Page 43 of Queen's Ransom

He and August were apparently on the same page, the latter returning his attention to Helena. “What do you want?”

“Need you to get a message to Francis,” she said.

August’s blank face was the picture of indifference. “I haven’t spoken to my brother in years. I want nothing to do with him or the rest of them.”

Helena believed that, to a point. She wagered the present situation was beyond said point. “His drug dealer”—the disinterested mask cracked, his eyes narrowing—“is tight with a Bratva soldier”—and shattered, his eyes widening. She’d wagered correctly.

“Your family,” Hawes said, “doesn’t want to fuck with the Bratva any more than ours does.”

“With Frankie, who the fuck knows.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, then let his arms fall to his sides. “He’d be stupid enough to try, especially if he’s on something.”

“Cocaine,” Hawes confirmed. “It’s possible his dealer—a guy named Lenny—doesn’t even know his other buddy is Bratva.”

“Lenny’s not the sharpest tool in the shed,” Helena explained. “It’s likely he’s trying to impress your brother while his coconspirator is trying to impress his Bratva bosses.”

On heightened alert, August’s gaze swept their surroundings again. Helena wasn’t worried. Holt or Chris or the other operatives on-site would tell them if they were being watched or followed.

“It’s still not good,” August said, lowering his volume. Helena wasn’t worried about that either. Their voices wouldn’t carry past the comms over the steady drum of trudging feet and the ambient rainforest sounds. That’s why she and Hawes had waited to approach him there. “Didn’t you just negotiate a ceasefire with Frank? Why can’t you go talk to him?”

“Because we trust him even less than we trust you,” Helena replied. “He could be working with the Bratva too for all we know.”

August braced his hands behind him, knuckles white where they curled around the rail, and let his head hang back on a frustrated groan. “Fuck, I hope not.”

The plight of the older, responsible brother. Helena felt a tinge of regret for being so hard on both of hers.

“Or he could be flying off the handle and mounting a challenge against the Bratva,” Hawes said, the oldest brother calculating the worst possible outcome.

August righted his head on a glare. “These scenarios aren’t getting any better.”

Helena patted his scruffy cheek. “You always were the smart one.”

“We can’t be the ones to set it off,” Hawes said. “But we need to know your brother’s organization isn’t involved.”

“Or,” Helena said, “you could just steal the bad guy?”

One corner of his mouth twitched, fighting a sly smile. “Isn’t that your specialty?”

Hawes chuckled from his other side and pushed off the rail. “You’re not as out of touch as you pretend to be, Augustus.”

Helena laughed out loud. She’d been waiting for Hawes to deliver that bullet the entire conversation, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist pulling the trigger, knowing he needed that shot of revenge. He’d hit the bull’s-eye, August’s face the picture of fury. Hawes skedaddled out of his reach, into the moving current of people, and Helena darted between them, just in case August tried to give chase. None of them needed an incident in public, even if it did look like a jilted lover’s squabble. “We’ll let you get back to your work,” she said, then fired a shot of her own. “I hope whoever it is contracting you for artifacts is paying you enough for all your time here.”

He let the anger go as quickly as it had come, relaxing back against the rail, and his gaze took on an attractive fondness as he swept it around the museum again. “I don’t mind it.”

“Didn’t think you did,” she said with a wink, then disappeared into the sea of people with her brother, leaving the thief to his work.

Chapter Nineteen

“If I didn’t know better,” Avery said, “I’d think you were more interested in your phone than these proceedings.”

Helena lifted her gaze and surveyed the courtroom, counting counsel and defendants. The crowd had thinned out considerably since they’d first entered and claimed their spots on the last gallery bench, but Dex was last on the arraignment docket, and by her count, there were still five other defendants to go.

“You’d think right.” She returned to scrolling through her texts with Celia. The message she’d sent yesterday afternoon had had its intended effect. Not another peep from Celia, and Helena had never been more miserable. Not the recent winter months she’d gone without seeing her. Not the summer and fall before then that she’d spent watching and wanting from across the garage bay. Not the sharp pang of desire she’d felt when she’d first laid eyes on Celia Perri.

Monday night had been the single best sexual experience of her life, and she’d had her fair share, with men and women. But none of those had ever been as satisfying—or as emotional. She’d liked most of her past sexual partners, but that was as far as her connection to them had gone. As far as she’d allowed it to go. Until Celia. Celia had gotten under her skin, knocked down her walls, and now that Helena knew how good it could be, everything else—everyone else—paled in comparison. And yet, how could she put her own pleasure, her own happiness above Celia’s life? Above the life and livelihood of Gloria and the kids? There was the real push.

“Just text her back,” Avery said.

“And tell her what?” Helena snapped. “Her family’s life’s work was shot up, and she could have been killed because someone is after my family in order to curry favor with the Russian mob.”

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