Queen's Ransom: A Fog City Novel
Queen’s Ransom
A Fog City Novel
Layla Reyne
Contents
Stay in Touch with Layla
About this Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Coming Soon
An Excerpt from Silent Knight
Acknowledgments
Also by Layla Reyne
About the Author
Queen’s Ransom
Copyright © 2021 by Layla Reyne
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the copyright owner, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review.
Cover Design: Cate Ashwood Designs
Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar Photography
Editing: Susie Selva; Proofreading: Lori Parks
First Edition
March, 2021
E-Book ISBN: 978-1-7341753-6-3
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7341753-8-7
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.
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About this Book
Everyone leaves.
Love is risky business when you’re an assassin.
Helena Madigan has lost loved ones to the family business before. Now that she’s in charge, she’s determined never to risk her heart again.
Except every time Celia enters the room, she takes Helena’s breath away.
But the one time someone stays…
Celia Perri likes to be helpful.
She just wants to run the family auto shop, raise her kids, and help her brother plan his wedding.
But when a drive-by shooting targets the garage, Celia’s simple life is upended.
Now ensconced within the Madigan family, there’s no escaping Helena, the blonde bombshell she’s been crushing on for months.
It could cost her everything.
As the Madigans investigate, Celia witnesses their love and loyalty up close.
And their business.
Instead of being afraid, she sees a place for herself among them. She could be a confidant and caregiver—if only Helena would stop pushing her away. If only she’d admit their mutual attraction might lead to more.
And if only someone would stop shooting at them long enough to find out.
Queen’s Ransom is the fourth book in the Fog City romantic suspense series. It can be read as a stand-alone but is best enjoyed after reading books one through three of the series.
For Susie,
who wouldn’t let me quit on this one (and who kept me in Dunkin’ until I crossed the finish line).
Chapter One
The Ducati was running hot—so was Helena—and her favorite mechanic… ice cold. Celia Perri didn’t seem to want to help her with either problem. Stretched across the front fender of a mint-condition SS, Celia didn’t bother to lift her gaze from the engine she was knuckle-deep in. Cast in the waning light of day, the woman and the car were sexier than they had any right to be.
Forcing down a growl, Helena cut the Duc’s engine, kicked the stand into place, and dismounted. She removed her helmet and shook out her hair, using the motion as an excuse to case the shop. Besides the Chevelle, there was only one other vehicle inside the garage—a Bentley jacked up on blocks the next bay over. The coverall-clad legs under the sedan’s bumper bent, and Lorenzo, Celia’s second at the shop, rolled out from beneath the car.
“Miss Madigan.” Smiling, he propped himself on his elbows on the dolly, the patches of gray hair on either side of his chrome dome sticking out Einstein style. “Been a while since we seen you.”
Celia’s eyes flicked up. Brief but long enough for Helena to glimpse the ice there, same as Helena had cast Celia’s way two months ago at the joint birthday party for Celia’s daughter and Helena’s niece. About what Helena expected—and deserved.
“Work kept me out of town.” She stopped outside the bay doors, close enough to speak to Lorenzo while keeping an eye on Celia. “Longer than I wanted to be, but I’m home now.” Celia straightened, wiping her hands on a shop rag and continuing to ignore Helena. “Bike sat for too long while I was gone,” Helena said, pushing a little harder. “Seems my brothers can’t be bothered to treat her right. Could use a tune-up.”
The Chevelle’s hood slammed shut. “Hey, Zo.” Celia finally spoke. “Why don’t you go ahead and call it a day.”
“I can take a look at the bike for Miss Madigan.”
The old man had always been sweet on her, or the bike, Helena wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Probably both. But she hadn’t come to the shop for his attention. Celia saved her from making an excuse, crossing into Lorenzo’s bay and stretching a hand down to him.
“No worries. I’ve got it.” She helped him to his feet and patted his shoulder. “Get an early start on the weekend. We’re still waiting on the brakes for the princess anyway.”
The chill in her husky voice made Helena think she wasn’t only talking about the Bentley. Again, what Helena deserved.
Lorenzo, thankfully, didn’t seem to pick up on the undercurrent. “All right, then. Not gonna argue that.” He ran his greasy hands down the front of his coveralls and flashed Helena another smile. “Miss Madigan, Cee’s the best there is with the bikes. You’re in good hands.”
“That’s why I bring my baby here now.” Ever since she’d met the best mechanic in San Francisco.
And the hottest.
When Celia had barreled into her brother, Chris’s, hospital room last summer, Helena had lost her breath. For a split second, she’d forgotten all about Chris, the gunshot victim in the bed, and her own missing brother Hawes. She’d been captivated by the gorgeous stranger with long brown hair and blazing brown eyes. Lust at first sight, and fast on its heels, blinding anger at whomever had delivered the black eye and split lip Celia had hastily covered with makeup. Celia’s bruises were gone now, along with her abusive ex-husband. The fire in her eyes was out too, at least where Helena was concerned.
The chill radiating off Celia was enough to keep Helena lingering outside the bay doors, waiting as Lorenzo washed up, said goodbye, and climbed into his truck. His taillights had just cleared the yard’s gate when the hydraulic lift in the bay closest t
o the office powered on.
“Bring her over here,” Celia called.
Helena walked the bike to the half-sized bay, this one outfitted for motorcycles. Once the single-platform lift was in place, Celia dropped the ramp and Helena rolled the Duc onto the platform. She positioned the front wheel in the padded vise for Celia to clamp in, held the bike steady as Celia attached stability wires on either side of the seat, then stepped out of the way so Celia could raise the lift.
All without saying a word. They didn’t need them. They’d performed this routine a dozen times last summer and fall. Helena had had Celia rebuild a perfectly good engine and fix other things on the Duc that didn’t need fixing, all so she could spend more time in Celia’s presence. So she could watch in awe as Celia worked with her hands and tools, making an already exceptional machine even better. So she could revel in the heat and wallow in desire whenever Celia bit her bottom lip, the same way Helena would like to—
“You’re back,” Celia said, cutting short the familiar fantasy.
Helena shifted to relieve the throb between her legs and so she could see Celia on the other side of the lift. “Flew home today.”
Celia placed a small drainage bucket under the engine and used a wrench to open gaskets and check fluids, pulling out this dipstick or that. “For how long this time?”
“No plans to leave again anytime soon.” It had taken longer than anticipated to cut ties with certain business associates and to shore up connections with others, but she and Hawes were happy with their current slate of contacts and contracts. Jobs that fit the new rules—no indiscriminate killing, no collateral damage, no unvetted targets. Jobs their operatives could handle going forward, allowing Helena breathing room for her attorney job… and maybe also for a life. “I have client meetings and matters at the courthouse,” she said. “And the wedding at the end of the month.” Their brothers were tying the knot.
“Ah, so that’s why you’re back.”
“In part.”
Dark eyes cut to hers—a flash of curiosity—then Celia turned and wove a path into the bowels of the shop. “I’m sure the boys and Lily will be happy to have you back.”
Helena circled to the other side of the bike and leaned her hip against a stack of tires. “How are they?”
“You didn’t see them first?” Celia asked over the clank and clatter of tool cabinets opening and closing.
“No one was at the house when I got in.” Even before she’d left, Hawes had been at the family home less and less, having moved into Chris’s renovated condo, and his fraternal twin, Holt, had been spending more and more of his restless nights remodeling the murder house he’d bought in Pacifica. Helena had taken ten minutes to love on the family cats, then gone straight to the shop, to the place and person she’d most wanted to see. “So I came here.”
Celia emerged from the shadows of the garage, supplies in hand. She spread them out on a rag at the edge of the platform—filters, washers, belts, spark plugs, and a quart of oil. She turned her back to Helena. “You didn’t have to.”
Helena waited for Celia to get the first timing belt off, lowered in her right hand, before she made her move. Hooking her toe in the belt’s loop, Helena kicked out and pulled Celia off-balance. But only for a second. Shifting into a lunge, Celia yanked the shop rag out from under the parts and chucked it at Helena’s face, her fist following in its wake, using her momentum to power the swing.
Helena batted aside the rag and blocked the jab with a raised forearm, catching Celia’s weight against her. “Good,” she said. “You’ve been practicing.” While Helena had blocked the landing, Celia’s quick correction and subsequent action, making use of what she had on hand for self-defense, would buy her time against an unsuspecting attacker. Such as her ex-husband, if that idiot ever showed his face again.
As far as Helena was concerned, all Celia had to do to get the upper hand against her was ask. Fire back in her eyes, a flush streaking across her cheeks, a long brown curl escaping her ponytail, Celia was fucking stunning. And so fucking close after months of personal and physical distance. Close enough to smell the shop grease, the lingering traces of Dove soap, and the strong Italian coffee Celia kept on constant brew at the shop.
Until Celia pushed against Helena’s forearm and righted herself, resurrecting the distance between them. “Cruz doesn’t exactly take no for an answer.”
“Mel’s a good teacher.” The FBI agent turned bounty hunter was the only person who could best Helena in hand-to-hand combat. She was a certified badass and a friend. One Helena had trusted to protect and train Celia during her absence.
“She is.” Celia knelt to pick up the scattered parts. “Dependable.”
Unlike her. Direct hit. Helena muffled her sharp inhale and knelt beside Celia. “Fuck, Cee. I’m sorry.”
Celia whipped her face the opposite direction and the avoidance fucking stung. Deserved, but stung. Helena picked up the last spark plug and placed it with the others in Celia’s rag. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
Celia stood and laid the rag full of parts on the platform, neatly spreading them out again. “You didn’t promise me anything.”
“I promised to be your friend.” Helena rose but didn’t step back. “To help you.” She’d wanted to promise more, offer more, but between wanting to give Celia space to work through her divorce and juggling her own obligations—succeeding Hawes as assassin-in-chief and managing a grueling year-end wrongful convictions caseload—she’d done the opposite of promising or offering more. She’d overcommitted, pulled back, then fled. And now so had Celia.
“You sent Mel,” Celia said as she removed and replaced spark plugs. “And I knew Chris and your brothers had my back.”
“It’s not the same.” The next time Celia’s face was angled her direction, Helena grasped her chin. Not to force her gaze, but to get a closer look, to run her thumb across Celia’s smooth skin and see if there was any discoloration beneath the layer of foundation.
Nothing, thank fuck.
“Have you heard from him?” Helena asked.
“Not a peep.” Celia shook her head, dislodging Helena’s hold. “Do I have the Madigans to thank for that?”
Celia didn’t know the full scope of their operations, but she wasn’t blind. She’d been there for Chris during his and Hawes’s shit last summer, during their grandmother’s attempted coup. She knew the Madigans did more than run a cold storage business, and Chris’s past career as an ATF agent—before he’d become an in-house investigator for the Madigans—had taught Celia to not ask questions she didn’t want the answers to. Her discretion and her acceptance of their atypical reality were two of the many reasons Helena liked her so much.
“That,” Helena conceded, “plus a restraining order and an airtight divorce judgment.”
Celia finished replacing the second timing belt. “You don’t know Dex like I do. He always comes back.”
Helena grasped the timing belt and gave it a gentle tug, drawing Celia’s attention. “If he does, he’s gonna find things have changed. You’re not alone, Cee. You never will be again.”
Appreciation and relief eased the tightness around Celia’s mouth and eyes, softening her features. A crack in the glacier. Helena would take that, valued it more than any desire she’d hoped for. Celia deserved comfort and peace after too long without it. She wasn’t much older than Helena, and she’d already raised two kids into their teens and taken over her late father’s garage, all while dealing with a worthless ex who cheated, abused, and frequently disappeared.
Like Helena had. She didn’t want to make that mistake again. “I’m sorry, Cee. Truly.”
A blink, a nod, and another flash of heat in Celia’s dark eyes. That morphed into anger as tires squealed on the road outside the yard fence, the accompanying growl of an engine growing louder. “Assholes.” Celia tossed the timing belt aside and stepped toward the bay door. “They act like the road out there is a drag strip, never mind the parks at eithe
r end of the street.”
Except run-of-the-mill assholes who pretended to be speed demons usually drove BMWs, preferred the left or center lane, and forgot to cut their lights as they sped up.
The black Charger that slashed across lanes of traffic toward the curb in front of the shop, just on the other side of the chain-link fence around the yard, gaining speed with its lights off in the dusky twilight, did not appear to be driven by the average run-of-the-mill asshole.
Celia registered the same reality, her eyes going wide. “What the—”
Helena grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her back inside the bay. “Get down!” Spinning them, she curled over and around Celia, moving them into a crouch behind the stack of tires. She blindly flailed out an arm, searching for anything that could work as a weapon. Her fingers closed around a wrench as a hail of bullets pinged the exterior metal walls of the garage. Glass shattered a bay over, and beneath her, Celia screamed.
“Stay down!” Hand to Celia’s back, making sure she stayed low and out of sight, Helena peeked over the top of the tire stack. Was it a drive-by or an incoming attack? Neither, it seemed, as the Charger screeched to a halt outside the opening in the yard gate. If she’d been alone, Helena might have taken advantage of the narrow window of surprise and gone on offense. But she wasn’t alone. She had to play defense. “How do I get the garage doors down?” That had never been something she’d needed to look for before.