Chapter
Thirteen
“We should think like the killer.”
Victoria angled Cillian a look as they stood in the foyer of Briscoe’s mansion. “I’d rather not.”
He chuckled. Couldn’t help it. She was so cute when she got her nose bent out of shape. “Okay, then let’s think like a detective and go over the evidence.”
“I thought that’s why we’re here. To find more evidence.”
“Right. But we should review the facts we do know so we have a better idea what to look for. Like how he was killed. You said you saw blood from a gash on the back of his head, right?”
Victoria stared at something ahead. Or at nothing.
“Vicks?”
She turned her head toward him. The light from the chandelier caught her eyes, and they were filled with sadness.
His chest squeezed. His hand went toward her arm, aching to touch her, to comfort her. She’d touched his arm at the police station for a different reason. And the contact had worked better than a defibrillator to jumpstart his heart. Their chemistry always had been off the charts.
But even though she was clearly still attracted to him, she didn’t want him to touch her. That was obvious. At least not yet.
So he clenched his fist at his side and cleared his tight throat instead. “Are you okay?”
“It’s so strange to be here, in his house, without him.” She looked up at Cillian then, unshed tears pooling in her beautiful hazel eyes.
His gut twisted. “I’m sorry, Vicks.”
“I don’t want his house. I want him back.” Her voice squeezed with pain like it had that last time he’d talked to her sixteen years ago. When she’d called him to say goodbye.
He couldn’t hug her then. Couldn’t help. But maybe he could now.
A tear escaped and fell down her cheek.
That did it. “I know, Vicks. Shh…” He stepped toward her, reaching to take her into his arms.
But her eyes widened, and she stepped back, spinning away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the better of me. I don’t usually do that.”
He blinked at her back, her parka shutting him out like it shut out the cold. A pang seared his chest. Man, that hurt.
“You’re right. We should review the facts and determine what we’re looking for.” She angled halfway toward him but avoided directly meeting his gaze. “Yes, there was a cut on the back of his head. Swelling, as well, I believe. And blood. Though not as much as I would have expected for a head wound like that.”
He swallowed. Steeled his jaw. “Okay. So it’s likely the killer hit him with something on the head but not where you found him. Probably here, in the house. Then moved the body.”
She nodded and walked toward the base of the staircase she had sat near on the bench before. “That could explain the missing rug. It was very expensive, so it could have been stolen. Or…”
“The killer could’ve taken it because it had blood on it.” Cillian went to join her, stopping close by her side. Maybe reminding her that she was attracted to him, too, would help break down her defenses. He’d made progress already. Persuading her to go against the orders of domineering authority figures like McCully and Willis was an almost unimaginable achievement. She was starting to trust Cillian and listen to him. Whether she liked it or not.
“Yes.” She looked at him, and her head jerked up to his face as if surprised he was so close. Her cheeks flushed an encouraging shade of red. She quickly turned her head away and walked even closer to the steps.
She crouched and peered at the lower wooden steps that had a runner of carpeting colored burgundy and black in a swirling pattern. “I don’t think we’ll be able to see blood on this carpet.”
He grinned. “Look at you. Just like a detective.”
Her mouth tugged in a smile she was obviously trying to repress as she tossed him a glance. “I’ve watched TV shows, too.”
“Have you?” He responded with a matching teasing tone. But he was a little surprised. TV used to be outlawed by her father. Thought it was a waste of time when his kids should be studying for the academic and career success he had planned for them. Maybe she had broken free of his control a little.
