The Mech Who Loved Me(92)

Jack's green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "The mech-suit? Or the brewing war between blue bloods and humans?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Jack sighed. "My sister's married to a blue blood, and while he can be a little stiff at times, he's a good man. Then there's Debney."

Jack's friendship with the viscount had not gone unnoticed. Kincaid said nothing, but he'd seen the pair of them slip away at Byrnes's wedding. In the past, men like that would have been executed, but it wasn't his place to say anything. Nor his place to judge.

"I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a storm," Kincaid admitted quietly. "I have friends. Humanist friends. I see their anger over the blood taxes and the draining factories still loom large in the East End. But I also understand it's not an easy solution.

"And we don't know who's working to stir up the general population-whether it's on Ulbricht's side, or the dhampir, or someone working behind the scenes-but a part of me is tired of war," he said. "I don't want to see any more humanists die. I don't want to see any of my blue blood friends die. But we're heading toward a collision. Any fucking fool can see that."

Jack sighed, rolling a coin over the back of his gloved hands-a habit he had sometimes. "All London needs is a spark, and it will go up in a fiery blaze, you mark my words."

Fuck. Kincaid rested his hip on the edge of a stool. Maybe he'd overtaxed his body recently, but he felt dull and weak today. Exhausted. "But what's the spark going to be? We can stamp out all the fires we see-these Black Vein murders, the vaccine clinics being sabotaged-but I just feel like there's something else out there. Something we're not seeing. I mean, one by one these Black Vein murders aren't going to tip this war over the edge. The humanists don't care about blue bloods dying, and the Echelon doesn't give a damn about rogue blue bloods. If it were one of their own, however...."

"I agree," Jack said, shrugging. "But I don't think the spark's going to come from the Echelon. This all feels like it's a stalking horse. Something to set the Echelon on edge, but they don't have the advantage anymore. Some of them still stockpile automaton troops, but if they step out of line? The queen and the Council of Dukes will use the Cyclops they confiscated during the revolution against them. It would require a mass effort from most of the Echelon aristocrats working together to start a war, and they'd have to topple the queen or the Council first." 

It all made little sense. These riots were stirring, yes, but some people still liked the queen. She wasn't her husband, mad and dangerous. She was human, and she'd been their figurehead during the revolution. Disappointment reigned at the moment, thanks to the recent lowering of the Blood Tax bill, but it hadn't destroyed the people's confidence in her.

"To whip the humanists into a frenzy, they'd have to strike at something the humans consider important. Hell if I know what that will be." Kincaid pulled on his protective gear, then reached for the carbon arc welder and his carbon rods. "Guess we'll just have to be prepared for anything."

Jack turned away. "Have a think about what I said earlier. It's just conjecture at this point, but I think you have a marketable product."

Kincaid clipped each claw onto the positive and negative wires, and then dragged his face mask down. "Will do."





Twenty-One





"ARE YOU AVOIDING me?" Ava's voice broke through Kincaid's solitude as he stared at the nearly finished mech-suit.

"Of course not." His words were brusque; he heard it himself.

"After last night, I thought you might have...."

"Might have?" ...slipped into her bed, and woken her. He'd thought about it.

But Gemma's words kept hounding him.

Ava didn't reply. Blonde lashes swept down, obscuring her eyes, and his stomach dropped through his boots. "Ava." He picked up a screwdriver. "You were hurt. You needed sleep. I'm not avoiding you."

Liar.

Guilt scoured him. He didn't want to hurt her. And while there was passion between them, there was something else growing. Hell, he couldn't deny it. Last night she'd fallen asleep in his arms, and before he'd slipped from her bed this morning, there'd been a part of him that wanted to linger. Just to relax for a few more hours with Ava curled up against him, all those messy, vibrant curls spread across his pillow. But he was fooling himself. Gemma said it herself this morning: he was no good for her.

They just needed a little space between them. A clearly marked line that said, this is an affair, and it will end when we finish this case. Then they could go their own separate ways, and even though a part of him would always look back in regret at what he'd let slip through his fingers, it would be better for her.