Page 8 of Queen's Ransom

“Some but nothing like the package here or at MCS headquarters.”

“I’ll rectify that,” Holt said.

Her brother’s sudden reentry into the conversation startled Helena. Holt had always been the quietest of them, but quiet was too generous a description for him lately. Even when she hadn’t been there in person, she had sensed his withdrawal over calls and video. It worried Helena, reminded her of his withdrawal after their parents’ death when no one had been able to reach him. No one except Braxton Kane. Fourteen years ago, Brax had snapped Holt out of his malaise, and until last fall, Brax hadn’t gone a week without talking to or seeing his best friend, despite the conflicts of interest inherent in a friendship between the chief of police and a digital assassin. After Lily was born, Brax had barely gone a few days without a visit, the top cop adorably enamored with his goddaughter. The fact he’d become a ghost the past few months made zero sense, and Helena didn’t buy his work excuse for a minute. End of year was always busy for SFPD; this one no different than the last. Something else was going on with Brax.

“So, we make our lists too,” Hawes said, snapping her back to the present problem. “Work them all.”

Everyone nodded, the meeting effectively adjourned. Even if there had been more to say, Lily put a final stop to it, her cry transmitted over the one-way baby monitor connected to Holt’s setup.

He bolted to his feet, parental instinct on high alert, especially with Lily teething lately. “That’s my cue.”

“I’ll head down too.” Chris stood and patted his belly. “There better be some pizza and pastries left.”

“I’ll join you,” Hawes said and accepted Chris’s offered hand.

Helena rose and crossed in front of them. She’d stashed some legal pads in the corner desk. “I’ll get started on my lists.”

Hawes grasped her wrist, stopping her midstride. “No.”

She reined in her defensive instincts and arched a brow instead. “No?”

“You were almost shot today.”

“Not the first time.”

Hawes’s gaze flicked to the couch and back. “You spent the last twenty minutes fidgeting on that couch.”

“The past three hours,” Chris said. “But who’s counting?”

She wrenched her wrist free so she could flip off her annoying future brother.

Chuckling, Hawes gently covered her hand. “You need to blow off some steam, Hena.”

“So does my sister,” Chris added. “She’s not obvious about it, but she rarely is. Everyone else comes first for her.”

Helena smirked. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Hair? House is a bit crowded for—”

Chris blushed and sputtered. “Sparring! Training!”

His mortification was all the revenge Helena needed, but she played it up some more for fun, jutting out her lip in mock disappointment. In reality, no matter how much she wanted to do more than spar with Celia, she shouldn’t make another move until Celia was safe, including from her.

Embarrassment tempered, Chris clasped her shoulder. “Make sure my sister can defend herself,” he said sincerely. “In case Dex or any of his friends get closer next time.”

At least Chris wasn’t laying the blame at their feet. Whether for his own sake or theirs, Helena would take the offered out and the offered chance to help. “I can do that.”

Chapter Four

Kids fed and settled into the living room with Gloria, Chris, Hawes, the box of pastries and a movie, Celia followed Helena downstairs to the basement. Much like her mother on first arrival, Celia found something new to admire about the old house with each visit. The intricately carved and restored crenellations and crown moldings, how the tall narrow structure seemed to endlessly sprawl inside, the way all that space somehow managed to feel warm and homey despite its elegance, the blond who moved gracefully through its halls like the family cats.

Celia diverted her attention from the sway of Helena’s hips in skin-tight yoga pants. “For future reference, if you ever want to distract my brother, cannoli are key.”

Chuckling, Helena led them around the corner and into the state-of-the-art home gym, flipping on the overheads as they entered. “He did seem laser focused on that pastry box.”

“He always wants first dibs. Our cousin, Angelica, can get him to do practically anything with the promise of cannoli.”

“Anything?”

Celia pitched her hoodie into the corner. “She’s still driving the vintage Mustang he rebuilt for her.”

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