Page 49 of Wasted
A person of interest? Wasn’t that what the police said on TV? This couldn’t be real.
“That’s crazy. You know she was the one trying to convince you from the beginning he was murdered. Why would she do that if she’d killed him?”
If she’d killed him. Cillian’s words rang in her ears, echoing as if caught in a chamber her mind didn’t want to acknowledge or absorb.
“Look, buddy, you’d better back up, or we can take you in, too. On a different charge.” The detective’s threatening tone and the sudden movement of the other officers pulled Victoria out of her shock.
She blinked in time to see Cillian standing in the detective’s personal space with an aggressive stare.
“I’m going with her either way, buddy.”
Alarm rushed through her, awakening her senses and mind at the same time. “Cillian, don’t.” She took hold of his arm, every muscle in it clenched and rock hard. “It’s fine. Of course, I’ll go with them.” She dug for some semblance of a smile as she looked at the detective. “I’m relieved the truth has come out so that Thomas can have justice. And I understand you need to eliminate every possible suspect to find his killer. I want to facilitate that in any way that I can.”
“You don’t have to talk to them without a lawyer.” Cillian’s breath dropped down to brush against her neck, his deep voice edged with anger. But not at her. He aimed his fury at McCully for her sake. He wanted to protect her.
No one had ever done that—behaved as if she was worthy of protection. No one except, perhaps, Cillian. He’d proclaimed sixteen years ago that he would free her from the father he said didn’t deserve her.
The unease beginning to surface in Victoria’s nervous system yearned for her to slide her grip down a little farther and find a safe home in Cillian’s strong hand.
But the Lord would be her strength.
The reminder that must have come from the Holy Spirit within her made her release the hold and look up at Cillian. “I don’t need a lawyer. I have nothing to hide.”
He glared past her at McCully. “If she’s only coming in for questioning, why can’t she drive herself?”
“She’s a flight risk.” Defiance edged McCully’s response. He landed his attention on her, real anger instead of annoyance reflected in his gaze. This argument was not helping her situation. “I won’t cuff you if you agree to come along peacefully.”
Handcuff her? She hid a swallow and kept her features calm. “I’ll come peacefully. I always cooperate with the police.”
“Victoria, you don’t have to go along with this. McCully here is overstepping his authority.” The flash in Cillian’s eyes said he still didn’t intend to let her go with them.
“Cillian, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” She gave him a small smile and tried to signal with her eyes that he should stay put.
He seemed to take the hint, clenching his hands into fists at his sides as he let the detective lead her away.
She walked from the building with the detective, her pulse accelerating with each step toward the police car that waited in the parking lot. Waited to take her away. Someone guided her into the back seat. She stared at the dirty glass barrier between her and the two officers in the front. Cold shock started to creep through her system.
The weak link in her resolve replayed her last words to Cillian with emphatic denial. This was far from okay.
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.
