Chapter 26 #2
Warren rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “I gotta work the late shift tonight. Thanks, anyway.”
Cillian got to his feet. “I should head out, too.”
Victoria narrowed her eyes at him. He wasn’t heading out far, if he still intended to camp in his car outside her house.
He pulled something from his pocket and went to Sydney, extending the object to her.
She took it in her fingers. A business card?
“That has my phone number, and I’ve written my address on the back. If you ever need help, and you can’t reach Victoria or someone at the pregnancy center, you give me a call.”
Victoria’s chest warmed. Cillian may be a bit sly and too clever for anyone’s good at times, but sometime in the past sixteen years, he had developed a soft heart for people in need.
That new characteristic might be the most attractive thing about him. It could also be the way, if she wasn’t on her guard, he could skirt around her defenses and better judgment, and persuade her to fall for him once again.
Cillian shifted into a higher gear, lowering his posture on the bike to lessen the wind noise that increased with his speed.
The wind’s chill cut through his glove and jacket, waking him up more effectively than a splash of cold water in the face. The gray morning and lack of sleep couldn’t dim his optimism. Today could be the day he would get the cops off Victoria’s back.
He checked over his shoulder before changing lanes to move around slower traffic on the freeway.
The photos of the papers he and Victoria had found at Thomas’s mansion were stowed on Cillian’s smartphone. He’d be able to show them to Lieutenant Willis, and this could all be over. If Willis had half a brain.
After Torin’s endorsement of the validity of the evidence from a cop’s point of view, Cillian would’ve taken what they’d found to Willis right away last night.
But when Robert relieved him to take the second half of the watch on Victoria’s house, Cillian had called the station and learned Willis wouldn’t be on duty until morning.
After four hours of sleep and a shower, Cillian hopped on his bike, choosing the exhilaration of the open-air ride to be sure he was fully awake when he talked to the lieutenant.
At least he wasn’t nearly as stubborn and set against Victoria as—
The bike wobbled under Cillian, the handlebars tugging loose from his light grip.
The front wheel.
He stared down at it, but the wobble stopped, smoothing out as he continued to ride.
Weird. Maybe he’d hit a patch of ice he hadn’t noticed. Too deep in thought.
The lighting was pretty flat today through his tinted visor. Could be he’d missed—
The bike shifted. Off-balance.
He pressed the rear brake slightly, checking the mirror to see if anyone was tailing him.
An SUV was coming up fast.
He switched to the middle lane.
The bike wobbled more, handlebars dodging his hold. Definitely the front tire. Couldn’t use the front brake or he’d make it worse.
He tried the rear brake again.
Not enough to calm the wobble. He’d try rolling off the throttle.
The bike slowed as he eased off, but the jerking increased.
Cillian pulled into the far-right lane, slowing gradually as the shaking started to go crazy.
The death wobble.
He was still going too fast. Couldn’t stop.
He looked down at the front tire.
Oh, man.
It was coming off.
If he was going down, he’d make sure he didn’t take anybody with him. He angled toward the shoulder, hitting the rear brake.
The tire separated, bike tipped forward.
He jumped for the ditch past the shoulder. Hit the ground, rolled, tucking in his arms and knees.
Snow and brown reeds created a white and brown blur in front of his eyes as he tumbled down the incline.
Then he stopped, arms and legs spread out.
Whoa. Now that was a rush.
A laugh bubbled up in his throat. He stayed lying there for another second or two, catching his breath as his heart rate calmed. Then he slowly sat up and turned to get to his hands and knees.
Pain shot through his leg.
No wonder. The denim was shredded over his thigh and knee, his skin peeled and spotted with blood beneath.
If that was the worst of the damage, he’d consider himself lucky. That tire had looked like it was coming right off the bike.
He pushed to his feet, stifling a wince as his hip twinged. Must’ve hurt something a little deeper than skin level, too.
He ignored the discomfort and trudged up the incline out of the ditch. Lucky for him it was lined with several inches of snow mingled with the dead weeds. Provided a nice cushion for a sudden tumble.
As he reached the shoulder by the freeway, his gaze fell on his bike.
An oath spilled from his mouth.
The front forks and axle were twisted and smashed. Nothing a good repair shop couldn’t fix, but it would cost a pretty penny.
Where was the tire? He stepped back to the ditch and looked down. There. The tire lay at the bottom of the incline on the snow.
Anger simmered as he limped closer to his bike, ignoring the traffic that sped by him. With how badly damaged the bike was, it’d be impossible to prove now, but there was no doubt in his mind—someone had tampered with his bike.
He kept his bike in good condition. And he knew how to handle the standard issues that could cause a front wheel wobble like that. None of the usual fixes had worked. Because the whole tire was suddenly loose.
Someone had to have rigged that. Probably loosened the bolts just enough so he wouldn’t notice a problem until he’d been riding for fifteen minutes on the freeway.
This wasn’t just a prank. Somebody wanted to kill him.
And if they wanted to kill him, they probably wanted to do the same to Victoria.
The anger burst into an all-out flame in his chest as he ripped off his glove and unzipped the front jacket pocket where he’d stashed his phone.
Good thing he hadn’t landed on his belly.
He needed the phone to make three important calls.
Victoria, tow truck, and then a rideshare so he could get the evidence against Clinton Glenn to the lieutenant.
If Glenn had sabotaged Cillian’s bike to keep him quiet, he was going to learn the hard way that Cillian wasn’t so easy to stop.