Queen's Ransom: A Fog City Novel

by Layla Reyne

  Helena followed her out from between the chairs. “Victoria will take you.”

  At the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Thank you, Chief.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry I broke up the party.”

  “Which you were invited to,” Helena said.

  Hand to her shoulder, Celia redirected her gaze and lowered her voice. “Go easy on him.” At Helena’s creased brow, Celia chuckled. “I meant Brax.”

  “No promises.”

  She leaned in and kissed Helena’s cheek, right where her hand had been earlier, a reminder for them both. “Try harder.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Helena pretended not to notice the curious looks she and Chris garnered as they followed Brax around the outside of the bullpen toward the hall of interrogation rooms. After six years doing criminal defense work, thirty-plus years existing as a Madigan in San Francisco, and eighteen years since she’d thrown her first knife, she was used to the stares and glares from police, used to pretending she was any other attorney visiting a client at the station and not the target of periodic SFPD investigations. Folks didn’t know what to make of her, a suspected criminal and a criminal defense attorney, or of the Madigans, pillars of the city and of its criminal underbelly. At least there weren’t as many sets of eyeballs on them on a Sunday afternoon.

  “You want to tell me what happened between you and Celia at the bakery?” Chris asked, distracting her from their audience.

  Did she want to tell her future brother-in-law, the brother of the woman who’d seduced her this afternoon, about the frosting-tinged kiss that had gone from sweet to heat with a single flick of Celia’s talented tongue? “Nope.”

  “You want to tell Dex, though, don’t you?” he said with a sideways grin.

  Fucker knew her too well already. “I do,” she confessed. “But I won’t out her to that asshole. She deserves that satisfaction.”

  Chris chuckled as they turned the corner into the hall of interrogation rooms, and Helena was not surprised to see Hawes and Jax, who had not walked across the open bullpen with them, slip into the hallway from the stairwell at the other end.

  Brax didn’t seem the least bit surprised either. “I can buy you twenty minutes.”

  “Probably only need five,” Helena said.

  He opened the observation-side door for Hawes, who asked Brax, “You gonna watch too?”

  “Fuck no.”

  Chris followed Hawes and Jax into the room, and Brax turned on his heel, back toward the bullpen. Helena caught up to him after a step, grasping his biceps. “After, I want a word.”

  “If I’m still here.”

  “Bullshit, we both know you’ll still be here. Where else are you gonna go? Home alone.” She used his arm to pull him far enough around to catch his gaze. “You made me a promise. You made him a promise.”

  “I’m fucking keeping it.” The sudden vehemence in Brax’s voice—more life than she’d seen in him in months—was enough of a surprise that she loosened her grasp, and he wrenched his arm free.

  “You better be at the wedding,” she called after his retreating back.

  He rounded the corner, but she didn’t suspect he went far. Whatever stick was up his ass, she knew he’d still protect them. Promises and all that.

  She leaned in the observation room door. “You set?”

  Jax was plugging what looked like a flash drive into the small control box by the observation window. “We’re set.”

  Chris stole a kiss from his fiancé, then met Helena in the hallway. “Are you ready?”

  “I don’t want to be in there any longer than I have to be,” she said, confessing another truth.

  “You and me both.”

  Chris turned the knob on the interrogation room door and held it open for her to enter. Dexter Russo was handcuffed to the table, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that hugged his muscular frame, his dark hair askew but in that way that on some guys was always sexy. Ditto the blue eyes, despite the bags he couldn’t hide beneath them. Marco and Mia came by it honestly with two good-looking parents. She could see why Celia would have fancied him at first, before he got his hooks into her and showed her his evil side.

  Just like the asshole he was, he barely took notice of her, swinging his faux big-dick energy Chris’s direction instead. “Well, look who it is. The prodigal son returned.”

  “Dex.”

  “So Cee sends in her big brother to fight her battles now that you’re back?”

  “You’re not worth her time.” Helena leaned a hip against the edge of the table closest to him. “And I’m pretty sure she could kick your ass on her own just fine.”

  He glared at her. “Who are you?”

  Chris mirrored her position at the other end of the table. “Don’t play dumb, Dex.”

  He split a glance between them. “Why would I?”

  Nothing in Dex’s gaze indicated he recognized her, and the look she caught from Chris said he had read the same. He hadn’t shown up for any of the divorce proceedings, which they’d both attended in case he had, so he hadn’t seen her there. And apparently he hadn’t seen her at the shop the other day, which meant he probably hadn’t been in the Charger. And given his dick swinging, she didn’t think Dex was smart enough to play dumb or that his ego would even allow it.

  Chris grabbed the chair on Dex’s other side, spun it around, and straddled it backward. “You been hanging out with Lenny lately?”

  “Why’s that any of your business?”

  “What were you doing trying to break into the shop?” Chris countered, not taking the bait. Helena had to admit it was fun watching the investigator work.

  “I left something there last time I was in town.”

  “There’s a restraining order in place.”

  “That’s why I went when Cee wasn’t there, but the damn bitch changed the locks.”

  Helena grabbed the chains that held Dex’s handcuffs to the table and yanked them forward. Dex’s body lurched with the momentum, his chin smacking the table. She grasped the back of his neck, holding him facedown against the metal. “One, the restraining order applies to her person, home, or place of business. Two, next time you refer to her in a derogatory manner, your wrists will break and your teeth will wind up on the table. Do you understand?”

  “You can’t do this to me,” Dex protested.

  Chris grabbed him by the hair and angled his head in the direction of the camera above the observation window. “You see a light on up there?”

  Dex’s gulp was loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Fine, yes, I understand.”

  Chris released his head and Helena his neck, both stepping back. But neither went far, continuing to box Dex in, and Chris continued his interrogation. “Now, what were you doing with Lenny?”

  “We’re friends. Can’t I just hang out with a friend?”

  “You don’t have friends, Dex. You think you can use everyone. But you’re too stupid to realize you’re the one being used half the time.”

  “You always were a self-righteous ass.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Helena said. “But I also don’t think he’s wrong. We’ve got your and Lenny’s prints on car parts to prove it.”

  “Fine.” Dex slumped in his chair. “He had a friend that needed some work done on a car, and I owed Lenny a favor.”

  “How many favors?” Chris asked.

  Dex stared at his twiddling thumbs.

  Helena tapped the leg of his chair with her toe and he nearly jumped out of it. “Fine! Fine!” Celia could so kick this weaselly fucker’s ass. “Five figures or so.”

  “Christ, Dex,” Chris cursed. “How’d you get that deep in debt with him?”

  Helena wanted the answer to that question too, but she wanted the answer to another more. “Whose car was it?” Clearly it wasn’t Lenny’s, and after their chat with Remy last night, she’d bet money on it being Adrian—

  “Mike Griffin’s.”

  She would
have lost that bet.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was almost midnight by the time Helena returned home. After questioning Dex, she, Chris, and Hawes had made the short trip from SFPD headquarters to MCS to circle up with Holt, who Helena had strong-armed into skipping the station. She’d wanted to talk to Brax, alone. Fat lot of good that had done. Sure, she’d gotten an initial word with Brax, leveling a warning he’d nearly bitten her head off about, but he’d been “too busy” to talk again before she’d left.

  The nugget of earlier worry continued to grow, her soft footfalls up the stairs like an ominous beat in the back of her mind—and in her heart. They needed the buffer Brax provided with SFPD and other law enforcement. More than that, they—Holt especially—needed the absent member of their family back. Her brother was spiraling. Fuck, she was surprised any of them were functioning after the last six months, but Hawes had Chris and she had too many balls in the air to think about the lack of a safety net beneath her high wire. Holt, though, only had Lily and his wall of screens. He was the best of them, the one with the biggest heart, and the recent losses and betrayals had cut him the deepest. She’d seen where that sort of pain could lead Holt, and she’d seen who’d led him out of it. She needed Brax back on board in case Holt found himself in a dark place again. If she had to kidnap the chief to force whatever confrontation those two needed to have, she’d fucking do it. Anything to make things better for Holt.

  But at least for tonight, judging by the lack of sound from the floors above, Holt, who’d left MCS before her, was finally getting some much-needed sleep. In fact, the entire house was quiet, not a nosy cat—or nosy Perri—in sight. The nosiest had gone home with Hawes to their condo, and it seemed the ones left in the Madigan home were likewise asleep.

  Loss of a different sort twisted through Helena. More missed opportunities where Celia was concerned. Against their better interests, she’d wanted to spend more time with Celia tonight, wanted a repeat of that delicious kiss from the bakery, and wanted to assure her that Dex was handled. She’d wanted the illusion of the safety net that seemed to appear below her whenever Celia was around. Comfort and quiet, even as the world spun like crazy around them.

  The same simple comfort that wrapped itself around her at finding the Tiffany lamps in her room softly glowing, fresh flowers on her nightstand, and beside the vase, a cannoli on a paper napkin. She muffled a laugh with the back of her hand, not wanting to disrupt the quiet of the house and the quiet spreading through her. That washed over her completely as she stopped outside the open door of the darkened room next to hers and poked her head inside.

  Greenish-yellow eyes blinked up at her from a tabby face, Daisy tucked against a sleeping Celia’s belly. Neither moved as Helena snuck inside the room and rested back against the wall to admire the beautiful moonlit woman whose dark hair fanned out over the pillow, whose sense of peace reached toward Helena.

  “You’re staring,” Celia mumbled after a minute. Not asleep after all, or at least not fully. She hadn’t opened her eyes, yet her assessment of Helena’s presence and actions were spot on.

  Helena didn’t bother to hide the truth. “You’re beautiful.”

  Celia’s lips curved into a drowsy smile. “What time is it?”

  “Almost midnight.”

  Dark eyes fluttered open as if fighting the weight of their lids. “What time’s your court call tomorrow?”

  “Eight.”

  She winced, the movement drawing a protest meow from Daisy. “You need to go to sleep.”

  “I will in a minute.”

  “Do you sleep?”

  Helena held up a hand, thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Wee bit. Law isn’t the only thing they teach in law school.”

  Mention of the law seemed to wake Celia a measure more, even as she nestled more fully into her pillow. “Did Dex tell you anything useful?”

  Helena repeated the motion. “Wee bit.”

  Celia chuffed, then unwound an arm from under the comforter and stretched out a hand toward her. Reaching toward her physically too. No way Helena could refuse that invitation. She pushed off the wall, crossed the room, and lowered herself onto the side of the bed. Daisy’s death glare and Celia’s drooping eyelids stopped her from doing more, but just this, just Celia’s hand in hers, was the calmest she’d felt all day. Hell, since Friday. She hadn’t been lying to Celia in the gym the other night about her internal monologue not being too far off from Celia’s. Granted, hers was more concerned with Celia’s safety than her own, but that didn’t make the event any less alarming. If anything, it made it more so.

  “Thank you,” Celia said. “For dealing with him so I didn’t have to.”

  Helena gave Celia’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime you want to tag me in to deal with that idiot, feel free.”

  “Not alone,” Celia mumbled sleepily.

  Helena repeated her promise from Friday. “Never again.” She skimmed her thumb over Celia’s knuckles, aiming to soothe her the rest of the way back to sleep.

  But Celia’s caretaker instincts fought the lure of slumber. “You need anything?”

  “Nope, I’m good. Just wanted to say goodnight.”

  “That all you wanted?”

  Helena chuckled. Maybe Celia was fighting some other instincts too, same as she was. She lifted Celia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “No,” she admitted. “But those plans flew out the window hours ago.”

  “And you have court in the morning.”

  “And you have kids to get to school.” Celia’s pout made Helena chuckle again. She added cute to the long mental list of adjectives she used to describe Celia Perri. This one near the top of her favorites. She tried not to think too hard about how she’d love to exist more often with Celia in this halfway land between sleep and wakefulness. “How’s your day look tomorrow?” she asked. “Shop covered?”

  Celia nodded against the pillow. “Yours?”

  “Court, MCS, meeting with Oak.”

  A fond smile ghosted across Celia’s face. “Tell him I said hello.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  And then a blush streaked across Celia’s cheeks, and when her eyes fluttered open again, there was a tiny flame of heat mixed with the drowsiness. “After? Another workout maybe?”

  Helena didn’t think self-defense was the only workout Celia was hinting at, and she was one hundred percent on board with that plan. “I’ll see you then.” She leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Celia’s cheek, a mirror of the one Celia had given her at the station.

  Celia purred, same as Daisy did when Helena gave her a parting scratch behind the ears. She stopped in the doorway, looking back at the cute, beautiful, amazing woman already asleep in the bed. Helena wished like hell there was a way to make this work because this sort of calm—this sort of peace—was something she’d never felt before.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Helena stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of Oakland Ashe’s downtown office. The lights of Alcatraz Island flickered on, earlier than usual owing to the storm clouds that hastened the winter dusk. Maybe the rain would let up tomorrow. She knew they needed it—California always did—but this was also about the time, every wet winter, when she’d had enough of it. And there were still a few months of rainy season to go.

  Noise from outside the office drew Helena from the dreary view. “Oh, Mr. Ashe,” said the legal assistant she’d met outside. “You have a visitor.”

  “I didn’t think I had any other meetings on my calendar.”

  “Because,” Helena said, voice raised, “I wasn’t stupid enough to let you know I was coming.”

  “I’m sorry,” Oak’s assistant said. “She insisted.”

  “I’m sure she did.” Oak pushed open the cracked door, and bemused gray eyes glared across the space at her.

  She drummed her nails along the edge of his desk. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  He dropped his umbrella in the bucket just inside the office, hooked his
raincoat on the back of the closed door, then crossed the room and dropped his briefcase in one of the visitor chairs. While not as tall as her brothers, Oak still towered over her barely five two. “Helena.”

  “Aww, Oak, you don’t seem happy to see me.”

  “Not too keen on being assaulted again.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it in the chair on top of his briefcase.

  “I’ll play nice.” She lifted a hand, pinky crooked. “Pinky swear.”

  He ignored the teasing offer, considering the offeror with narrowed eyes instead. “What do you want?”

  “Guess there’s a reason you’re the best criminal defense attorney in town.”

  “You’re admitting that?”

  “You do have fifteen years on me, old man.”

  He finally cracked, a chuckle escaping, and she pushed away from the desk, strolling toward the round conference table in the opposite corner. “Need to talk about one of your firm’s clients.”

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Off the record. Call it a professional courtesy.”

  “I don’t know that that’s exactly what I’d call it.”

  “Privilege, then. It’s a family matter.”

  “Conflict of interest.” He circled the desk and grabbed two cut crystal glasses and the decanter off the credenza. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

  “Well, seeing as your client, Michael Griffin, was in jail at the time of a drive-by shooting on Friday, I don’t think he did it, but someone is trying to make it look like he did.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my attention.” He placed the glasses on the table and poured them both two fingers’ worth of what her nose told her was high-dollar whiskey. She didn’t begrudge him the drink, or the tie he loosened, or the sleeves he rolled up. He’d been in court all day, only to return and find her waiting in his office. “All right, out with it, then.”