite a few novels mixed in here and there. Clothbound and worn, they probably weren’t worth much up here in Ballonet, but they’d fetch a pretty penny on the plains. Her fingers itched with the impulse to pocket a few. The instincts that made her such a good scavenger didn’t serve her well anywhere but down on the border.
“Anything good?”
She dropped her hand and turned to look at Flynn. He was sitting on the edge of the bed polishing his boots, still not ready to go. Flynn took more time with his appearance than anyone she’d ever known. She was clean. She’d brushed her hair and her teeth. She’d put on the dress Esther’s maid left outside the door. And all in half the time it was taking Flynn.
He nodded toward the books. “Esther keeps them for her apprentices. She says it stops them from getting into too much trouble.”
“That never worked with you. You have lots of books, and you’re always in trouble.”
“I had a lot of books. Not anymore.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “And I only seem to get into trouble when I’m with you.”
“Don’t blame me,” she said. “I spend more time fishing you out of trouble than leading you into it.”
“If you say so.”
“What happened to all of your books?”
When he’d lived on Stormking, he’d had a whole library. The first time she’d seen Flynn’s home had been a revelation. She’d been living in a hovel with a dirt floor and cracks in the wall that whistled when the wind blew. Flynn’s apartment had been the finest home she’d ever entered through the front door.
The shelves were always half empty and the books scattered everywhere—stacked beside the bed and in untidy piles on the dining table or the floor next to Flynn’s favorite armchair. Flynn had hired a girl to clean the place once a week. Mostly she just collected up the books and shoved them back on the shelves. Every single week. Imagine hiring someone to be your book wrangler.
“I never found out what happened to my books,” he said. “They were probably all sold after I was arrested over that mess with Jane. Knowing Gideon, he might have burned them all.”
“That’s a shame.”
He nodded and looked so sad she felt the need to distract him. She gestured toward the bookshelf. “How do I know if these are any good?”
“You can read.”
She could only sort-of read. Lu had taught her how one winter when they’d been snowed in with nothing to entertain them but some long-dead settler’s diary. Before seeing Flynn’s apartment, Molly had never even thought of picking up a book except to sell it. Afterward, she’d wanted to know what she was missing.
She hadn’t told Flynn that, though. She hadn’t wanted him to realize exactly how uneducated she was. But it was time—past time—for him to see her for who she really was. Maybe then he’d realize that he was never going to be able to turn her into the polished wife of a Scraper businessman, no matter how many pretty dresses he put her in.
She swallowed down a big lump of pride. “I don’t read well. I’ve never read any books like these. I don’t have much leisure time and I’m always on the road. I’d probably ruin a book before I managed to get through all of it. It would get rained on or chewed up or traded for food.” She tried for a smile. “It would be awful not to know how the story ends.”
He looked up, startled. “Are you telling me you’ve never read a book for pleasure?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
And that, right there, was the reason she’d spent that long winter learning to read without Flynn knowing. He looked appalled—just for a split second, before he caught himself—and then like he half suspected she was joking. When she didn’t laugh, his eyes narrowed.
He tugged on his boots and crossed the room. She turned her face, tears stinging her eyes. This hurt, exposing herself like this. It hurt knowing Flynn would think her stupid now. She wasn’t stupid. If she hadn’t been able to outthink most people, she would have died a long time ago.
Flynn edged past her and bent to scan the shelves. He reached out and grabbed one of the books. It had a plain green cover, the fabric worn through at the corners. It was slightly warped, but the spine still held. He handed it to her with a carefully blank expression on his face.
“Try this one.”
She took it, turning it in her hands. The Count of Monte Cristo. She’d never heard of it. “Is it worth much?”
“Only if you read it. I think you’ll like that one. If not, I’ll buy you something else.”
“You mean you’ll steal me something else.”
“If I have to. This isn’t stealing. Esther won’t mind you taking it. I’ll offer to pay her.”
He said it to reassure her. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d probably enjoy the book better if it was stolen.
He pulled on his jacket. “Are you ready to act like a Scraper?”
“I’ve been practicing my sneer in the mirror.”
She slipped the book into her bag with the necklace. City ordinance prevented her from wearing her pistols. If nothing else, having a little extra weight in the bag would turn it into a handy weapon should the need arise. Flynn owned a small pocket pistol and likely had a half-dozen knives strapped to his person. She only owned the pair of revolvers and the one rifle.
Part of the reason she’d agreed to go shopping was in the hopes of finding something that would allow her to hide a weapon.
“Here we go, then.” Flynn opened the door and offered his arm.
She smiled nervously as she slipped her hand around his forearm. She could feel his muscles flex lightly as he led her into the hangar. She never would have been able to hold on to Flynn like this on the border. She wouldn’t have wanted to get in the way of his pistols, and she couldn’t afford to look weak. Up here, she was expected to touch Flynn as they walked. Not all Scraper customs were bad.
Their small room opened into Esther’s private workshop, which was dark and very quiet. From outside came the sound of heavy banging and the whir of a familiar engine. Flynn’s charm had apparently put them at the front of the line. They crossed the deserted workshop. Esther’s secret experiments crouched to either side of the aisle like great fallen beasts, all of them shrouded in heavy canvas.
When Flynn opened the door to the yard, Molly paused at the threshold to get her bearings. It always seemed like a different world to her up here in the mountains. The sunlight was sharper, the air cooler. The scent of sulfur and metal stung her nose. And everything, from the people to the buildings to the mechanical gear, was so bright and shiny it hurt to look at.
Flynn never seemed to mind it. He didn’t even hesitate as the door closed behind them. While she was still waiting for her eyes to adjust, he guided her toward the main hangar. “I’d like to introduce you to everyone as my wife.”
She snorted. “That’ll really piss off your stepfather.”
“That’s a bonus, but that’s not why I want to do it.”
Flynn was just as bright and shiny as everything else up here. Freshly shaved. His black hair carefully styled off his face. His green eyes bright and sparkling, with a hint of laughter.
“Why, then?”
“Because it’ll make people curious. It’s a good story. Stark’s wild stepson marries a mysterious woman from the border territory and returns to introduce her to society.”
“They’ll want to laugh at me, you mean. Snicker behind their fans about how uncouth I am.”
“They might laugh at the match.” He shrugged. “Stark is not well liked on Ballonet, and he’s very proud. They’ll be laughing at him, not you.”
That was a fine distinction, and not entirely accurate. They would laugh at all of them—her, Flynn and Stark. The difference was that Flynn wouldn’t care.
“You won’t be received into the best society as my mistress, but no one will close a door on my wife. We’ll be able to make the connections we need quickly, discover the truth about the rumors. Buy or steal a sample of the vaccine if we can get our hands on it, and then go home.”
That was a reason she could get behind. “And the money Stark stole from you? You’re just going to let that go?”
“I won’t pursue it while you’re here. That’s between me and Stark. After we report to the Rangers and collect our pay, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“Last time Stark saw you, he said if you interfered in his business again, he would see you hanged. And that was before you made off with his books and the necklace.”
“You can’t believe everything he says, especially where I’m concerned. He’s been threatening to kill me since I was ten.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just because he hasn’t done it yet, doesn’t mean he won’t.”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know that.” He couldn’t. Things would never be finished with Stark until one of them was dead.
“I do.” Flynn flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “My father, my real father, was Stark’s business partner. Stark married my mother to get at his money, but my father had tied up most of it in a trust fund. The money won’t be released until I take my father’s place on the board. When that happens, a sizeable amount is also released into the company’s coffers.”
“The company… You mean Stark’s company.”
Flynn smiled bitterly. “It’s my company too if I choose to fulfill the terms of my father’s will.”
“Will you?”
“And work side by side with that bastard? You’re kidding.”
She wasn’t kidding at all. She’d always worried that Flynn might decide to return to the city and leave her behind.
“So all this time you’ve had a pile of money up here with your name on it.”
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. “It’s a devil’s bargain, Mol. I never wanted anything to do with the family business, no matter what my father hoped. It gives me great pleasure to keep the money out of Stark’s greedy hands.”
“You should have told me.”
He shrugged. “What difference would it have made? We’ve never mingled in Stark’s circles before. My family history doesn’t matter on the border.”
She thought about every time she’d risked her life for money to see them through a rough patch. How could he think it didn’t matter?
“How much?”
He raised his brows, looking surprised by the question.
“How much money do you get when you meet the terms of your father’s will?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He studied her face and cursed softly. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me sooner.”
“I liked that you weren’t interested in me because of my family. You never looked at me and saw a bank account.” He touched the back of her hand, more to comfort himself, she thought, than her. “It truly doesn’t matter in the end. Not to me. I left Eyrion knowing I’d never come back. Cassius Stark, heir to the Stark-Flynn fortune, is dead.” The corner of his mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “The only reason I’m telling you now is to explain why Stark won’t kill me. He still holds out hope that I’ll change my mind.”
Molly didn’t trust that. She didn’t trust it at all. Stark’s patience would come to an end eventually.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it. Go ahead and introduce me to people as your wife.”
Flynn seemed startled by her answer. He stopped walking and turned to her. “Yeah?”
“You said it’ll get us out of here fast, right?”
“Right.” The smile that spread across his face almost made her wish it was for real. He pulled something out of his pocket and dropped to his knee.
“Flynn!” She looked around them to make sure they were still alone.
“If we’re going to do this, we should do it properly,” he said, taking her hand. When she tried to pull away, his fingers tightened. “Molly McGuire, will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
“Get up,” she snapped. “This is ridiculous.”
“Say it, Molly, even if it’s for pretend. I want to hear you say the words.”
“I said I would do it.”
His green eyes seemed especially bright as they met hers. “Marry me.”
“Yes.”
He slid a cold ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Flynn kissed her knuckles before releasing her and rising to his feet.
Their marriage might not be real, but the ring was. It was a slender band of white gold with a modestly sized emerald flanked by two small diamonds. It wasn’t as gaudy or expensive as some of the rings she’d seen Scrapers wear. Recognition hit, and she looked up, startled. “This was your mother’s.”
It was the ring she’d pulled from Stark’s safe last year when they’d nicked the ledgers from his office, along with the diamond necklace that was funding this trip. This ring was the only thing Flynn possessed that belonged to his mother. “I can’t wear this. What if I lose it?”
Flynn pulled her arm through his and started walking again. “It’s a ring. How will you lose it? Don’t take it off, and it’ll be fine.”
The ring felt heavy on her hand for so small a thing.
“This doesn’t mean anything, Flynn.”
“If you say so, sweetheart.”
Like all of the city-states on the western range, Ballonet was perched on a mountain peak with the city center at the top. The private residences straggled down the slopes from rich to poor.
Not that anyone in the city was truly poor. Even those at the lowest elevations had clothes to wear and food to eat.
There was no such thing as charity in the cities. Everyone was either employed by one of the founding families or they’d been born to a founding family and didn’t need to work. If you lost your job or no longer had money to pay your creditors, then you were placed on the next cargo ship headed for the plains. Criminals were cast out without supplies. They didn’t even get a ride, just a long, cold hike down the mountain. The people who were really bad were sometimes thrown right off the nearest cliff. That left Scrapers with an honest and motivated workforce who kept the cities running smoothly.
Founders were rarely cast out. Their families had the resources and connections to buy them out of trouble to save face. Look at Flynn. He’d worked for years to blacken the Stark family name and hadn’t managed it yet.
Since Esther was still working on their engine, Molly and Flynn hopped on a cable car heading up-city. Molly took a seat with the other fine ladies, though she felt like a fraud for doing so. The car was partitioned—common workers in back and Founders up front. As Flynn’s wife, she got to sit on leather upholstery near the vents that blew cool air from the ceiling. The pale pink ribbons on her borrowed hat fluttered in the draft.
Flynn stood, one hand hooked leisurely through a corded handhold. His lean body moved easily to compensate for the sway of the car as the cables pulled it up to the next level. He studiously ignored the other occupants in the Founder’s section—a slim, middle-aged woman with a narrow face and her wide-eyed teenage daughter. The older woman had taken one shocked look at Flynn when he spoke his name to the attendant and then whispered something to her daughter that caused the girl to blush to her roots.
Molly knew Flynn had a reputation. The Starks were a very powerful family. Even on the border, people recognized the name. When Flynn had first told her who he was, she hadn’t truly believed him. She hadn’t wanted to believe it. She’d fallen in love with a smuggler. It’d been a blow to realize she’d actually fallen in love with a Scraper gone slumming.
Apparently Flynn’s biological father had been wealthy too, though that wasn’t something Flynn had bothered to mention in the three years they’d been partners. Somehow during that time, he’d managed to save up fifty thousand dollars. Fifty thousand! He had a trust fund just waiting to be claimed.
He was right that Stark probably wouldn’t kill him with money at stake. And the authorities wouldn’t touch Flynn for fear of angering the Stark family. The other Scrapers probably saw Flynn as a daring, romantic figure who would surely one day settle down to assume control of the combined Flynn and Stark fortunes. Molly worried that they might be right.
It wasn’t even greed that would do it. Flynn would know as well as she did that it was foolish to leave that much power on the table. He couldn’t work with Stark, she knew that. But after Stark was gone? There’d be nothing to stop him. Flynn could do a lot of good with that much power, and he’d like using Stark’s money to set things right.
The young woman sitting across from Molly peeked at Flynn from beneath her long blonde lashes. Her eyes were a pale, watery blue and her skin was very fair. She didn’t have a single freckle that Molly could see. She must run from car to building with her head down, hiding from the sun. Her hands, fidgeting with the top layer of her lavender skirts, were very pale too, the nails perfectly rounded and uniform. Delicate fingers, smooth palms.
Molly hid her hands in the folds of her skirts. Maybe she should have made use of the nail file and the lotion Esther had offered her. When Flynn had rubbed the flower-scented balm into his palms, she’d laughed at him.
“Where do you want to stop first?” Flynn asked, drawing her attention up. The light through the glass window painted geometric shapes on his face in flashes as the car climbed up the steep hill.
“The jeweler’s, I suppose.”
They’d need money for new clothes, and to get that they needed to sell the necklace first. She’d scoffed at the need for clothes. The borrowed dress she was wearing now was one of the finest she’d ever seen, but it compared poorly to the fancy dresses the other ladies were wearing.
“Are you hungry?”
“No.” Her stomach was twisted up in knots. The unfamiliar rumble of the city had her nerves on edge.
“Right,” Flynn said. “Jewels before food. A woman’s priorities.”
She was tempted to kick him, but nailing him in the shins wasn’t something a lady would probably do.
How did the women up here keep their men in line?
Flynn glanced out the window and gave the cord above the window a firm tug. As the car slowed to a stop, Flynn helped her up. He nodded toward the two women and ushered Molly from the car.
The girl giggled, but the sound was partially drowned out by the rattle of the cable car starting off again. Flynn led Molly away from the tracks to the wide stone walkway lining the shop fronts.
This was a middling level full of stores where a servant or down-on-his-luck Founder might find a bargain or two. The brass fittings were a little tarnished and the poles holding the gaslights were spaced further apart than they would be on the higher levels. Tall buildings curved around the mountains. Exposed pipes and cables, some slender, some as big around as her waist, ran everywhere, like the bulging veins of a great beast.
The power plants were on the lowest levels, and above they made an effort to hide the mechanical workings of the city. The streets were astoundingly clean. But then, there were no horses. Everyone rode the cable cars to move between levels. Those wealthy enough to own a private airship were wealthy enough to hire a pilot to circle around the city waiting for a signal that the owner needed a lift home. Almost every woman they passed wore a fancy dress, and no one carried a gun.
It didn’t smell right. All perfume and grease. The buildings cut the sunlight into weird angles and the metal threw glares. And the noise…good God! The noise was enough to drive a person mad. No wonder Scrapers were all off kilter. If she stayed up here long enough, she wouldn’t be right in the head either.
Flynn led her confidently into the stream of foot traffic. Most people stepped aside to let him pass. Molly couldn’t figure out how they knew he was a Founder. They couldn’t possibly all recognize him. Maybe it was in the way he carried himself, straight-backed and aloof. Maybe all Scrapers were born with some sense that helped them sort people at a glance.
Flynn only showed deference to one gentleman who, together with his pack of servants, took up most of the walkway. He greeted the man by name, and after he recovered from his surprise, the gentleman touched his temple in acknowledgment.
As they moved on, she said, “I thought you didn’t want to see anyone until we had new clothes.”
Flynn shrugged. “We’re not ready to appear at any social occasions, but I want people to know we’re here. How else will they know to invite us?”
“They’ll know now?”
He led her around a puddle like she was a child who wouldn’t have known better than to splash right through it.
“We got lucky. The women in the car with us were Dr. Willoughby Nelson’s wife and daughter. They’re not Founders, but they’re fairly well connected. She’s probably told at least half a dozen people I’m in town already. It’ll take a few hours for the news to work its way up to the top, but I imagine we’ll have an invitation or two waiting for us by the time we get back to Esther’s.”
“How will they know we’re at Esther’s?”
Flynn smiled, sharp and quick. “They’ll know. It’s impossible to hide anywhere in the city for long. That’s partly why I spend so little time here.”
They walked for a while, nodding and smiling and getting looked over and sized up. Another cable car rattled past.
“Do you miss it here?” It was strange to her, but Flynn had grown up here. “Is this what it feels like when you’re down on the plains, like everything is wrong?”
Flynn didn’t answer right away. She’d always liked that about him. He didn’t deflect her questions or ever make her feel stupid for asking. He squinted as he looked up the mountain toward the peak and then looked at her.
“Have you ever visited someplace you knew as a child and when you come back it looks the same but feels different?”
“No.” She’d never set foot anywhere near where she’d grown up.
He winced as he remembered who he was talking to. “The sights and sounds are the same as I remember from my childhood, even some of the people. It should feel comfortable, but it doesn’t. Maybe it would be different if I’d had a better childhood. As it is, being here feels like trying to put on clothes I used to wear as a boy. Nothing fits.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’ve just been away for too long.”
“I imagine you’ve changed a lot since you lived here.”
“Yes.”
She squeezed his arm. “I probably wouldn’t have liked you much if I’d met you before you became a fallen man.”
He smiled slowly. “You might have. Plenty of women liked me just fine.”
Of that she had no doubt. But she gave him a skeptical look to keep his vanity in check. “Scraper men have always seemed soft to me.”
“Soft.” His voice deepened. “Have you ever found me soft, Molly?”
Ignoring the question, she said, “Maybe it’s the thin air that saps them of their vitality.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my vitality.”
She arched a brow. “Oh?”
With a sharp tug, he pulled her aside, out of the flow of traffic. There was a narrow alley between the baker’s and a store with nothing but hats in the window. Was it possible to have a store that sold nothing but hats?
He stopped just a few feet inside the mouth of the alley and turned his back to the street. The walls blocked the sun, leaving them in shadow. Flynn eased an arm around her waist to pull her close. She could feel the hardness of his thighs through her skirts. His palm was a firm and steady weight against her back. The soft brush of his fingers as he angled her head up with his free hand caused a shiver of anticipation to run the length of her body. Then his mouth was on hers, his tongue gently coaxing her lips to part. He kissed her thoroughly, hungrily, demanding and hard. Her hands crept up his chest to wrap around his neck. She leaned against him, letting him take her weight.
The noise from the street and the sharp, bitter scent of the city fell away. Her awareness of Flynn swelled until he became her whole world.
This. This is why she was up here in this strange place. Flynn might be dressed up like a Scraper, but he was still the same man underneath.
He touched his forehead to hers. “Being with you feels right. Here. On the border. On the ship. Anyplace you’re with me, I’m home.”
She swallowed hard. She wished… She wished he would stop saying things like that when there wasn’t a bed nearby.
“You’re impossible, Flynn.”
“I’ve often heard wives say the same about their husbands. It must mean I’m doing this right.”
“We’re not really married.”
He kissed her again, lightly. Just to keep her from arguing, she suspected.
As soon as he lifted his head, he took her hand and pulled her back onto the stone walkway, into the sunlight and noisy traffic. She barely paid attention to the odd looks they received when they stepped out of the alley. She could still taste Flynn on her tongue, feel the warmth of his hands.
By the time she regained control of herself, they’d reached the jeweler’s. The sign, clean and neat as everything up here, declared the proprietor as Rufus Copperdale.
Molly gaped at the goods in the window. There were necklaces made of diamonds pieced carefully together into the shapes of flowers, long strands of pearls, and rings of heavy gold and delicate silver.
Flynn nudged her in the side. “Don’t look too impressed. He’ll take advantage.”
She snapped her mouth closed and shook her head. “How can he put all this stuff out there where anyone can see?”
Flynn gave her an odd look. “How else is he to sell anything if people can’t see the goods?”
“It’s a fortune. He doesn’t even have bars on the windows, just glass. He must be robbed three times a week.”
“Some of it’s fake. I’m sure Rufus locks it all up in a vault before he goes home at night, and no one would steal from him during the day.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’d get caught. You can’t hide in a city this size. You can’t leave without a ship, and ships can be shot down or tracked.”
“Not if I’m flying.”
“Molly…”
She wrinkled her nose. “Even without a ship, I could get away. All I would have to do is strap a parachute to my back, grab the jewels and make it to the edge of the drop before anyone could catch me.”
Flynn closed his eyes and seemed to struggle for control. When he looked at her again, his expression was hard. “Don’t. That’s a good way to get killed. Don’t swipe anything. Not a purse. Not a pin. If someone drops a penny on the ground in your path, you will let it be.”
“Who leaves a penny on the ground?”
“You.” He reached for the door. “You will leave it.”
“But why?”
Flynn blew out an exasperated breath, which she didn’t understand. If anyone had the right to be annoyed with this conversation, it was her.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” He opened the door and held it so that she could enter first, effectively silencing anything she might say.
She lifted her nose and swept past him into the store. It was quiet inside, cool and still as a church. Gleaming marble floors stretched out beneath her feet all the way to the glass-fronted display cases that formed a u-shape along three walls. A fan hung from the high ceiling, rotating lazily and circulating sweet-smelling air. The light pouring through the front windows would have been enough to see by, but there were also brass sconces hanging every few feet along the polished wooden walls.
Classy. The whole place looked expensive, and that wasn’t even counting all the jewelry. There were more jewels in here than Molly’d ever seen in one place. They were carefully displayed in velvet-lined boxes behind the glass. Glass! Her fingers twitched with the urge to grab a rock and bust through the flimsy protection. It was the principle of the thing. That glass was like a dare.
A slender man, bent above his work at a desk along the rear wall, looked up at their entrance. A brass eyepiece, held in place by a leather thong, covered the top half of his face. His gaze swept dismissively over Molly, and then his face split into a wide grin when he spotted Flynn. He straightened slowly, as if not quite believing his eyes.
“Rufus,” Flynn said, advancing toward the counter. “It’s good to see you well.”
Rufus removed the eyepiece and ran a hand through his dark, graying hair. “It’s been too long, my dear boy. Have you come for a visit or is this a more permanent stay?”
“On Ballonet?” Flynn smiled and shook his head. “It’s far too tame for me here. This is a business trip. I hoped you could help me with something.”
Rufus set his hands on the edge of the case and leaned slightly forward. “What is it?”
Molly reached into her reticule and plunked the necklace into Flynn’s extended hand. He untangled it gently and laid it on the counter. There was a tray there lined in black silk that seemed to exist just for that purpose. Molly had to admit the diamonds seemed extra sparkly against that background, like stars against a night sky.
Rufus stared for a long moment and then whistled softly. “You didn’t find this on the border.”
“No,” Flynn said.
Rufus looked up, blue eyes narrowed and sharp. “Do I want to know?”
“You do not.”
Rufus cast, a longer, measuring look at Molly. She thought he was silently blaming her for the downfall of his “dear boy.” It wasn’t far from the truth. Here Flynn was trying to climb back toward respectability and she was holding on tight to his ankles.
“Would you mind locking the door for me, Lady…”
“I’m no lady,” Molly said. “But I don’t mind locking the door.”
There was a brass-plated deadbolt above the handle. She turned the key and pulled the blind for good measure. She could pick that lock in two seconds flat with a pair of hairpins. No one would even notice her pause as she tried the door.
When she turned back around, Flynn met her gaze. His brow lifted, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. She raised her chin. She’d never promised not to steal anything. He was the one who’d gone straight, not her.
Rufus studied the necklace through the eyepiece, examining each stone and muttering quietly to himself every so often.
When he straightened, he said, “It’s beautiful. I can’t pay you what it’s worth. Not even close.”
“You’re interested, though.” Flynn’s tone was bland, with only a bare hint of curiosity in his voice. Nothing that said their future depended on whatever amount Rufus was willing to offer.
“Five thousand.”
“No.”
Rufus tilted his head slightly to the side. “It’s what I have at the ready.”
Flynn nodded. “I understand. I hoped to avoid having to fly to Frisco, as I’m pressed for time.” He picked up the necklace. Gemstones blinked from between his curled fingers. “I’ll just have to hold on to it awhile longer, then.”
Rufus folded. Molly saw it in the way his shoulders slumped and the press of his lips. He bit back the words, clearly hoping that Flynn was bluffing, but when Flynn started to turn, Rufus reached out and caught his sleeve.
“Let me see what I can do.”
Molly ducked her head to hide her smile. It wasn’t kind to gloat. She looked around the store while Flynn wrapped up the conversation. A necklace caught her eye and she paused to admire it. The pendant was of a simple geometric design—a diamond shape nestled inside a square formed of yellow gold. A small sapphire was set at the center, with four matched pearls at the corners of the square. It wasn’t as fancy as the other pieces surrounding it, which was probably a large part of its appeal. Molly leaned on the case to get a better look while she listened to Flynn and Rufus discuss terms.
When they concluded the deal, she smiled. It wasn’t the ten thousand they’d hoped for, but seven wasn’t bad considering the hurry they were in. Rufus excused himself to get the money, taking the necklace with him, and Flynn joined her at the case.
“What are you looking at?”
She shrugged and turned to face him, leaning her hips against the case. “I was only passing the time while you talked business. That’s what a good Scraper lady would do, isn’t it?”
Flynn set his hands on the wooden frame, boxing her in. “A good Scraper lady would answer her husband’s question.”
“Husband?”
“Mm-hmm. You agreed.”
Relenting, she turned in the circle of his arms and pointed at the necklace.
“That one, there,” she said. “That’s what I was looking at.”
Flynn leaned against her back to peer over her shoulder. His hand moved to rest on her hip. Warm and strong and reassuring. The role she was playing might be unfamiliar, but Flynn she knew. Something relaxed inside her, and she leaned back against him.
His breath brushed her cheek. “The shell cameo?”
With the profile of the fierce-looking woman, set in filigreed rose gold and a scattering of small diamonds? It was enormous and hideously gaudy. How could he think that was the one she liked?
“No,” she said. “To the right. The small pendant on the gold chain.”
Flynn merely hummed an acknowledgement and kissed her temple. Rufus returned and handed over a neatly bound stack of bills, which Molly slipped into her reticule beside The Count of Monte Cristo.
“I’ll write up a draft for the rest,” Rufus said.
“A moment.” Flynn pointed at the necklace. “We’ll take this piece. You can deduct the cost from the balance.”
Rufus’s eyes lit. Stupid of Flynn not to ask after the price before making a statement like that. When Rufus told him the amount, he didn’t even blink, though it was surely at least twice what it was worth.
Rufus unlocked the case and removed the necklace. “Shall I wrap it?”
Flynn shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.”
Rufus moved to his desk, and Flynn helped her to put the necklace on. When she turned back to face him, he reached out and adjusted the pendant, which had twisted. “It’s a poor replacement for the one you’re losing.”
But this one was hers. Something she’d chosen and that she could actually wear without feeling like a fraud. She didn’t need diamonds. She didn’t want them, not for wearing, anyway. Where could she wear diamonds without ending up dead?
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”
No one had ever bought her a piece of jewelry before, not even Flynn.
His green eyes flicked up to her face. Her expression must have reassured him that she didn’t regret the loss of the diamonds, because he smiled. “You know, this is the first gift I’ve given to you that you haven’t tried to reject.”
“The gifts you give me are always too grand.”
“I can afford them.”
That was never the part she objected to. He bought her gifts befitting a lady. Fancy things. Useless things. If he’d ever tried offering her a new pistol, she’d have snapped it up in a heartbeat.
“I like this necklace better than the last one.”
Flynn’s brows rose, but he said, “Good. I’m glad of it. Did you see anything else you like?”
“I only have one neck.”
Before Flynn could reply, Rufus returned with the draft. Flynn accepted the slip of paper and said goodbye to his friend. The bank draft made her antsy. She’d never taken an IOU.
When they were back outside, she said, “You trust that man? I feel like we just got swindled.”
“He’ll honor the draft.” Flynn adjusted the slant of his hat. “Or at least his bank will. I have an account there. We’ll stop and make the transfer first thing.”
“Another account?” She raised her brows. “How many accounts are you hiding from me, Flynn?”
He grinned. “There’s not much in this one.”
That wasn’t really an answer, but she wasn’t going to pry. Flynn had taught her to always have a backup plan in place. He likely had stashes of money in every city he frequented.
“And then what?”
“And then, my dear wife,” he said, placing her hand on his arm and leading her toward the lift that would take them to the next level, “we go shopping.”