Chapter 37 #2
But the man stood too far back. Aiming a gun.
Cillian lifted his focus from the weapon to Massey’s face.
“Warren?” Victoria’s shocked one-word question escaped at the same time Cillian registered the face of Warren Morris. Sydney’s brother?
The lanky teenager stood in the snow in his usual blue jacket and dark jeans, the gun shaking in his bare hand as he pointed it at them.
“Warren? What are you doing?” Disbelief twisted Victoria’s tone.
“You made me do this.” He aimed his gaze at her, his lips working. “It’s your fault.”
What? The kid had gone crazy. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Warren, but why don’t we just talk this out?” Cillian scooted toward the bumper.
“Freeze.” The kid had watched too many cop shows. But Cillian paused. Warren was just edgy enough to pull the trigger, on purpose or by accident. “Don’t move.”
Cillian lifted his hands, palm out. “Okay. But you don’t need that gun. We’re all friends, remember?”
“You’re not my friends.” He jerked the gun barrel at them. “You’ve messed up my whole life.” He looked at Victoria. “Everything was going great until you wouldn’t leave it alone.”
“Leave what alone, Warren?” Her voice was gentle. Kind. To a kid who might shoot her. “Do you mean Sydney?”
“No. No.” Warren blinked away the snowflakes that landed on his eyelashes. “The old man.”
The kid had lost his mind. What old man was he…
Realization lit in Cillian’s mind. “Thomas Briscoe?”
“I didn’t mean to kill him. It was an accident. He was supposed to be asleep.”
Cillian looked over his shoulder at Victoria.
She’d turned to face Warren head-on. Her gaze met Cillian’s, shock lifting her eyebrows.
Cillian swung his head back to Warren. “You broke into his house?”
“Just to take some stuff. He was filthy rich. Never could’ve used all that money, but I needed it. We needed it. For Sydney and me. And her kid.” Warren’s voice sounded more and more strangled. He needed to calm down or he’d shoot them without even meaning to.
“And then Thomas heard you and woke up.” Cillian offered the prompt for the confession. Maybe the kid would lose some tension if he got the truth off his chest.
Warren licked his lips. “I heard him on the stairs. He was gonna see me, and then I’d wind up in jail. I couldn’t help Sydney from there.”
Or enjoy the fruits of his criminal labor. Cillian kept the observation to himself as he nonchalantly eyed the kid’s loose grip on the gun, his weak stance.
“I had to make sure he didn’t see me.”
“But you didn’t mean to kill him. Only to knock him out, as you did with us.” Victoria’s tone was so understanding, it nearly made Cillian sick.
Good thing the practice he got by hitting Briscoe had helped the teen figure out how much pressure to use, or he could’ve accidentally killed Victoria and Cillian already. As it was, they had more than a fighting chance.
Cillian would need leverage to launch himself from the bumper of the van into Warren before he—
“Don’t. I see that.” Warren pointed the gun more directly at Cillian instead of Victoria.
“See what?”
“You were going to try something.” He glanced for a split second at Cillian’s hands.
He must’ve planted them more firmly as he’d gotten ready to jump at the kid.
Warren was sharper than he seemed, even with his obvious nerves.
“Wasn’t doing anything, man. Just sitting here, listening to your confession.”
Warren smashed his lips together, his eyebrows clustering. “Get out. Both of you.”
Good. Permission to get on his feet. Cillian stood, then turned to help Victoria slide out of the van.
He leaned toward her as he reached for her arms, his face close to hers. Close enough to see the moisture coating her cheeks that hadn’t yet been touched by snow.
She’d been crying.
His gut clenched. Had being abducted and kept in the back of the van scared her so badly? It would scare most people. But she was so tough all the time, he hadn’t thought to consider she might be frightened.
His jaw clenched as he gently gripped her arms to help her to the ground. He met her gaze, trying to say without words that they were going to be okay.
But there was something different in her eyes. Not fear. More like a deep sadness and a distracted detachment that made it seem like she was somewhere else, thinking about something else.
He turned around to face the punk who’d made her cry, ready to jump him at the slightest opportunity.
But Warren had backed up much farther, out of range of a lunge, keeping the gun trained on them. “Start walking.” He tilted the barrel toward the front of the van. “That way.”
Cillian touched Victoria’s elbow with a slight tug to show she should walk in front of him. He didn’t know what waited ahead. But he wasn’t about to let her be the one with the gun or the killer at her back.
Cillian followed close behind her, peering into the thick, blowing snow. The visibility was ridiculous. Couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead, even on foot.
At least they had a tailwind going this direction. But to what? To where?
Looked like a road beneath their feet. It was packed down enough that it must have been plowed and driven on at some point during the storm. Now fresh layers of snow obscured any visible sign of tire tracks.
A dark blur peeked through the falling snow to the left. Trees? Looked like a forest, or at least a thick stand of trees lining the road.
Had Warren brought them to some obscure location to shoot them? Maybe hoping it’d be a long time before anyone would find them in the snow.
Victoria stumbled.
Cillian reached for her arm, steadying her.
She felt cold through the sleeve of her coat. The dressy, navy blue coat was long, but probably not lined with much. She wouldn’t last long out here in that and the thin velvet dress. But hopefully, she wouldn’t have to. Cillian would—
“Stop right there.” Warren’s command grated like nails on a chalkboard, but Cillian halted with Victoria, immediately spinning toward the punk. No way was he going to let Warren shoot them in the back. He wasn’t going to let the kid shoot Victoria at all. No matter what he had to do.
Maybe he could start by finding out more of what Warren had in mind. “What’s your plan, Warren? If you shoot us, everyone will know we were murdered.”
Victoria tensed beside Cillian. Was she scared?
His arm twitched with the urge to wrap around her. But Warren probably wouldn’t like that. And Victoria might not either, given their last conversation.
“They’re going to think you got into an accident.”
Cillian stared incredulously at the kid through falling snowflakes. Maybe he’d lost his mind. “An accident? With bullets?”
Warren pushed shaking fingers through his short hair. “I’m not gonna shoot you. I’m just gonna leave you here. Everyone knows you ride that thing in the winter.” The hand holding the gun swung toward the punk’s left, like he was gesturing toward something.
Cillian peered through the snow. Nothing but the side of the road. Maybe. Hard to tell where the road started and ended when everything was white.
Not everything.
A large, dark object caught his attention. Looked like something a little lower down than the road. In the ditch?
He risked taking a step toward it, the angle of his body showing Warren he wasn’t headed for him.
His bike. Cillian’s motorcycle lay on its side, half-buried in the snow. He pivoted to Warren. “You brought my bike out here?”
“Wasn’t hard with this company van and the ramp.”
Of course. The van must belong to Warren’s employer. The kid had a more strategic mind than Cillian would’ve guessed.
“When they find you, the cops will think you were both riding, and you lost control in the snow. Then you froze out here.”
Cillian shot a glance at Victoria.
She looked half-frozen already, her arms wrapped around herself and her lips turning blue.
His ribs pinched. He had to get her out of here. “Come on, man. You don’t want to do this to Victoria. She’s been so nice to your sister. She’s taken her in. Sydney depends on her. What are you going to tell Sydney if you hurt Victoria?”
“She won’t find out.”
“She knows you, man. She’ll figure it out.”
“Then she’ll understand. I’ll tell her the truth. That you made me do this.”
“I’m not the one holding the gun, Warren.”
“Not you. Her.” The kid veered the weapon slightly more toward Victoria. His eyes narrowed. “It’s all your fault. You were the one to make the police think it was a murder. And then you kept trying to figure out who did it.”
“The cops would’ve done that anyway, Warren.” Cillian tried to draw the teen’s growing intensity away from Victoria.
“No, they wouldn’t.” The punk kept his focus locked on her as frustration pitched his voice higher. “They didn’t have a clue. I kept trying to scare you off, but you wouldn’t stop. If you’d just gone along with things and let it go, if you’d just backed off, I wouldn’t have to kill you.”
Oh, man. None of that had been Victoria’s choice. Cillian had pushed her to stay on McCully. He’d persuaded her to follow up leads, tail suspects, keep forcing the police to investigate.
If he hadn’t done that, they wouldn’t be in this situation. Victoria never would’ve become Warren’s target. Wouldn’t have nearly been killed by him shooting at her and trying to run her over.
Wouldn’t be here, about to—
“Oh, and don’t bother trying to get your bike running. I took enough parts out to make sure it can’t be fixed.”
“Don’t do this, kid. They’ll figure out it was you. It’ll ruin your life.”
“They didn’t figure out I’m the one who killed that rich guy yet. They arrested that other dude.”
“Exactly, man.” Cillian switched to a friendlier tone. “You’re in the clear.”
Warren shook his head. “He’ll get off. Rich people always get off. They’ll believe him when he says he didn’t do it.” The punk glared at Victoria again. “I knew you’d figure it out soon. Figure out how I knew you worked for him. Sydney told me you work in those rich neighborhoods.”
Cillian inched toward Warren as he continued, staring at Victoria.
“All I had to do was follow you until I found the right house. An old man, no dogs, easy fence to climb. Nobody with him at night. Should’ve been a sure thing. Until you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong.”
Only two feet more, and Cillian could dive for the gun.
“I’d never have to do this if you’d left well enough alone.”
Now.
Cillian bolted toward Warren.
A shot boomed, exploded through the storm.
Cillian braked.
The kid meant business. Lucky the shot missed. But why was his mouth open, his eyes wide with…horror?
Cillian angled back to see what Warren was staring at.
Victoria lay on the ground.
“Vicks!” He sprinted to her, dropping to his knees in the snow. “Talk to me. Are you hit?”
He scanned her coat, her dress.
Snowflakes fell on her, instantly melting on her stomach. Where dark liquid seeped through her green dress around a hole in the fabric. The size of a bullet.
Panic seized him. “Vicks!” His gaze dragged from the blood to her face.
Her eyes were huge, staring up at him. “I think I’ve been…shot.”
No. This couldn’t be happening. The denial reached his lips. “No. No, no, no.” He grabbed the front of her coat and pressed the material against the wound. Had to stop the bleeding.
Warren was supposed to shoot him, if anyone. Why hadn’t he shot Cillian?
“Can’t you aim that thing?” Cillian launched the furious shout over his shoulder.
But Warren wasn’t there.
The sound of an engine starting reached Cillian’s ears. The van. Their only transportation. Only way to get help.
Cillian jumped to his feet and sprinted to the van.
Warren was turning it around, jerkily, moving forward and back in the deep snow.
Cillian grabbed the driver’s door handle.
It was locked.
He pulled. “Warren! She needs help!” He pounded on the window.
Warren swung his head away from him, managing to turn the van around as Cillian trotted alongside.
Warren hit the gas. The tires slipped in the snow. Maybe he wouldn’t get traction.
“Warren, stop! At least call a doctor!”
The van moved forward again, finding a grip in the snow.
Cillian grabbed the side mirror and the door handle, hefting himself onto the running board to ride along.
But that wouldn’t help Vicks. He couldn’t leave her there. And he might never be able to find her again.
The van picked up speed.
Cillian let go. Dropped to the ground.
He spun back.
Oh, no.
The thick snow blocked his vision. He couldn’t see her.
“Vicks!” He jogged in the direction she must be. Where he thought he’d come from. “Vicks! Answer me!” He stopped. Listened.
The howling wind answered.
No. What had he done?
Why had he pushed her into this? Why had he made her investigate killers and suspects and antagonize the police? If he hadn’t, Warren wouldn’t have dragged her out here to…
Cillian’s hand went to his head as horror steamrolled through him. He pivoted in every direction, desperately searching the white darkness for some glimpse of her.
Of the woman he loved. The woman he’d tried to save. The woman he’d led to her death.