Page 5 of Queen's Ransom

Holt skirted around her and claimed one of the two rolling chairs in front of his… command center. Was that the right word? A flurry of keystrokes later and several of the screens went dark before Celia could even comprehend what she’d seen on them. Good. She didn’t need that much of a peek. A small yet firm hand landed on her lower back, and Helena directed her to the seating area, sinking onto the sofa beside her. Not touching, but close enough for comfort and reassurance. Celia wasn’t too proud to admit she needed both after the day’s chaos.

Hawes perched on the arm of the high-backed chair across from them, angled toward Holt. “What do we know?”

Several other monitors flickered on. “That’s the street outside the shop,” Celia said, recognizing and comprehending the images this time.

Holt nodded. “Surveillance from the shop cameras and from traffic cams and ATMs.”

He rewound the footage to the moment Celia’s world had started to spin. Not in the good way, not like the first time she’d laid eyes on Helena Madigan. One look at the petite blond at Chris’s hospital bedside and hummingbirds had taken flight in Celia’s belly, making her lightheaded and making her forget, for a few precious seconds, all the bad things that had happened to her that awful week. This was not that feeling. Onscreen, a black Charger, its lights off, veered around the corner two blocks away from the shop. It swerved across lanes of traffic, pulled alongside the shop’s gate, and opened fire, bullets and sparks pinging off the shop’s metal walls. All the bad things that had happened during the awful day were drawn into sharp, deadly focus.

“That’s the car,” Helena said.

And sharper still as Holt paused the playback and zoomed in on the car’s rear bumper as it turned the corner at the other end of the street. “We’ve got a partial on the plate,” Holt said. “Arizona. I’ll get it processing.”

“The bullets?” Hawes asked.

Chris gathered his long dark hair into a messy top knot and spun the desk chair next to Holt so he could straddle it backward. “SFPD is processing. We’re being kept in the loop.”

“Tire tracks?”

“Not enough to do us any good, but we don’t need it. We’ve got enough to work with from the cameras.”

The rapid-fire back-and-forth among the Madigans and Chris continued, making Celia’s world spin faster. As did another paused image onscreen. A gun perched on the shadowed passenger window frame, aimed directly at the shop.

Celia’s mind transported her back there and she relived those terrifying few minutes. Helena grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her down. Helena curling her body over hers, muffling each of Celia’s shouts and jerks as bullets pinged off metal, louder and worse than any hailstorm Celia had ever experienced. The crack of glass. A brief silence, then another round of gunfire. The absolute terror when the gunfire ceased, and Helena left her. Celia hadn’t feared for her own safety but for Helena’s.

A thigh brushed against hers, and Helena curled an arm around her shoulders. “Breathe, Cee,” she said. “Just breathe.”

“Someone shot up the shop.”

“Shock,” Hawes said. “Blanket?”

Holt moved about the room, but Celia’s mind barely acknowledged it, still caught several hours before back in the garage. “The busted window in the Bentley, in the office, in the waiting area… Shit, I didn’t look to see if the SS was hit.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Helena squeezed her shoulder. “I didn’t notice any damage to it.”

Holt handed a blanket to Helena, who folded it around Celia’s shoulders. The baby powder scent calmed the spinning a little. “That’s Whiskey Walker’s SS.”

“He’s a friend,” Holt said. “It’ll be okay.”

“And he’s used to being shot at,” Chris added.

Celia pulled the blanket around her tighter, grateful Helena’s arm came with it. “Who would shoot up the shop?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Helena said.

Chris rolled across the floor, close enough to lay a hand on Celia’s forearm. “We’re going to sort this out. We just have to consider all the possibilities.”

“Were you having trouble with anyone at the shop?” Hawes asked. “Employees or customers? Anyone from Arizona?”

She shook her head. “We’re a small, tight-knit crew. No issues there, and none with customers. And we’ve had no Arizona customers that I can recall. Like I told Chief Kane, we’re just a local shop.”

“That services high-end autos.”

“Why would anyone shoot those up?”

“One of those cars was Jameson Walker’s.” Helena’s gaze skipped to her brothers. “Message to his crew?”

“Why?” Celia said. “He’s a basketball coach?”

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