Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
PAIGE
I can’t believe he’s here.
My Cillian—here.
Like an avenging warrior, leaping into action to save me.
My thoughts are too scattered now to really appreciate it, but I know I’ll replay those memories later—Cillian emerging from the stairwell, his expression dark and dangerous, racing towards Derrick and taking him down in a flurry of moves that could have come straight from an action movie.
Then his gaze as he looked at me; all his emotions on full display. Anger. Worry. Relief. And a look that went deeper than words. A look heavy with something more than affection.
“Paige,” he breathes. He strokes my hair again, and this time I notice the slight tremor of his hand. His eyes burn into mine. “God, Paige. Are you okay?”
I’m momentarily distracted by Derrick whining, “This isn’t what was supposed to happen. You’re supposed to live alone! I watched to make sure.”
Cillian’s head jerks in Derrick’s direction, and he growls, “You watched her?” The muscles in his jaw work. Then, more coldly, he adds, “I’d suggest you shut your mouth right now. Or the police may show up to find a body instead.”
Is it weird that I’m not bothered in the least by Cillian’s threat? That I actually find this dangerous Cillian sexy?
And oh, is he.
As I stare at Cillian’s face, I catalog the details of it.
His strong jaw, covered with a dark shadow of stubble.
His wide mouth, with a dimple to the left of it.
His Romanesque nose and his expressive eyebrows.
And his eyes… the color is somewhere between emerald and evergreen with tiny flecks of gold and amber mixed in.
I notice the scars, too—one slashing down his forehead and another cutting across his cheek. But just as I thought, they don’t detract from his handsome features. They’re just a part of who he is, like my freckles and unruly hair that likes to erupt into crazed curls whenever it rains.
“Paige,” Cillian repeats once he’s turned his attention back to me. “Are you hurt anywhere?” His gaze flickers to my bare ankles, which are rubbed raw from struggling against my bindings. Those muscles in his jaw twitch again. “Other than your ankles, and I’m assuming, your wrists,” he clarifies.
I do a quick self-inventory, taking stock.
Wrists and ankles are definitely sore, but nothing critical.
My right bicep throbs from where Derrick grabbed me.
I’m shaky, most likely from the fading adrenaline rush.
But overall, I’m in pretty good shape. Especially considering I was just held hostage by a man with a gun.
“I’m okay,” I reply. “Nothing more than some bruises.”
Cillian frowns. “Bruises aren’t okay. He never should have—” He stops. His mouth pinches. “Anyway. Let’s get these ropes off you. And I need to call the police.”
A wail erupts from the floor. “No! I can’t go to jail!”
“Then you shouldn’t have broken into her house and held her at gunpoint,” Cillian snaps. Then he pulls a knife from his pocket and unsheathes it, revealing a wicked-looking blade beneath.
As he carefully cuts through the ropes at my ankles, I say, “He’s one of my callers.
Derrick… something. He wanted me to look into the future and tell him how to fix his life.
” The lingering fear makes my voice shake.
“He lives nearby and saw me walking dogs through his neighborhood. And I guess… I said hi to him. I don’t remember, but he recognized my voice. And he…”
“Paige.” It’s low and strained. “I’m so damn sorry.” The ropes drop away from my ankles. Cillian gently rubs my sore skin, and I’m shocked by the sizzles of electricity his touch leaves behind.
“I’m just glad you came,” I reply. Nothing could be more true. Not just because he saved me, but because he’s finally here.
Cillian moves behind me to work at the ropes around my wrists. Once again, his fingers slide across my skin, slightly rough but achingly tender. “I asked some of my Army buddies to help find you,” he says. “I know it was a breach of privacy, but I had to do something.”
Once my wrists are free, I shake my arms out. Painful tingles shoot through them. Cillian looks at my face and says, “It’s just the circulation coming back after your arms were pulled back like that for so long. It’ll go away in a minute or so.”
I don’t want to think about how he knows that.
He grasps my hands and pulls me gently to my feet. I sway slightly, more from overwhelming relief than anything. But Cillian—my hero—immediately wraps an arm around me, tugging me close to his chest.
And oh, my, his chest is just as hard and muscly as I thought it would be. “I’m alright,” I tell him. But I’m in no hurry to leave his embrace.
“I’m sorry,” Cillian repeats. “For having my friends find your address. But I thought if I tried to call your company, it might take longer.”
“It’s fine.” I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. “But how…”
“I got on the road as soon as I had your address. I called the police, of course, but they came by and claimed everything looked fine.”
“I heard them. The police. Someone knocked, but Derrick threatened to hurt me if I made a sound.”
The arm wrapped around me goes rigid. Tension vibrates through Cillian’s body. “I should have hit him again,” he grits out.
“You did a pretty good job, I think.” A glance over at Derrick—who’s currently flopping around like an upended turtle—shows an already-reddening bruise on his jaw. “I can’t believe how fast you took him down.”
Pride flickers across Cillian’s face. A slight smile quirks his lips. “I practice every day. Jiu Jitsu, Krav Maga, and Taekwondo.”
“Well, you looked really good at it.” And sexy, though I’m not mentioning that part right now.
“I’m glad I’ve kept up my skills.” He holds me for another few seconds before saying, “I need to call the police. Are you going to be okay if I let you go?”
Will I? Yes. Do I want him to? No.
Cillian looks at me for a second before he shifts me to his side, still keeping his arm looped around me. “Nevermind. This works, too.” His eyes search mine. “If this is okay?”
I nod at him. “It’s okay.”
From there, it’s a flurry of activity.
First, Cillian calls the Fredericksburg police and cooly informs them that yes, there was something wrong at my house, and perhaps the responding officer should have done a better job investigating, since I was being held hostage by an intruder right in my basement.
As we wait for the police to arrive, I tell Cillian everything; from the moment I heard the first sound inside my house to Derrick dragging me into the basement with a gun pressed to my back, and finally, Derrick’s deranged demands for me to psychically repair his screwed up life.
“Maybe I should stop working as a phone psychic,” I say at the end. “I like some of the callers, but I never imagined one would want to hurt me.”
“Whatever you want to do,” Cillian replies, “I’ll help you. And regardless of the job you choose, I’m installing better security at your house. Please let me do it, Paige. No matter where things go between us from here.”
Where will things go between us? It’s a question we can’t exactly delve into with a criminal zip-tied on the floor and the police on the way. But later? I definitely want to get into it.
And I hope he feels the same way as me.
Once the police arrive, it’s over an hour of controlled chaos.
Officers reading Derrick his rights, replacing the zip ties with handcuffs, then dragging him out to a waiting police car.
And there are the dozens of questions for me and Cillian, with a few dicey moments when one stern officer asks Cillian, “How do we know you weren’t involved?
You show up and conveniently find the exact spot where the intruder got in. Then you swoop in to be the hero.”
But Cillian isn’t fazed for a second. With an edge to his tone, he replies, “I thought Paige might be in trouble. So I surveilled her house. Like the responding officer should have done. And if you have any questions about my integrity or background, feel free to contact Colonel Nichols at Fort Campbell. He was my supervisor while I served in the Fifth Battalion. Special Forces. He’ll vouch for me. ”
The suspicious glances in Cillian’s direction turn to respectful ones after that. Thankfully. Because if anyone else even hints at Cillian being involved in Derrick’s messed-up plan, I’ll share some choice words with them myself.
It’s close to midnight when the police finally leave. I feel a bit like a truck has run over me, or I’ve been through a wash cycle and left in a crumpled pile to dry. Cillian takes my hand as he leads me back upstairs, but halfway there, he puts his arm around my waist instead.
“I know you must be exhausted,” he explains. “I don’t want you tripping. Hurting yourself again.”
I’m not complaining. Even though I’ve only just met Cillian—in person, that is—being held by him feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Once we get into the living room, he deposits me on the couch before going around to adjust the lights, dimming some and turning on others.
Then he spends a couple minutes wandering the house, returning to announce, “Okay. All the windows and doors are secure. Until I get your security upgraded, I’ll put some temporary wedges in the windows so no one can open them from outside. ”
He looks so serious about it, so determined, I wouldn’t dream of disagreeing. And honestly, I don’t want to.
“Okay,” I reply. Then I pat the couch cushion beside me. “Can you stay? For a little while, at least? I know it’s late, but I’d really like to talk to you without crazy Derrick or police officers around.”
Cillian crosses the room and sinks down beside me. His leg bumps mine, sending more of those electric sizzles through me. I hold my breath, wondering if he’ll stay put or put distance between us.