Page 3 of Queen's Ransom

The fast and furious second assault ended, and the Charger’s driver revved the V8. Tires smoking, it shot off down the street, bouncing like a pinball between cars to a cacophony of answering horns.

Escaping.

Helena shoved the wrench into Celia’s hand. “Stay down!”

Spinning, she grabbed two throwing knives out of the Duc’s saddle bag and ran flat out toward the opening in the gate. She reached the sidewalk in time to see the Charger’s dented fender disappear around the corner. Too late to throw a knife at its tires, much less get a read on the plates, and too late to give chase, judging by the roaring engine and second wave of car horns a street over.

Not that Helena would risk leaving Celia exposed in the shop, unprotected if the Charger made a second pass. Chris would never forgive her. And she’d never forgive herself.

“Fuck!”

Holding both knives in one hand, she dug out her phone with the other and sent an SOS to Holt, trusting he’d distribute the call for help accordingly. As soon as Helena stepped back into the yard, the chain-link fence began to roll closed behind her, Celia operating it from inside. And as soon as she stepped inside the garage bay, Celia banged the red button a second time, the wrench still clenched in her fist.

“What the hell was that?” Her voice shook with the same tremors that visibly rippled through her body, but her dark eyes blazed. She was both terrified and furious.

“A message,” Helena replied.

“For who?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.” And Helena didn’t like any of the potential answers.

Chapter Two

Three hours later, Celia’s head was still spinning. The fact she was climbing the steps of the Madigan family home with her mom and kids in tow only made it spin faster.

Celia had visited the Pac Heights mansion several times before to train with Helena, her daughter Mia more often as a babysitter for Holt’s toddler, and Chris most often as Hawes’s fiancé, but it was the first visit for Marco and Gloria and the first time they’d all been there together.

Mia led the procession, a box of pastries in hand. Beside Celia, her mother, Gloria, oohed and aahed at the Victorian’s extensive restorations. Marco, walking behind them with Chris, was too busy being a punk, as thirteen-year-old boys were prone to do.

“Uncle Dante,” he said, using the nickname bestowed on Chris by his late ATF partner. “You snagged a sugar daddy.”

Chris thumped the back of his head and chided in kind. “Watch it, Plato.”

“Blame it on the hunger trolls in my belly.” He patted his stomach and side-eyed Celia. “We are way past dinner time.”

Another problem with thirteen-year-old boys; they’d eat you out of house and home, the latter of which Celia had uprooted them from at Helena’s insistence. Chris, who’d met them at the garage—the crime scene—had backed the play, leaving Celia little choice but to go along with them, not that she disagreed with the logic of it. Celia shivered. She didn’t know all the particulars of what the Madigans were into, but she knew it was more than cold storage, and she knew they fiercely protected their own. She’d graciously accept that protection to keep her mom and kids safe. Celia never wanted them to experience the terror she had felt earlier, hiding for her safety, scared for her life and legacy, afraid for the life and safety of the woman with her.

The woman who’d beaten them there, judging by the Ducati in the driveway next to where they’d parked. But it was Hawes, dressed in a suit despite the evening hour, who opened the front door. “I think I can help with the food problem,” he said, clearly having overheard Marco’s protest.

Warm air rushed from inside, and on it wafted aromas of fire-baked dough, rich spicy marinara, and melted cheese.

Marco’s eyes widened, round as saucers. “Is that Tony’s?”

Hawes stepped out of the doorway and invited them in with a sweep of his arm. “Only the best pizza in town for family weekend.”

“Yes!” Marco dropped his bags in the foyer and followed his nose to the dining room where pizza boxes were spread the length of the long table. He pumped his fist. “Family weekend was the best idea ever.”

“Told ya,” Chris said with a wink. Credit to her brother and his undercover skills for coming up with the idea. A blending of the families culminating in the wedding cake tasting at their cousin Angelica’s bakery on Sunday. It was as good a cover story as any for why they were spending the weekend at the Madigans’ instead of at home.

Celia pushed Marco’s bags out of the middle of the foyer, then set hers and Gloria’s atop them against the stairwell wall. “I swear he has manners.”

“He did,” Mia said, adding her bulging duffel to the stack. “And then they magically vanished with puberty. Poof!”

“Hey!” Marco protested around a bite of pizza.

She rolled her eyes and offered the pink box of pastries to Hawes. “Accept these as our apology.”

Beside him, Chris peeked into the box. “I’m claiming the mistletoe cannoli.” It was weeks past season but there were perks to being family and perks to Mia also working at AB’s.

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