Page 1 of Queen's Ransom

Chapter One

The Ducati was running hot—so was Helena—and her favorite mechanic… ice cold. Celia Perri didn’t seem to want to help her with either problem. Stretched across the front fender of a mint-condition SS, Celia didn’t bother to lift her gaze from the engine she was knuckle-deep in. Cast in the waning light of day, the woman and the car were sexier than they had any right to be.

Forcing down a growl, Helena cut the Duc’s engine, kicked the stand into place, and dismounted. She removed her helmet and shook out her hair, using the motion as an excuse to case the shop. Besides the Chevelle, there was only one other vehicle inside the garage—a Bentley jacked up on blocks the next bay over. The coverall-clad legs under the sedan’s bumper bent, and Lorenzo, Celia’s second at the shop, rolled out from beneath the car.

“Miss Madigan.” Smiling, he propped himself on his elbows on the dolly, the patches of gray hair on either side of his chrome dome sticking out Einstein style. “Been a while since we seen you.”

Celia’s eyes flicked up. Brief but long enough for Helena to glimpse the ice there, same as Helena had cast Celia’s way two months ago at the joint birthday party for Celia’s daughter and Helena’s niece. About what Helena expected—and deserved.

“Work kept me out of town.” She stopped outside the bay doors, close enough to speak to Lorenzo while keeping an eye on Celia. “Longer than I wanted to be, but I’m home now.” Celia straightened, wiping her hands on a shop rag and continuing to ignore Helena. “Bike sat for too long while I was gone,” Helena said, pushing a little harder. “Seems my brothers can’t be bothered to treat her right. Could use a tune-up.”

The Chevelle’s hood slammed shut. “Hey, Zo.” Celia finally spoke. “Why don’t you go ahead and call it a day.”

“I can take a look at the bike for Miss Madigan.”

The old man had always been sweet on her, or the bike, Helena wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Probably both. But she hadn’t come to the shop for his attention. Celia saved her from making an excuse, crossing into Lorenzo’s bay and stretching a hand down to him.

“No worries. I’ve got it.” She helped him to his feet and patted his shoulder. “Get an early start on the weekend. We’re still waiting on the brakes for the princess anyway.”

The chill in her husky voice made Helena think she wasn’t only talking about the Bentley. Again, what Helena deserved.

Lorenzo, thankfully, didn’t seem to pick up on the undercurrent. “All right, then. Not gonna argue that.” He ran his greasy hands down the front of his coveralls and flashed Helena another smile. “Miss Madigan, Cee’s the best there is with the bikes. You’re in good hands.”

“That’s why I bring my baby here now.” Ever since she’d met the best mechanic in San Francisco.

And the hottest.

When Celia had barreled into her brother, Chris’s, hospital room last summer, Helena had lost her breath. For a split second, she’d forgotten all about Chris, the gunshot victim in the bed, and her own missing brother Hawes. She’d been captivated by the gorgeous stranger with long brown hair and blazing brown eyes. Lust at first sight, and fast on its heels, blinding anger at whomever had delivered the black eye and split lip Celia had hastily covered with makeup. Celia’s bruises were gone now, along with her abusive ex-husband. The fire in her eyes was out too, at least where Helena was concerned.

The chill radiating off Celia was enough to keep Helena lingering outside the bay doors, waiting as Lorenzo washed up, said goodbye, and climbed into his truck. His taillights had just cleared the yard’s gate when the hydraulic lift in the bay closest to the office powered on.

“Bring her over here,” Celia called.

Helena walked the bike to the half-sized bay, this one outfitted for motorcycles. Once the single-platform lift was in place, Celia dropped the ramp and Helena rolled the Duc onto the platform. She positioned the front wheel in the padded vise for Celia to clamp in, held the bike steady as Celia attached stability wires on either side of the seat, then stepped out of the way so Celia could raise the lift.

All without saying a word. They didn’t need them. They’d performed this routine a dozen times last summer and fall. Helena had had Celia rebuild a perfectly good engine and fix other things on the Duc that didn’t need fixing, all so she could spend more time in Celia’s presence. So she could watch in awe as Celia worked with her hands and tools, making an already exceptional machine even better. So she could revel in the heat and wallow in desire whenever Celia bit her bottom lip, the same way Helena would like to—

“You’re back,” Celia said, cutting short the familiar fantasy.

Helena shifted to relieve the throb between her legs and so she could see Celia on the other side of the lift. “Flew home today.”

Celia placed a small drainage bucket under the engine and used a wrench to open gaskets and check fluids, pulling out this dipstick or that. “For how long this time?”

“No plans to leave again anytime soon.” It had taken longer than anticipated to cut ties with certain business associates and to shore up connections with others, but she and Hawes were happy with their current slate of contacts and contracts. Jobs that fit the new rules—no indiscriminate killing, no collateral damage, no unvetted targets. Jobs their operatives could handle going forward, allowing Helena breathing room for her attorney job… and maybe also for a life. “I have client meetings and matters at the courthouse,” she said. “And the wedding at the end of the month.” Their brothers were tying the knot.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re back.”

“In part.”

Dark eyes cut to hers—a flash of curiosity—then Celia turned and wove a path into the bowels of the shop. “I’m sure the boys and Lily will be happy to have you back.”

Helena circled to the other side of the bike and leaned her hip against a stack of tires. “How are they?”

“You didn’t see them first?” Celia asked over the clank and clatter of tool cabinets opening and closing.

“No one was at the house when I got in.” Even before she’d left, Hawes had been at the family home less and less, having moved into Chris’s renovated condo, and his fraternal twin, Holt, had been spending more and more of his restless nights remodeling the murder house he’d bought in Pacifica. Helena had taken ten minutes to love on the family cats, then gone straight to the shop, to the place and person she’d most wanted to see. “So I came here.”

Celia emerged from the shadows of the garage, supplies in hand. She spread them out on a rag at the edge of the platform—filters, washers, belts, spark plugs, and a quart of oil. She turned her back to Helena. “You didn’t have to.”

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