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?—
