Chapter 18 #2
The proposition brought the uneasiness back in full force, knotting her stomach.
She certainly hoped the detective wouldn’t do anything of the kind.
But she couldn’t interfere with his investigation any further.
She would get in worse trouble than she already was.
She needed time to think. “We? Don’t you have to work? ”
“I get vacation time with this job. I’m taking it now.”
She blinked at him. “You can’t do that. You just started.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “They’re desperate for another clinical social worker. They know it and I know it. They’re not going to fire me.”
She shook her head, disbelief swirling in her mind. “How can you risk your job and angering management, especially so early on in your new position?”
His gaze darkened. “I don’t like what they’re doing to you.” There it was again. The look in his eyes that said he cared for her. Quite a lot.
A shiver passed through her. It must be the temperature. She pulled her gaze from his. “Well, I am not impervious to cold, so I will be going inside.”
“What are you doing here anyway?” He glanced up at the Life Pregnancy Care Center sign. “Something you’re not telling me?”
Her cheeks flushed with heat. “Of course not.” She spotted his teasing grin too late. She should have known he’d only said that to embarrass her. “If you must know, I volunteer here.”
“Of course you do.” His grin gave way to a lesser smile that matched the softening of his eyes. Was that approval that shone in his gaze?
Why that pinched her chest, she didn’t need to ponder at the moment. “I’d better hurry, or I’ll be late for an appointment.” She headed for the front door.
“Right. Let’s go.” He passed her and reached the door first. He swung it open, gesturing for her to go through. He was going in with her? That was the last thing she—
“Victoria!” Sydney hauled herself out of a chair beside her brother in the lobby and hurried to Victoria, her hand on her large belly. “You made it.” Her smile beamed, making Victoria very thankful the Lord had rearranged her schedule so she could be there.
“I did. I had some unexpected cancellations today.” As in, the entire day’s worth of clients. But Sydney didn’t need to hear that saga. She had enough drama in her own life.
Victoria returned the girl’s hug as best she could around the baby she was carrying.
“Yay! I’m so happy you’re here.” As Sydney pulled back, her gaze jumped behind Victoria. To Cillian, judging from the upward trajectory.
Wonderful. Now more people in Victoria’s life would learn about him and likely arrive at mistaken assumptions. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t be rude.
She angled to see Sydney and Cillian. “Sydney, I’d like you to meet Cillian Doherty, my co-worker.”
He shot her a glance at the co-worker description. What did he expect her to call him?
She pressed on as if she hadn’t noticed. “Cillian, this is Sydney Morris, my friend.”
“Delighted to meet you, Sydney.” He gave the teen a charming smile as he took her small hand in his.
Sydney giggled, her wide eyes sparkling.
It was remarkable how many women reacted to Cillian that way. No wonder he tended toward cockiness.
“Victoria’s been my mentor for like six months, but she’s never mentioned you.” Sydney kept her attention on Cillian, her head tilted back for her to aim her mesmerized smile up at him.
“Is that so?” He sent Victoria a teasing glance as he released Sydney’s hand. “I guess I’m a secret she likes to keep all to herself.” He winked at the girl with that rakish grin he used to wear as a teen whenever he wasn’t sulking at people.
Warren stalked toward them, a frown on his face as he scanned Cillian as if sizing him up.
“Cillian, this is Warren, Sydney’s brother.”
“Hi.” Cillian extended his hand to the tall eighteen-year-old who was only an inch or two shorter than Cillian. “Good to meet you.”
Warren didn’t take Cillian’s hand. He likely wasn’t happy with the way Sydney was clearly charmed by Cillian. Couldn’t blame Warren, given that his sister had been charmed and impregnated by an older man. It was good someone cared enough to protect Sydney.
“He’s a friend of mine, Warren.”
The teen’s brown eyes, a duplicate of Sydney’s, went to Victoria, then shifted back to Cillian. He stuck out his hand and gripped Cillian’s with a nod.
Victoria glanced at the clock that hung on the wall of the lobby. “Sydney and I have an appointment. Warren, are you staying?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m taking her home after.”
“Good. I’ll see you when we’re done, then.” Victoria let her gaze go to Cillian. She assumed he would say goodbye or turn to leave.
“See you afterward.” He was staying, too?
She bit her tongue and guided Sydney past the front desk to the exam room.
The problem was, Victoria didn’t know what she would have said—tell him to go or thank him for waiting.
Her swelling heart was at war with her better judgment.
Lord willing, the latter would win the battle by the next time she saw Cillian.
“Later, brother.” Cillian gave Warren a fist bump dap.
“Later.” The kid jerked a nod and swung away to lead his sister to the front door of the pregnancy center.
“See you soon!” Sydney turned to wave at Victoria one more time, then followed Warren.
As the door closed behind them, Cillian felt Victoria’s attention on him. He looked at her out the corner of his eye. “What?”
“You seem to have bonded with Warren.”
He shrugged and angled to face her. “He liked my bike when he went out to smoke.”
Her slim eyebrows lifted. “What was he smoking?”
A smile tugged at Cillian’s mouth. She was so adorable sometimes. “Not everybody lives by the rules like you do, Vicks.”
She folded her arms over her purple turtleneck. “Do you still smoke?”
“No.” He’d quit for the sake of his health and, probably most of all, because every time he’d lit up after leaving, he saw her disapproving, wide-eyed stare in his memory. “But you know I never smoked pot or anything like that, right?”
“Yes, I know.” Her hazel eyes softened as she lowered her arms. She remembered. Knew why that mattered to him. “How is your mother?”
Yeah, she knew. He looked away. “She OD’d.”
Silence fell between them, the clicking of the clock filling the void in the empty lobby.
“I’m so sorry.” Sadness—more than the news deserved—colored her tone. “When?”
He thought back. He’d been in California. Just had his twenty-first birthday. “Twelve years ago.”
Another pause. “I’m truly sorry.”
He mustered a rueful smile. “It’s not a big deal. You’ve already done enough today to qualify for angel status, if that’s what you’re going for.”
She tilted her head slightly. “More like Christ-likeness.”
He watched her.
She didn’t blush when she mentioned God or Christianity like she used to when they’d dated. She met his gaze without flinching or blinking.
“You’re still into that.”
“It’s who I am, Whom I belong to. I’ll never not be into Christ and Christianity.”
“You don’t need that crutch.”
“I’ve learned not to try to navigate life on my own. His wisdom and strength are so much greater than mine.”
“He’s not going to get you out of being suspected for murder.”
She didn’t hesitate or look away. “He will if He wants to.”
Cillian held her gaze. Searched her captivating eyes. She really seemed to mean all that. To believe it.
But Cillian didn’t need God to tell him what he should do with his life or in any situation. His instincts and mind served him well. He’d been able to tell what needed to be done, what should be done to right the wrongs in this world, since he’d been a kid.
“Well, I want to get you out of this.” He gave Victoria a sideways smile. “Mind if I try to help?”
She returned his amused expression with one of her own. “I suppose not, though God doesn’t need your help, of course.”
“If you say so.” Cillian shook his head side to side. “My little pea brain says we should go to the Briscoe estate again to look for evidence. You game?” Probably poor choice of words to use with Victoria.
But she observed him for a few silent seconds. “Only if you promise I won’t get knocked over this time.” The twinkle in her eyes gave away the teasing as she kept a straight face.
He chuckled. “Deal.” Here he’d thought Victoria couldn’t get any better, but her new smart-aleck side just might make him forget to move slow in rekindling their relationship.
He distracted himself from tempting thoughts about kissing her by grabbing their coats and escorting her to her car. Though he maybe considered that option a few more times as he followed her on his bike to the Briscoe mansion.
The gate stood open when they arrived. The first sign something was off.
Victoria slowly led the way up the driveway in her Honda as Cillian drove behind her.
Four cars parked at odd angles in the paved area near the front of the house. Obvious from the models and attached scanners what they were. Unmarked police cars.
Cillian pulled his bike to a stop next to Victoria on the driver’s side as she parked a short distance from the nearest cop car.
She got out, glancing at the cars and the house, then swung back to Cillian. “What do you think is going on?”
Cillian got off his bike as he scanned the house. “Maybe checking for evidence? They never did search it or process it properly when he was killed.”
“We should leave.” She turned to her car and reached for the door handle.
“This is your house. You have every right—”
“Ms. Weston!” The call jerked both their heads toward the mansion’s front door. McCully and a couple of officers, or detectives not in uniform, poured out of the house like cockroaches.
Great.
“So nice of you to stop by.” McCully’s tone was oddly happy. With somebody like him, happy wasn’t good.
Cillian stepped closer to Victoria as McCully trotted around her car to approach her.
The detective grinned—a more annoying expression than his usual scowl. “I guess I can tell the officer at your house he can forget it.”
“There’s an officer at my house?” Victoria’s tone was strong and calm, despite the dread she must be feeling.
“He’s been waiting for you there most of the morning.”
“Why is that, Detective?” Still no sign of nerves as she held her tall, unbothered posture.
That was Cillian’s girl. At least the new version of her. No hesitation or submissiveness, even if she did still go along with jerks like McCully too often in the end.
“We have a warrant to search your vehicle.”
There it was. The reason for McCully’s cheshire grin and the gleam in his eyes.
He spread his arms wide toward her Honda. “And here you’ve brought it right to us. Thanks for saving us time and resources. You are saving tax payers’ dollars today, Ms. Weston.”
Her lips pressed together in a thin line as if she was holding back what Cillian wanted to say to the guy.
But she handed over her keys to McCully when he asked for them and watched silently, her spine rigid and arms folded across her coat, as they searched her car.
This had to be one of McCully’s stupider ideas. Like Victoria would leave something incriminating in her car if she had murdered Briscoe. She was way too smart for that.
“McCully.” A guy wearing a black coat waved McCully to the back of Victoria’s Honda, where he held the trunk open.
Cillian’s gut clenched. They couldn’t have found something.
“Ms. Weston.” McCully beckoned Victoria with his fingers.
She headed toward the trunk, Cillian sticking to her side.
They rounded the rear bumper.
Cillian’s gaze landed on a glass block lying in the otherwise empty trunk.
Victoria stiffened beside him with a small intake of breath.
Oh, man. It was the glass bookend. Covered with blood.
“Care to explain what this is and what it’s doing in your trunk?”
She faced McCully. “The last time I saw that bookend was two months ago when Thomas showed it to me. I never put it in my trunk. Someone else had to have placed it there.”
McCully glanced at the guy in brown.
The detective or whatever he was shook his head in the negative.
McCully swung his stare back to her. “There’s no sign of forced entry into the trunk, Ms. Weston. Nice try. Unless you want to claim you leave your car and trunk unlocked?”
She didn’t answer for a second.
Tell him you leave it unlocked. Cillian mentally willed her to take the easy way out. To protect herself against the cop who was clearly determined to nail her for a crime she hadn’t committed.
“No. I always lock my car.”
Disappointment and frustration tangled in Cillian’s gut.
“Then Ms. Weston, I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Thomas Briscoe.”
Another officer appeared behind her and Cillian, pulling Victoria’s hands around her body to cuff them.
“Hold on.” Cillian grabbed the officer’s wrist. “You can’t do that.”
“Take your hand off him, or I’ll gladly bring you in, too.” McCully leveled a threatening glare at Cillian.
“Cillian, don’t.” Victoria twisted her head to look at him over her shoulder. “You’ll only make things worse for me.”
He forced himself to drop his grip, though everything in him wanted to punch out McCully and the cop who dared to touch her. To cuff her like a criminal when she was the purest, kindest, and most harmless person he knew.
Harmless to everyone but him.
Because the look she gave him as they pulled her away seared like he was being gutted from the inside out.
They stopped her next to a black car and opened the door.
He locked eyes with her, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to grab her and never let go. To make them have to take her over his dead body.
But she was right. He could make things worse. And he couldn’t save her if he was shot or locked up, too. “I’ll find the truth and get you out.”
“Please, be careful.” Her last words floated to him on the icy wind as they lowered her into the car, and she disappeared from view.
His chest pinched. Was she worried about him? Did she care?
Or maybe she only meant she wanted him to follow the rules and be cautious like she was. Too bad, because that was not going to happen. Not when he’d just watched a power-hungry detective haul away the love of his life in handcuffs.