Page 20 of Queen's Ransom

Celia ruffled her son’s chaotic hair. “I’ll get it sorted. You two go crash in the living room. The sofas should be big enough.”

Mia wrapped an arm around her brother, turning him that direction, both cats trailing in their wake. “I don’t know how Nonna sleeps through it.”

Celia chuckled. “Lots of practice.” Between her and Chris, then Mia and Marco, Gloria could tune out anything when she wanted to. Her kids, however, didn’t yet have that skill. And she doubted Holt did either, which was not good when he needed to focus.

Instead of heading directly upstairs, Celia diverted to the kitchen. Given Lily’s age and the sounds Mia had described, Celia had a good idea what the toddler’s fussiness was about and how to hopefully make it better. She set the coffee to brew, pocketed her phone before she forgot it again, and washed her hands. She gathered a tray and the supplies she needed—a sippy cup of ice water, a mini-spoon shoved in a ramekin of ice cubes, and once the coffee maker began to drip, the holy bean water—two full mugs. Tray loaded, she carried it past the living room, checking on the kids who were settling down, then hustled up the stairs.

Celia was at the tip-top when Lily’s gurgling cries erupted into a full-blown wail. She squirmed and wailed in the cradle of Holt’s tattooed right arm, fighting the flannel he’d haphazardly swaddled her in. “Shh, shh, shh. I know, baby girl, I know,” Holt said, struggling to calm her.

“Tag me in?” Celia said, and Holt’s gaze shot up. He looked impossibly more ragged than he had last night, which, as she thought about it, was the last time she’d seen the middle Madigan. Maybe it was the pale skin or the ratty tee and ripped jeans making it all seem more stark, but Holt looked wrecked. “Mia said you might need an assist.”

“I’m sorry if we woke them. I’m the only one here who can be here.” He flicked a hand toward his wall of monitors. “She’s so restless and fussy, and I’ve been trying to calm her, but I can’t, and I need to keep an eye on the op, and—”

“Breathe, Holt.”

“Can you stay, please?” The panic in his voice was unfamiliar on the quiet, typically confident giant, but it was familiar in her own memory, in her own voice, from those early days of parenthood. “She’s never been this fussy before and not even my typing is working. I don’t—”

“Ba-Ba!” Lily cried.

He propped his other elbow on the desk and rested his forehead in his hand, eyes pinched closed. “And Brax won’t answer, and I can’t…” The strangled sigh he made was misery personified.

Celia carefully pushed aside a keyboard, snagged the towel off Holt’s shoulder, and spread it on the desk. “Is she feverish?” she asked as she laid out her rescue tools.

“Last time I could check, she had a low-grade fever.” He tucked the flannel around her again, trying to pin her flailing arms. “She’s miserable, and nothing seems to work. I just want her to feel better.”

“Ba-Ba! Ba-Ba!” Lily cried.

Pain slashed across Holt’s features again, but with Lily’s next cry, he shuttled it aside. “There’s also a rash on her face.”

The way Holt was holding Lily, Celia couldn’t see her entire face, but she could guess at its location. “Right about here?” She pointed at the corner of her own mouth. “And more drool than usual?”

Holt nodded and surveyed the items she’d laid out. “What’s all that?”

Celia pushed a mug of coffee his direction. “Reinforcements for us.” Then gestured at the rest. “And teething reinforcements for her.”

“She’s been teething.” Holt half rocked, half spun in the chair as Lily’s cries escalated. “This is worse than usual.”

“Some teeth are worse than others.” Celia wiped her hands on the end of the towel, then swirled her right index finger in the ramekin of ice. With her other hand, she brushed the backs of her fingers over Lily’s cheek. Warm, but not overly so. “You mind if I check?” she asked.

“Go for it.” Holt shifted Lily in his arms so Celia could more easily reach her. “Though don’t blame me if she bites.”

“Kind of the point.” Celia withdrew her cold finger from the ice and gently felt around inside Lily’s mouth. “Mia was the same. Best baby, even at the start of teething. I thought I had it made. And then this one tooth, whoo-boy.” Likewise with Lily, it seemed, the toddler clamping down on Celia’s finger as it skirted over the nearly protruding tooth. “Yep, there it is.”

Holt slumped in the chair. “Oh, thank fuck.”

“Be careful.” Celia shifted with them, resting a hip against the desk. “She’s going to start picking up more words, including the naughty ones.”

“Only because society says it’s naughty. Between this family and a cop as a godfather, that word in particular is unavoidable. I’d rather she learn when to use it, not make it a forbidden fruit.”

“Hmm, wonder if that approach would’ve worked with me and Chris?”

Holt arched a brow, and Celia was glad to see his dry sense of humor returning.

“Probably not,” she agreed. “And I agree, it is a great word. So useful. But she’s a little young to understand how and when to use it best.”

“Fair point. Fuck.” His eyes flared at the immediate slip, and he slapped a hand over his mouth, cursing behind it again.

Celia laughed. “We may need to think about a swear jar.”

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