“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.
