Page 115 of Price of Angels

He would be away from the clubhouse and beyond Holly’s reach most of the day, if she should need him.

But he said, “No, sir.”

Holly stood in Ava and Mercy’s tiny outdated kitchen, weak sunlight pouring through the naked window, sleeves pushed to her elbows as she contemplated the lump of floured dough Ava had amassed on the cutting board.

“It’s hideous,” Ava said.

“No.” Holly stepped to the counter and patted the dough with one flour-dusted hand. “It’s just a little overworked.”

“Said no man ever,” Ava deadpanned, and they both burst out laughing.

Holly had been shocked to get a call from Ava that morning. After Michael had left for work, and she’d been tidying the loft, her cell had rang. The boys were going on a charity run, Ava had said, and her classes at UT didn’t start until next week, and she had writer’s block, and would Holly like to come over and help her with this bread recipe?

Holly had jumped at the chance. She didn’t have to be at work until two. And she couldn’t believe, after New Year’s, that anyone involved with the club would want to see her again. Ava had sounded relaxed and genuine on the phone.

So now here she was, in the tiny apartment above the bakery, putting her baking knowledge to the test. The apartment was very old, all-original, classic dark hardwoods with white walls. And it was full of books and mismatched furniture and an underlying warmth that reflected the lovebirds who lived here.

“I think it’ll be okay if we let it rise,” Holly said.

“How do we do that?”

“Do you have a deep bowl?”

Ava produced one from an upper cabinet and Holly transferred the dough into it, draped it with a damp towel and set it off to the side. “We won’t know for sure until it comes out of the oven,” Holly said.

“That’s a lot of work for potentially shitty bread.”

“If it turns out bad, you can always go downstairs and buy some.”

Ava nodded and turned, put her back to the counter. She made a face. “Yeah.”

“Their bread’s not good?”

“It’s delicious,” Ava said. “It’s just that…” She exhaled through her nose. “Well, Mercy didn’t have much in the way of a mother growing up. And since I’ve had some time off, and nothing else to do – well, I guess I’m trying to be the mother he never had,” she said, and it had the air of an admission. She gave Holly a wry smile. “How dumb is that? I’m twenty-two and trying to be his mom.”

“It’s not dumb. I don’t think it is, anyway.”

“He–”

The crash of shattering glass was like a slap, it was so loud, and so sudden. Like a fist punching into the room, it assaulted them.

Holly shrieked and couldn’t hear it, her voice lost amid Ava’s shout. They grabbed at one another, falling against the counter.

There was a brick on the floor. Winter air streamed in through the jagged hole in the kitchen window; bright slivers of glass littered the tile.

“Someone threw a brick through the window!” Ava said with total disbelief. “Holy shit!”

Holly’s ears were filled with the pounding of her heart. A cold sweat chased across her skin as her eyes moved from the ruined window to the brick.

“There’s a rubber band around it,” Ava said, voice a shaking semblance of collected. She released Holly’s hands and took a cautious step forward, avoiding the glass.

Holly followed her. “Be careful.”

Ava knelt and took the brick in her hands. On the underside, beneath the rubber band, was a folded slip of paper. She withdrew it, opened it, and read it, her pale face going chalk white.

She turned it toward Holly, so she could read it too.

We found you.You’re coming back home with us.

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