Queen's Ransom: A Fog City Novel Page 12

  Hawes stepped to the side of the monitor wall and pointed at the car Lenny had stepped out of. “Whose car is that?”

  “Adrian Zima’s.”

  “Fucking hell.” Helena dropped her arms, crossing them in front of her, at the same time Hawes asked, “What the hell were they up to?”

  “Getting someone’s attention,” Helena said.

  “They’ve got ours,” Hawes said, following her train of thought.

  “And we need to get the Bratva’s before they do.”

  And in the meantime, she needed to stay as far away from Celia as possible.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bill drove the Bentley back into the shop yard and his smile was big enough to see through the windshield. He swung the car around behind Celia and pulled next to where she stood, the driver’s-side window rolled down. “She rides like a dream.”

  Celia returned the smile as she wiped her hands on a rag. “You’re dream, Bill. You deserve it.”

  “Thanks, Cee.”

  “You have any issues, just give us a call.”

  “How about I have some friends give you a call when they need work done?”

  “Always happy for the business.”

  The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened. “I’ll be sure to send them your way.”

  Celia sensed those wrinkles were born of hard times, and she was happy to be the cause of them in better ones. It made keeping the smile on her own face easier. “All right.” She slapped the roof of the car. “Get out of here and enjoy your ride.”

  Once the Bentley cleared the lot, Celia relaxed her cheeks and blew out a long slow breath. She inhaled again, holding it, as she checked her phone.

  Her stomach sank. Her Dinner tonight? text to Helena remained read but unanswered.

  The day-long radio silence was the complete opposite of yesterday evening at the shop and late last night over texts, where their heated back-and-forth had continued. Celia had deleted the messages before going to sleep, not wanting the kids to accidentally find them, or worse yet, Gloria or Chris, but just thinking about them now, about how Helena had directed her every move with the vibrator, made Celia blush.

  But since their brief exchange that morning, sweet and in-line with yesterday—Celia’s Weird waking up here again and Helena’s You’re always welcome in my house… and my bed—there’d been no responses to Celia’s other texts. All of them read and unanswered.

  A flirtatious midday check-in, a selfie taken on the dolly where they’d gotten frisky yesterday.

  A picture of the finished Bentley.

  The dinner ask.

  Had Celia pushed too hard? Maybe the flirty picture had been too much. But after yesterday evening, after last night, after Helena’s first and only text this morning…

  Behind her, Lorenzo cleared his throat. “You’re glaring at that phone like you want it to explode.”

  With messages would be good. Instead, it and the woman she wanted to hear from remained silent. She tucked the phone away and walked back into the bay where Zo was working on an after-market mod of a Urus. Less weight, more power, and a big paycheck for the shop. “Was just hoping to hear from someone.”

  “Miss Madigan?”

  She ran her hand along the custom spoiler and ducked her chin, hiding the blush that automatically came from being called out on her crush by the man who was her late father’s best friend.

  At the front end of the car, Lorenzo lowered the hood. “I’m just glad you two are okay after Friday.”

  Okay was a relative term, but to her staff, she wanted to project calm and normalcy. She’d filled them in yesterday morning on the previous week’s events. She’d had to in order to explain the leftover forensic dust, bullet holes, boarded-up windows, and spray paint, the new windshield that had been rush-ordered for the Bentley, and the new surveillance and extra muscle around the shop. Grant, it had turned out, was a bit of a garage rat himself, his grandfather a mechanic for a trucking company, his dad a vintage car enthusiast, so he knew how to make himself useful when needed and how to get out of the way when he wasn’t. Or maybe that was just him doing his job, no doubt one of the best at it if he worked for the Madigans.

  “I feel bad I left when I did,” Lorenzo said.

  “Don’t, Zo.” She crossed to his end of the car. “I’m glad you were out of here and safe, and thank you for the extra work on the Bentley.”

  “Was a pleasure, and I’m sure Miss Madigan is just busy. She always seems that way.”

  Not untrue, but Celia didn’t think that was the entire reason for the freeze out. “You got it in here?” she asked. “I need to do some paperwork in the office.”

  “You go on. I’ve got it.” He used his rag to wipe a smudge off the Lambo’s hood. “Gonna finish up a few things, then I’ll clean up and close up.”

  “Thanks.”

  She tossed her own rag in the hamper, washed her hands and forearms at the sink, then headed to the office, Zo’s words continuing to rattle around in her head. Maybe she was overreacting. Yes, Helena had disappeared on her for months, but she’d promised that wouldn’t happen again. That she would stay this time, and she’d kept that promise through the chaos of the past weekend. If Helena was too busy to respond to texts, it was probably because of Celia, because Helena was out there doing everything possible to make sure she and her family were safe. She sat behind her desk and tapped out a new message on her phone. Let me know if you need anything.

  When no reply text or bubbles appeared after a minute, she set the phone aside, facedown, and focused on the parts order that had to get submitted by end of day. Fifteen minutes later, her phone vibrated. She snatched it off the desk, flipped it over, and grinned at the text alert from Helena. She opened the message.

  I’m good. Let Chris or Grant know if there are any issues tonight.

  Her smile died. Helena’s words were cold and efficient, like a work text or email. A brush-off. Granted, it was easy to misread emotion, or the absence of it, over texts, but this message was clear, especially after the day long silence. She wouldn’t be hearing from or seeing Helena again tonight. She slumped in her chair, gaze drifting to the couch where twenty-four hours ago Helena, in blue satin, had been spread across her thighs, riding her hand and biting her shoulder as the two of them shared what Celia had thought was an amazing experience.

  Had she dreamed it all?

  She blinked fast, trying to hold back threatening tears. Was she making excuses for Helena, same as she’d done for Dex all those years? During all his absences? She angrily wiped away the tears that defied her. She fucking knew better. She and Helena had barely struck up a friendship again. Why had she thought this time would be any different? Why had she let her heart and body hope for more?

  The desk phone rang, and she set aside her cell to answer it. “Perri—” Voice rough, she cleared her throat and started again. “Perri Auto Works.”

  An electronic voice talked over her. “San Francisco County Jail,” it said. “Call for Celia Perri from Dexter Russo. Do you accept?”

  She opened her mouth to say no, then caught the refusal on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t want to talk to Dex, but maybe if she did, he’d be stupid enough to say something they could use to catch the drive-by shooter.

  “Yes.”

  Two clicks later, Dex greeted her with a surprised, “You took my call.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I started that wrong.” She was sure he wore an artificial smile to match the artificial sweetness in his voice, fake sugar that had kept her hanging on for far too long. “How are you, Cee?”

  She kept her own voice as flat as possible, steeling herself and not giving him an ounce of her emotional capital that was already running low. “Fine.”

  “I’d hoped to see you at the station or here at the jail. Thought maybe you’d bring the kids by to see me.”

  “In jail?”

  “I’m their father.”
>
  “Maybe you should have thought about that before breaking into the place that provides for their food and clothes.”

  Sugar quickly turned to venom. “You sent your brother and that other lawyer after me instead.”

  “I did.”

  “They’re dangerous, Celia.”

  “Because they helped protect me from you?”

  Turned to cajoling. “You don’t need protection from me.”

  She covered the bullshit she wanted to utter with the unvarnished truth. “You hit me, Dexter, and for years before that you abused me in other ways. I’m done with it.”

  “I didn’t abuse you. I would never do that.”

  “You don’t know the meaning of the word, Dex, and I won’t expose my children to that kind of toxic environment any longer.”

  “Our children.”

  The swing from sugar to venom to sugar was like being on an amusement park ride. Observing it from the ground now, instead of being on the ride itself, she was so fucking glad to be off it. “That’s the one good thing you did, Dex. You gave me those kids, but beyond that, not much other good came out of our marriage.”

  “I gave you a life,” he spat.

  “Bullshit.” She let some of her fury and conviction loose. Yes, it was expended capital, but for the longer gain. “I made a life for my family.” She wanted him to hear how pissed she was, wanted him to know she was confident enough in herself to kick him to the curb for good. She could support her family and live her life without him. “You’re not a part of that anymore. We’re moving on. I’m moving on.”

  “Moving on? With who?” For once in his life, Dex put two and two together. “With that lawyer bitch? The way she treated me was—”

  “Her name is Helena, and I’m sure you deserved whatever she did to you. I only wish I’d had the chance.”

  “Celia, you don’t—”

  “Goodbye, Dex.”

  “What about the arraignment?” he blurted out. “Will you be there tomorrow?”

  “No, but I’ll be sure to have Helena give you my regards.”

  She hung up before he could respond, almost missing the receiver cradle because her hands were shaking so badly. Fight or flight—she recognized the response now—and for the first time in her life, she’d fought back against Dex. She was proud of herself, but she was also shaken, expecting reprisal even if she knew it wouldn’t be coming. She needed to talk to someone.

  She grabbed her cell, thumb hovering over the speed dial for Helena, until the earlier pain and doubt flooded back in. Already weakened, it would have taken out her knees if she weren’t sitting. As it was, it tossed and turned her insides, leaving her even more of a mess, which Helena no longer wanted to have anything to do with, no matter what she’d led Dex to believe. She scrolled down her contacts list to the counselor and survivor who led her domestic violence support group.

  “Celia, hey,” Bonnie answered. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s been a rough few days,” Celia said. “And I just had a bit of a run in with my ex.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, it was a phone call, and I actually stood up to him, but now I can’t stop shaking. I could use someone to talk to.”

  “Good for you, and after that kind of a rush, the crash is totally normal,” Bonnie said. “Caffe Trieste in a half hour?”

  Celia sighed a deep, relieved breath, her first one all day. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Helena slid in beside the man dressed in worn jeans and a long-sleeve tee and rested her forearms on the metal rail overlooking the lush green canopy of Cal Academy’s indoor rainforest. “Do you come here every week because you actually like science and nature?”

  Hawes assumed the same position on the other side of August Ferriello. “Or is it because there’s a mark within five feet at all times?”

  Maybe even closer in here. The rainforest walkways were narrow and the flow of foot traffic steady. Two steps back and she’d be right in the stream of it. And then there was outside the giant glass dome where the multi-floor California Academy of Sciences teemed with countless visitors and patrons.

  “Does it look like I’m scoping marks?” August replied, his voice rougher than she recalled, and Helena wondered when he’d last spoken to anyone. She didn’t wonder, though, what August’s sharp eyes were assessing.

  “Marks, no,” Helena said. “Exits, yes.”

  He aimed his smirking light brown eyes at her. “You always were the smart one.”

  “Yet you slept with the other one?”

  “Mistakes were made.” August resumed his roving downward stare and jutted his chin toward the crowd below. “Not like I’d steal from any of them.”

  “You gone clean?”

  “Ninety-nine percent of tourists aren’t worth it.”

  “That’s right,” Hawes said. “You’d rather rip off us locals instead.”

  August pushed off the rail, only to turn and rest back against it, arms crossed over his broad chest. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  Hawes leaned a hip next to his and adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves beneath his suit coat. “It’d be nice to have my father’s cufflinks for the wedding.”

  August shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh?” Hawes said, a whip in his tone that made Helena worry for August’s safety. “So that wasn’t you who fucked me, then stole the family jewels while I slept?”

  Chris’s growl through the comm in Helena’s ear was likewise worrisome, but at the same time highly amusing. In what was turning out to be a brutal day, made more so by the distance she was forcing herself to keep from the one person she wanted to get closer to, she welcomed the momentary amusing distraction of Hawes snipping at his one-night stand while Chris fumed.

  “I don’t think that ex-fed would be marrying you if I’d stolen all the jewels.”

  “Get to the fucking point,” Chris ordered.

  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.”