Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cillian stood by the window, staring at the blizzard that seemed to be a reflection of his own insides at the moment. The turmoil of emotion swirling inside him could easily rival the blustering snow and wind that whooshed and moaned against the window.
How could Victoria do this to him? To herself?
She was thirty-one years old. A full-grown woman with strength and independence she hadn’t had as a kid. How could the same woman who faced Cillian down and directed her strong-willed siblings with spunk and confidence choose to live a life controlled by someone else?
How could she go running home to her dad again? For his birthday party, of all things.
Frustration cinched Cillian’s muscles.
This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t have lost her to her father’s control again, after all this time.
But she didn’t even seem to want to be free.
That was common among victims. He knew that from experience.
That had to be it. She must have become so used to her dad’s bullying, to being controlled by him, that she was scared to live without it. Or didn’t realize how much better life could be if she escaped her dad’s subtle form of abuse.
Cillian would not leave her there, even if she didn’t yet realize she was in trouble. He loved her too much to let her live like that, no matter how many times she pushed him away. She didn’t know what she was doing.
He wouldn’t let her or her dad stop him. He’d use all the leverage he had to end her father’s bullying, of Victoria and the rest of her family, once and for all.
He had the leverage now, thanks to Marsha Faint.
Cillian turned from the window, pacing to where his phone sat beside his computer on the desk by the wall.
He should try to find more evidence to back up Marsha’s claims, but there wasn’t time for that.
He needed to get Victoria away from her father now, before she pushed Cillian away even more and got sucked completely back into her father’s manipulation.
The threat of Cillian’s information from Marsha should be enough to shake a guy like Henry Weston. Sure, he was tough and used to bullying everyone to get his way. But he also cared a whole lot about the Weston name and his reputation. He’d do pretty much anything to protect that.
Which gave him a weakness. One Cillian could exploit with Marsha Faint’s story and what it revealed—that Dr. Henry Weston was actually guilty of malpractice. Why else would he have risked illegally intimidating the woman to keep her quiet?
But Cillian would have to wait until tomorrow.
Wouldn’t do him any good to break up the birthday dinner, as much as his sense of justice would love for him to do that.
The leverage would lose its power over Henry Weston if his kids heard about their dad’s malpractice.
He wouldn’t want anyone, including his kids, to know the truth.
His top priority would be to keep the truth from coming out, which would be the only way Cillian would get him to agree to back off of Victoria and let her live her own life. To be who she wanted to be, and to spend her life with the person she chose. With Cillian.
He’d go to Dr. Weston’s clinic first thing tomorrow morning.
Cillian gripped the chairback, fighting the desire to forget caution and strategy and go end this now.
Tomorrow morning. Then Victoria would finally be free.
He couldn’t wait.
A vibrating sound jerked his attention to his phone. It shook and slid across the smooth desktop.
He grabbed it. Would Victoria be texting him to apologize? Maybe she’d changed—
This is Lawrence Massey.
What in the world? How did Massey get Cillian’s number?
Another text came through on the heels of the first.
I’ve got Sydney. If you want to see her alive, come alone to 1518 Phoenix Boulevard. No cops or she’s dead. You’ve got twenty minutes before I kill her.
Cillian clenched his jaw as he stared at the message. Hadn’t seen that coming. Massey seemed much too cowardly to try anything like a kidnapping or abduction. And luring Cillian there? Did Massey hope to shut him up? Permanently?
There was something weird about it. Something didn’t fit.
Why would a guy so afraid people would find out he’d impregnated a minor suddenly be brave enough to commit murder? Desperation made people do crazy things, but…
Cillian could figure it out later. Right now, the clock was ticking.
Twenty minutes to drive all the way to Phoenix Boulevard would be impossible in this weather. But he had to try.
He grabbed his jacket off the sofa where he’d tossed it and hurried at a jog out of the apartment to the exit stairs at the end of the hall. It’d be faster to dash down two flights of stairs to the parking garage than wait for the sluggish elevator.
He pushed through the heavy steel door to the stairs and paused a split-second to dial the police station on his phone. He tapped the button for speaker and gripped the phone in his hand as he ran down the stairs.
No cops? Massey had to think Cillian was an idiot. The police were the only chance of reaching Sydney and Massey in time and with weapons.
“Gealanden Police Dep—"
“Put me through to Lieutenant Willis. He knows me, Cillian Doherty. It’s an emergency.”
“One moment please.”
Grating electronic music signaled the woman had put him on hold.
He reached the bottom of the second flight and slammed the door open to the parking garage. At least he wouldn’t have to dig out his jeep from accumulating snow.
He ran to his stall where he’d parked the jeep, brake line repaired just in time.
The music finally stopped as he reached the driver’s door.
“Lieutenant Willis here.”
Fire seared the back of Cillian’s head.
He slowly blinked. Why couldn’t he see anything but darkness?
He shut his eyes, then opened them again. Narrowed them, peering into the darkness.
This couldn’t be the parking garage, and he was lying down on something. Had he been knocked out, and he was just waking up now?
He lifted his head.
A bolt of pain surged through his skull, answering his question.
Massey must have been waiting for him in the garage and jumped him from behind. The guy was a lot smarter than Cillian had thought.
What was that sound? Like a moaning or a whirring. The floor beneath him was firm but not hard or cold. And it was vibrating.
Was he in a vehicle? The back of a truck or…
He felt the floor with his palm. It was covered with something fuzzy. Like the interior lining of a trunk.
He wasn’t tied up. That was good. But he was definitely being driven somewhere.
If this was a trunk, there should be a release latch he could pull. Unless Massey had thought to remove it.
Cillian reached for the trunk lid above his head. Nothing but air met his fingers. If this was a trunk, it was the biggest one he’d ever seen. If he could see it.
He straightened his bent legs, stretching out until his shoes hit something solid. Then he got to his knees and crawled in the other direction. Reached another wall there. But they were too far apart for a trunk.
SUVs and vans had that same kind of floor lining, too.
So, Massey had come prepared with a large vehicle that had cargo space. Seemed awfully strategic for a panicked reaction to Cillian’s threats to expose the man.
Wait. If Massey wanted Cillian out of the way to keep his secret, would he want to eliminate Victoria, too?
Alarm and anger collided in Cillian’s chest. Massey had better not have touched a hair on her head. At least she wasn’t in this vehicle. Maybe he wasn’t going to mess with her, since she was a Weston.
Victoria. Just the thought of her was apparently enough to make Cillian remember her lilac scent.
The aroma of her, or the memory of it, drifted to him, triggering an ache behind his ribs.
A moan came from the darkness.
Much too close to have come from the driver. And Massey didn’t smell that good.
Cillian wasn’t remembering her.
Victoria was here.