Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [12]
Eyes wide, Zenobia lifted her bound hands and touched the blood sprayed across her cheek and temple. She startled from her stupor and almost tripped over Mattson’s boots when the actress suddenly shrieked, ducking and covering her ears. A bit late for that—though if she kept screaming, Yasmeen might shoot her just to shut her up.
She tucked the weapon back into her sash and crossed the room to nudge Mattson’s thigh with her toe. Dead. Yasmeen knew many people who seemed to function well without brains, but her bullet had definitely done this one in. Blood pooled beneath his head.
“A hell of a mess,” Yasmeen said, and slipped her blade between Zenobia’s wrists, slicing through the ties. She did the same to the woman’s gag. “If you need to vomit, I suggest you do it on him. There’s less to clean up.”
“Thank you,” Zenobia rasped. The corners of her mouth were raw. “But I don’t need to.”
Then she glanced down at Mattson’s face, bent over, and did.
Chapter Two
Yasmeen found the maids tied hand to foot on the floor in a bedroom upstairs. She cut through the ropes, accepted their thank-yous, and when Zenobia rushed into the room a moment later, left them to do their weeping and dressing.
She retreated downstairs, where the actress had finally stopped screaming. Yasmeen led her outside and signaled to Rousseau. He sent down two aviators to escort the woman up to the airship while Yasmeen returned to the parlor. Her cabin girl, Ginger, brought Yasmeen’s favorite mint tea down from Lady Corsair, and relayed that Rousseau had locked the actress in the stateroom. Good enough for now. Yasmeen would let Zenobia decide what to do with her.
When Zenobia came downstairs, she stopped and studied Mattson’s body for a long moment. Jaw set, she stepped over him and poured herself a cup before sitting on the chair opposite Yasmeen.
“You’ve come to tell me that Wolfram is dead,” she said.
“Yes.” Yasmeen studied the other woman’s expression. She saw resignation. Sadness. But no sudden grief. “You aren’t surprised.”
“I was supposed to receive word from him two months ago. By the third week, I had to accept that a letter wasn’t coming. So I have had some time to accustom myself to the idea that he wasn’t returning.” She sipped her tea before leveling a direct stare at Yasmeen. “Wolfram isn’t part of your crew. So why have you really come?”
“He was on my ship. He wasn’t my crew, but he was my responsibility,” she said, marveling at the other woman’s composure. How was it that Yasmeen didn’t feel as steady as his sister looked? She slipped her fingers into her pocket, producing her cigarillo case and lighter. “Do you mind if I . . . ?”
“Yes,” Zenobia said bluntly. “It reeks.”
“If you smoke one, too, you won’t notice it as much.” Yasmeen smiled when the other woman only fixed a baleful look on the proffered cigarillo. She slid it back into the silver case. “I have his belongings and his purse—minus the five livre he owed to me for his passage.”
Five livre was a large sum of money, but Zenobia didn’t blink. “I’ll take them. And the da Vinci sketch?”
“You’d be a fool to keep it in your possession.”
“As aptly demonstrated today.”
Though dryly stated, Yasmeen could see that the other woman knew it was the truth. “Mattson will only be the first.”
“Yes.” Zenobia took another sip before coming to a decision. “Sell it, then.”
Exultation burst through Yasmeen’s veins. She contained it, and merely nodded. “I will.”
A tiny smile curved the woman’s mouth. “I understand that on dangerous flights, the airship captain receives twenty-five percent of the salvage.”
Yasmeen met Zenobia’s steady gaze. “For this job, I’ll take fifty percent.”
Zenobia studied her, as if weighing the chances of coming to a different agreement. Finally, she took another sip and said, “I suppose fifty percent of an absurd fortune is still a ridiculous amount of money.”
Clever woman. This was the Zenobia that Yasmeen had expected to find. She wasn’t disappointed. “I’ll see that you receive your half when the sale is finalized.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated,