Queen's Ransom: A Fog City Novel Read online

  “She said that?”

  “I was giving her shit for bringing the Duc to you.” He shot her a smirk over his shoulder. “After I tuned it up last week.”

  “You did?”

  “I did.”

  The hummingbird in Celia’s belly soared, flying higher and faster on the heat that tripped through her veins.

  Chapter Six

  Running late, Helena was hustling up the stairs when she nearly collided with Hawes on the second-floor landing. Years of training and coordinated maneuvers, however, made it so neither of them had to think twice about which way to move to avoid the other.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said once the impromptu choreography was over. “I went into the office this morning to get matters sorted for a court call on Monday.” She couldn’t count on any spare time tomorrow, and God only knew what today’s to-do list would look like after this debrief, so she’d had no choice but to hit the office first thing. The to-and-from usually didn’t take long, especially on a Saturday morning when the city was slow to wake, but water falling from the sky doubled travel time, no matter what hour or day. “Traffic’s a bitch with the rain.”

  “Same reason I’m late. Took me an extra twenty to get here from headquarters.” Like their father had, Hawes often worked weekends at Madigan Cold Storage; easier to get work done without so many interruptions. He held an arm out toward the stairs for her to go first. “How are you doing?” he asked as they climbed. “Juggling everything?”

  Vague, not like Hawes, king of the pointed questions, but she went along with it, assuming he was picking up the leading questions habit from Chris. “Pushed the operative meeting to Tuesday, so that’s off my plate for now. Should be relatively straightforward, in any event. Recap of our contracts and some new recruitment targets. As for the day job, the other side’s summary judgment motion was denied, so the case goes forward. The call on Monday morning is to set discovery and trial dates.” They reached the third-floor landing, and she nodded the direction they were headed. “Which leaves this debrief. I gave Holt my lists before I left. I’m eager to see what he’s found.”

  After two steps, she paused and rotated half-around, the silence behind her telling. “You coming?” she asked Hawes, who remained on the landing.

  He leaned a shoulder against the wall instead. “That’s all work stuff.” A raised brow and Helena caught his meaning.

  Pivoting fully, she rested a hip against the stair rail. “You’re asking about Celia?”

  He tilted his head, eyes twinkling with barely concealed mischief. Eyes that were icy blue like hers, like their father’s had been, like their grandmother’s. But the story in Hawes’s eyes had changed. The ghosts that had long haunted them were gone. In their place was a calm and quiet assurance. He’d found where he fit, in the organization and in life, within the family and with Chris. Peace for the Prince of Killers, which left more room for humor and teasing.

  She often played the role of imp, a sharp tongue one of her best weapons, but she doubted levity reached her eyes like it did her brother’s. Hers were closer to Hawes’s eyes of old. She was happy with her roles, more settled in them day by day, but they didn’t leave time for much else. Which was no doubt why Hawes was nosing around in her personal life.

  But her life had no business being the center of attention. “Don’t you think Celia’s got enough on her plate? I don’t want to make her life more complicated.”

  “So you are interested?”

  She rolled her eyes and fell back on her old friend snark. “Fuck you and your fed.”

  “What?” Hawes said with a far from innocent shrug. “We Madigans thrive on chaos, including romantically.”

  “Oooh…” Helena drawled. “Is that what we’re calling last summer?”

  Red slashed across his sharp cheekbones, and Hawes hung his head, chuckling. “Turned out all right in the end.” He raked a hand through his hair, then lifted his face. “I’m just saying, don’t let the present chaos stop you from going after the good sort. And she is, Hena. We knew as much already, but having her and the rest of the Perris here…” His voice drifted off on a contagious smile. Helena felt it too. Their family home was alive again for the first time in months. Years, maybe. Full of the good kind of chaos. If they wanted more of that, they had to make sure the bad chaos was brought to an end. And to do so, she needed to put whatever she was feeling for Celia—the memory of last night’s sparring session she’d replayed in her head countless times already—on the back burner and focus on keeping her and her family safe.

  She restarted up the steps, tossing more snark over her shoulder. “Since when are you the get-a-life tyrant? Especially you, who went out once in a blue moon to get your dick sucked before Mr. Hair showed up?”

  He laughed softly. “I’m trying to keep you from making the same workaholic life choices I made.”

  A familiar gruff voice floated out from the computer speakers in the lair above. Proof of life Helena had to see. She hustled up the rest of the steps and into the room, Hawes on her heels. She nodded to Avery and Victoria across the room, to Chris in the command chair next to Holt, then pointed at the police chief onscreen. “He’s worse than I am.”

  “At what?” Brax said.

  “Being a workaholic.”

  The chief looked it too, more than ever. Hazel eyes bloodshot, skin too pale, wrinkles too deep, his hairline receded a little closer to where his aviators sat atop his head, and his normally square shoulders slumped under the standard issue SFPD rain gear. The umbrella wasn’t doing much good either, the rain slanting sideways with the blowing wind.

  “Push,” Holt said. “I don’t know who would win that one.”

  She ruffled her brother’s overgrown hair, the ends starting to curl. His beard was equally scruffy, and she counted a half dozen used coffee mugs about the lair, two more than when she’d left this morning. “Or maybe you’d win, Little H?”

  He swatted at her hand but didn’t take his eyes off the man onscreen.

  “You find the car?” Chris asked from Holt’s other side.

  “Right where an anonymous tipster said it would be.” Brax reversed the camera view, and there sat the Charger, in the Mission alleyway where Holt had had it towed from before dawn. “Doesn’t look like it’s been touched.”

  “I’m sure it hasn’t,” Helena said.

  Brax swapped the view again, reappearing onscreen, his eyes narrowed. He turned his back to the other officers on the scene and lowered his voice. “If you’ve got the VIN and owner ID, send it through to Jax. It’ll speed up our processes.”

  “Tit for tat, Brax,” Helena said.

  “You’ll get the forensics report when I do. Faster, if I have a good place to start.” He lowered the phone, disappearing from view and preparing to hang up, until Holt’s urgent “Brax” stopped him.

  He reappeared after a moment with his aviators on, unnecessary on a gray rainy day.

  Hiding then. Curiouser and curiouser.

  Holt leaned forward, fingertips on the edge of the screen as if he could reach through it. “Lily would like to spend some time with her godfather.”

  Brax’s lips turned down and the divot between his brows deepened. Helena bet, behind those shades, the chief’s eyes were closed. Pained. Holt’s plea had hit its mark. It was well played, even if Helena knew it was only partially the truth. Holt missed his best friend too.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Brax said. “But things at the station are—”

  “Busy, I know,” Holt replied. “But—”

  “I’ll let you know when I see some daylight.”

  He ended the call, and Holt’s wobbly “Brax” raked across Helena’s heart, creating a tear she was sure was minuscule compared to the one opening in Holt’s chest. For a man so big, he was eerily still, his grief palpable and heartbreaking.

  “He’s still pissed at us,” Hawes said.

  “Possibly,” Helena replied.

  They’d had t
o be more cautious than ever last summer about what information they shared with the chief, which left Brax on the outside more than usual, but it had been for his own protection as much as theirs. She hadn’t been surprised at his anger over it then; she was surprised he was still holding on to it now. That wasn’t like him. There had to be more to it for Brax to distance himself from the two people he loved most in the world. To distance himself from a promise he’d made to her six years ago and to Holt years before that. She scribbled another task onto her mental to-do list, then turned to the current crisis, a distraction Holt could also use.

  She laid a hand on his shoulder. “What’d you find on the ECU?”

  Holt cleared his throat and brought his fingers back to the keyboard in a flurry of keystrokes. “VIN number. The idiots tried to erase it elsewhere but did a half-ass job on the computer. Barely had to dig.” Onscreen, he displayed the ECU readout and the photo of the partial Arizona plate. “Together with the plate, title tracks to Herman Mosley.”

  Helena did not expect the next picture that appeared: a death certificate. “He’s dead?”

  “Since last year, according to Maricopa County.”

  “So how’d his car get from Arizona to California?” Avery asked from where she rested next to Victoria against the other desk.

  “I’ll request the probate records,” Helena said. “See who was supposed to inherit. Arizona is a closed-records state. We shouldn’t have been able to get this much.” She squeezed Holt’s shoulder. “Nice work.”

  “We’re also running down parts,” Chris said. “Two have recent serial numbers, according to the manufacturer. If Cee and I can track them to a shop here, we can see about getting receipts.”

  “And track who bought them,” Hawes finished.

  “I’ll get all this over to Jax,” Holt said. He logged into their encrypted private server and began uploading details for his hacker protégé inside SFPD. Jax would get the info to Brax, who would fast-track the forensics.

  Helena crossed the room to her lieutenants. “Where are we on the lists?”

  “I added a few names to yours.” Avery tapped her index finger against the legal pad Helena had left for Holt. “Squirrelly fuckers from our meetings.”

  Helena read the three additional names. Two she agreed with but the third… “Frank Ferriello? You think?” The Madigans had taken out his brother, Nicky, last summer when Nicky had tried to take out Hawes, courtesy of their traitorous grandmother. Francis had assumed his brother’s merc-in-charge mantel, and he’d been Helena’s first roadshow meeting. “I thought that meeting went well.”

  “Too eager to play ball,” Avery said. “I don’t buy it.”

  “And he’s reached out to two of our soldiers in the past week,” Victoria added. “He’s fishing for something.”

  And that was why Helena had wanted the two of them read in on this. She could never catch everything, not with all the juggling, and Avery and Victoria were a formidable, dependable duo. Their deft handling of the details and the operatives allowed Helena to focus on the bigger picture, which was coming together in her head.

  “Does our list intersect with Celia’s?” she asked Chris.

  “In three places.” He spun halfway back to Holt. “Hit it, Little H.” Chris narrated as three pictures filled the monitors. “Michael Griffin, Lenny Proctor, and Adrian Zima.”

  She didn’t recognize any of them. “All low level?”

  “Relatively. No one above soldier.”

  “Would explain the piss-poor evidence destruction,” Hawes said. “Unless they wanted us to find it.”

  “That’s what I told Cee.”

  “That car was awfully clean.” Helena clicked her nails, contemplating the possibilities, but she needed more data to better assess them. “Give us the run down on the matches.”

  “The latter two are viable,” Chris said, “Griffin, not so much.”

  Holt displayed a rap sheet. “Busted for felony murder. Built an explosive that was supposed to be for a B&E but triggered too early and killed two people. He’s been locked up at San Quentin the past five years.”

  “How’s he connected?” Hawes asked.

  “Worked for one of the groups that picked up our explosives contracts.”

  A perfect example of why they were now out of that business.

  “Associate at Oak’s firm is listed as the attorney of record,” Chris said.

  “You’re right,” Helena said. “Probably not our perp, but worth a chat with Oak, if he’ll do more than glare at me.”

  “He still pissed at us too?” Hawes said.

  Helena held up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Wee bit.”

  They’d hired Oak to represent Holt’s ex-wife, Amelia, who’d been caught up in Rose’s plot. Despite the work, he’d been cool toward Helena ever since she’d knocked him out in a stairwell while they’d been breaking Amelia out of jail. They’d promptly returned her—once Rose had been caught—but Oak admittedly had a right to be grumpy. Helena needed him to get over it for Celia’s sake.

  “I’ll catch up with him on Monday,” she said. “What about those two? Start with Lenny. I think I know where the other one is headed, and I don’t want to go there yet.”

  Chris chuckled, effectively confirming her suspicion, but thankfully granting her requested reprieve. “We went to high school with Lenny. If Dex was into something, so was Lenny. Drugs, petty theft, you name it.”

  “He was on Celia’s list?’

  Chris nodded. “She never liked him.”

  “How does he intersect with us?” Hawes asked.

  “He’s Frank Ferriello’s dealer,” Holt said. Surveillance from Club Sterling flashed onscreen, the two men huddled in a booth, vials and cash exchanging hands. He zoomed in on one of the pictures. “Cocaine, by the look of it.”

  “Might explain the eager,” Victoria said.

  “Maybe.” Avery tilted her head. “But I don’t think that’s all it was.”

  Helena tended to agree, which made this a doubly delicate situation. “If Frank is recruiting,” she speculated, “would Lenny try moving up? Was the drive-by a test?”

  “Could be,” Hawes replied. “Nicky was shit at it. He fucked half his soldiers. Bred loyalty in some, resentment in most. There was as much in-fighting as there were skirmishes with the outside. Frank would need a new crop loyal to him.”

  “If Lenny’s the best he can do,” Chris said, “that’s not much of an improvement.”

  “That’s because the brains of the operation left years ago,” Helena said.

  Holt rotated half around in his chair. “You’re talking about August.”

  Hawes’s eyes flashed—the Prince of Killers among them—and Chris shifted in his seat, instantly in tune to the frosty change in his fiancé’s mood.

  “The older brother?” Chris asked.

  “August made a better thief than a merc,” Hawes replied. “He struck out on his own, using a nest egg he stole from us.” He stood and moved to Chris’s side, a hand on his shoulder to reassure, but Helena doubted Chris bought the forced smile any more than she did. “Let me see what I can find out,” he said. “Before we go back to Frank.”

  Aiming to diffuse the brewing tension, Helena confronted the less than pleasant tension she’d avoided earlier. “And Zima?”

  “Bratva,” Holt confirmed.

  Chris fully stretched his arm above his head. “Way above Dex’s pay grade. I doubt the idiot even knows who he’s dealing with.”

  “If Zima’s low level enough,” Avery said, “no reason Dex would.”

  “And certainly not Celia,” Helena added. “Fuck.”

  “Make the call,” Hawes said to Holt, then to her, “She was on your list.”

  “Remy Pak is always on my shit-could-go-sideways list.” She curled her fingers into fists to keep them from reaching for knives that weren’t at her side. Remy ran guns for the Russian mob, was neck deep in their business, and, after being busted by C
hris in an ATF sting, a CI for the feds. And she was their go-between where the Bratva was concerned. “She’s the definition of shit going sideways.”

  “Pinged her already,” Holt said. “She’ll be at Club Sterling tonight.”

  Fuck, and there went the rest of her day, because she wasn’t going into a meeting with Remy Pak without all her bases covered. She’d hoped to spend some time with Celia, having missed her completely that morning, but it looked like she had an op to plan first.

  “We need to talk about tomorrow,” Hawes said.

  Tension flowed the opposite direction, a tidal wave named Chris aimed directly at Hawes. “What about it?”

  “Should we bring the cake tasting here?”

  “It’s a fair question,” Helena added before Chris could drown her brother. “Frank is a loose cannon, and the Bratva are not to be fucked with. Not even by us.”

  Chris crossed his arms and slumped in his chair. “You want the family staying here until we have this sorted?”

  “Stupid question.”

  “Then you gotta let Cee out, at least a little.” Helena opened her mouth to object, and Chris pointed across the room at Avery and Victoria. “Put more operatives on us if you must, but we’re going to AB’s tomorrow.”

  “Are there cannoli?” Avery asked.

  Chris smirked. “So many cannoli.”

  “I’m in.”

  “Me too,” Victoria concurred.

  “Traitors,” Helena grumbled. “The whole fucking lot of you.”

  Hawes failed to contain his laughter. “You better call your cousin,” he said to Chris. “Put a few more names on the list.”

  “We’re Italian. We always plan for extras.”

  Well, if the traitorous fucker wanted to lay down that kind of gauntlet, she had more than two operatives at her disposal. And all kidding aside, she’d use every fucking one of them to protect her family. “Don’t tempt me, Mr. Hair.”

  The asshole grinned. “Do your worst, Blondie.”

  Chapter Seven