Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
She was looking at her father.
Victoria tried to picture his stern, intelligent hazel eyes instead of the brown ones that watched her across the table with a personal dislike her father never showed.
But in essence, Detective McCully was the same. He was an authority figure used to having his way. Someone who did not like to be crossed and could make a person sorry for doing so. A man who should, then, respond well to the same approach that worked with her father.
If she cooperated and did her best to show she was on his side, she should be able to keep the detective calm and bring about some semblance of peace between them.
“Did Briscoe tell you he was leaving you everything?”
She swallowed, an act that was becoming increasingly difficult since McCully had never brought her the glass of water she’d requested.
How long ago was that? An hour? Two? “No, he never said anything to me about his will, an inheritance, or anything of the kind.” She refrained from adding that McCully had already asked her the same question three times.
That would only antagonize him further and counteract her efforts to placate him.
At least attempting to picture her father across the table distracted her from thinking about where she was. Thank the Lord, they’d put her into a room that looked more like a boardroom than the dark, cold interrogation cells one saw on TV shows.
But she was still being interrogated. McCully’s belligerent questioning and accusatory tone left no doubt about that.
She, Victoria Weston, was a suspect in a murder. She had been driven to the station in a squad car and was now undergoing interrogation like a criminal.
Cillian must be laughing at her expense right now. She, the ultimate rule-follower, being detained by the police and questioned.
Perhaps one day, she would laugh about it, too. But that was impossible to imagine at the moment.
She tuned in to yet another repeat question from McCully.
“You honestly expect me to believe you didn’t influence him, and you didn’t even know what was in his will?”
She met his gaze steadily, as she’d been doing the entire time.
“All I can do is answer your questions truthfully. Whether or not you believe the truth is up to you. We never discussed his will or an inheritance beyond what I already told you, that he referenced his niece and nephew waiting for him to die so they could collect their inheritance.”
“So you’re suggesting they might be the ones who bumped him off.” It was an accusatory statement rather than a question.
She stifled a wince at his callous wording.
“Not at all. I’m only answering your questions honestly.
” Though reviewing her conversations with Thomas and recounting for McCully that final day she’d seen him made her view the people in Thomas’s life in a new light.
Now that his death was positively an intentional killing, there had to be a killer.
Could Thomas have been correct? Would his own flesh and blood have wanted him dead and done something to bring that about?
“Look, Ms. Weston.” The detective slid a hand over his mustache as he shifted in his chair. “In my experience, guilty people try to point the finger at anyone else they can to get us to look elsewhere.”
She pinched her lips together and brought in a small breath through her nose.
“Detective McCully, Thomas Briscoe was not only my patient, he was also a dear personal friend. His death is a tragedy, and as you witnessed when I brought this evidence to you immediately on that dreadful morning, I want to ensure that the person who ended his life is found and caught.”
A smirk pushed up the detective’s mustache. “Guilty people always want to appear helpful.”
“I wouldn’t know, Detective. But I do know that I want to cooperate and help you find Thomas’s killer in whatever way I can.”
“Good.” An unpleasant smile revealed his uneven teeth. “Then you won’t mind answering more questions.”
“Of course not.” She didn’t blink. “I will help in whatever capacity you need. But I would also like to tell you the additional evidence I found at Thomas’s house.”
“You were at the house after Briscoe’s death?”
“Yes. The lawyer informed me I had inherited the estate, and I went to see if more evidence of foul play could be found.”
“Foul play?”
Victoria stared at him. Was the man actually going to criticize her use of formal vocabulary? It would become even more difficult to picture her father in his place if he continued that line of criticism.
“You sure you didn’t want to get in to start collecting what was yours? Or maybe cover up some evidence you left behind?”
She resisted an ill-timed swallow that could make her look suspicious.
She probably shouldn’t have mentioned she’d returned to the house.
It could sound like someone returning to the crime scene to ensure nothing incriminating could be found.
She needed to forge ahead and get to the point.
“I thought that as the detective investigating this murder, you would want to know that we noticed a bookend was missing and the office had been ransacked. A man—”
“A bookend?” Sardonic amusement laced his tone.
“Yes. From a valuable glass set Thomas had loved. It was near the door of the library, suggesting perhaps someone grabbed it and could have used it to attack Thomas.”
McCully’s mouth straightened into a more serious line. Was he finally taking her seriously? “Anything else?”
“The office was a mess. It was clearly searched by someone. And then a man ran out of the office and fled the house.”
“Really?” His raised eyebrows didn’t match his thoroughly skeptical tone. “Let me guess, he got away, and you can’t identify him.”
She paused. But she had to cooperate and answer truthfully. “That’s correct. But Cillian saw the car he used for his getaway.”
“Ah, Doherty. So you were there with your boyfriend.” Another cynical statement worded as a rhetorical question. But he was completely incorrect, as usual.
“Cillian Doherty is not my boyfriend.”
“Avoiding the question?”
She held his gaze, fighting to keep her expression open and calm, a feat that was becoming more difficult by the second.
“Not at all. Merely giving you all the facts, as I’m sure you want me to.
We are not dating, and, yes, he was at the house with me and can confirm everything I’ve shared about the intruder and the evidence we found. ”
“You have a lot to learn if you think that’s evidence. But maybe you’ll learn as we keep chatting. Now, tell me again when you befriended Briscoe and became his confidant. And how you got him to give you the security codes to his property and house.”
Wonderful. Apparently, they were starting at the beginning again with the same innuendo, suggesting Victoria had conned her way into Thomas’s affections for personal gain. Perhaps she should have followed Cillian’s advice and called a lawyer instead of agreeing to speak with the detective.
She still could say she wanted a lawyer.
She knew that much from the bit of TV and movies she had watched.
But doing so would only make her appear guilty and increase the personal vendetta McCully already seemed to have against her.
Men like him did not appreciate someone else being right when they were proven wrong.
He must be seething over the fact that the autopsy did not prove his accidental death theory correct, despite his insistence that it would.
Yet that did not excuse detaining her so long when she hadn’t even been able to reschedule her appointments.
“Detective McCully,” she maintained a calm, controlled tone, “I’m willing to help you however I can. But could you tell me how much longer this will take? I have two more patient appointments scheduled for this afternoon.”
“Had appointments. You said you want to cooperate, right?”
She squashed the urge to narrow her eyes at his use of her own words against her.
She didn’t know if he had the right to hold her longer or not, but since she was claiming innocence and trying to prove it by cooperating, she had no other choice but to stay.
Even if she tried to leave, he might then decide to detain her overnight or even arrest her. The thought nearly made her shudder.
Then she would have to call a lawyer. But calling a lawyer would mean calling her father. It was bad enough that she was being questioned as a suspect at a police station. Having her father find out would be far worse.
No, she would have to deal with the detective herself.
By using the peacemaking skills she’d honed during sixteen years of managing the Weston family dynamics, she should be able to handle this detective.
She would simply cooperate and give him what he wanted—short of a confession of guilt—until he finally, hopefully, let her go free.
“This is insane. You know she was the first one trying to make you people see he was murdered, right? She could sue.” Cillian dropped the threats on the officer who’d been sent to the front desk at the police station when Cillian had demanded to see someone about Victoria.
The guy was one of the two backup cops McCully had brought with him to drag Victoria away for questioning.
“She hasn’t been arrested yet. Detective McCully is only talking to her.”
That yet didn’t help cool the hot blood rushing through Cillian’s veins. “He isn’t seriously going to try to hold her, is he? She’s already been detained well beyond her legal rights.”
“She’s stated that she wants to cooperate.”
Come on, Victoria. Frustration gripped his gut.
She would play long, trying to follow all the rules like she did with her father.
That wasn’t exactly keeping her out of trouble this time.
He glared at the cop. “I don’t think she meant she wants to give up all her legal rights. What if I call her a lawyer?”
“She’s agreed to be interviewed without one.”
Terrific. The one time Cillian almost wished Victoria had called her father, and she apparently wouldn’t. With his connections, he could get her out in two minutes flat. But she was probably afraid that would get her in more hot water with McCully. Or her father.
Cillian glanced at his watch. “Did she agree to be questioned for three hours? I don’t think so.”
“She hasn’t been interviewed for that whole time.”
“Oh, that helps a lot.” Cillian laced the response with heavy sarcasm. “What were you—”
The heavy door where the officer had emerged opened.
Victoria.
Cillian’s heart lurched as she walked into the lobby, followed by the female officer who’d helped take her away. He hurried to Victoria, stopping short of pulling her into his arms like he wanted to.
Strands of auburn hair had pulled free from her bun and framed her beautiful face. Her green scrubs beneath her open jacket intensified the color of her eyes. Worry and fatigue reflected in them as she met his gaze, twisting his gut.
Oh, forget it. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms. He had to show her it was going to be okay. To be the strong one for her so she didn’t have to be strong for herself and everyone else, just for one moment.
She didn’t fight it. Didn’t pull away.
She actually let her cheek rest against his chest. She was letting him hold her. In public, no less.
His heart thumped harder, probably crashing into his ribs where she would feel it.
She pulled away in one graceful move, leaving his arms and heart feeling empty and lost without her.
Man, he’d missed her. But the fact she’d let him hug her showed how badly she needed support and comfort right now, even if a guy couldn’t tell from her poised and composed exterior.
He still needed to give her that support somehow, no matter how badly he wanted to hold her longer and much more often.
“Did they let you go?” He scanned the lobby. No sign of the officer who’d brought her out or the one Cillian had been blasting.
She nodded, giving him a glance. “My father.”
“You called him?” Annoyance crept into his belly. Her daddy was the hero who got her out of trouble, once again. That would only make her depend on him all the more.
“No. I didn’t want him to know.” She folded her arms across her jacket and rubbed her own triceps, like she was cold. “They let me call Hank earlier to ask him to take care of Max.”
“Max?” Was he a patient? Or some guy in her life Cillian didn’t—
“My dog. He must have told Dad where I was.” She clearly knew Cillian never would’ve called Henry Weston.
But Cillian’s mind was stuck on the news she’d just dropped. “You have a dog?”
“Yes.” Her hazel eyes connected with his. “That surprises you?”
“Yeah, it does.” Her dad had never allowed pets in his home. Maybe she had learned to rebel just a little. Cillian grinned. “Let me guess, some little yappy thing?”
Her chin lifted. “Actually, he’s one hundred and forty pounds and rarely barks.”
Cillian stared at her. That was unexpected.
But the glimmer of the strong Victoria with her new spunk filled him with relief.
She was okay. “I’ll have to see this dog to believe it.
Let’s get you home.” He resisted the urge to put his arm around her and instead headed for the exit door. He’d already pushed it with that hug.
He stepped into the crisp air outside, stopping to hold the door for her.
She glanced at him as she passed through. “Thank you for the ride, but I need to go to my father’s house. He texted me a few minutes ago.”
Cillian let the door close and walked beside her, leading the way to his jeep parked in the lot a couple rows away. He knew why her old man would want to see her now. “You need rest, not a lecture.”
Victoria paused, touching Cillian’s arm through his jacket sleeve.
He stopped. Looked down at her slim hand. She kept doing that. Touching him. It was a good sign.
“Cillian.” Her tone brought his gaze to hers. Emotion swirled in the hazel depths. Anxiety, urgency, and probably something she didn’t know showed—a vulnerability that made him want to take her into his arms again. “Please.”
He clenched his jaw. But he nodded and put his arm around her shoulders as he guided her to the jeep.
He would take her to her father. But he would not leave her there alone. Never again.