Page 20 of Wasted

“You look pale. And cold.” Cillian suddenly squatted in front of her, filling the space far more effectively than the detective had. Heat from his body seemed to wrap around her. Or perhaps it was his gaze so close to hers, his eyes penetrating and intense.

His heat found the cold spaces inside her, tingling like sparks, sending energy and life to where she needed it. “You’re not okay.” His observation felt like a doctor giving a diagnosis after the patient had begun to heal.

“No.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “They’re saying this is an accident.”

His black eyebrows lifted. “You don’t think it was?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You mean you think he was…” Cillian glanced around as if checking earshot, “murdered?”

She gave a small nod. “I know it sounds far-fetched, but I don’t believe for a moment that Thomas went out to get the mail and slipped. He would never have done that.”

Cillian studied her face, then stood. He didn’t believe her.

That shouldn’t sink her heart, disappointing her far more than the detective’s disregard.

“You’d better tell the detective before he leaves.”

Her gaze shot far up to Cillian. He did believe her. More warmth poured in behind her ribs, warming her all over. But it wouldn’t do for Cillian to have even an inkling that he still had such a powerful effect on her.

She pushed the blanket off her shoulders, letting it drop to the settee as she stood. Very close to Cillian.

She tilted her chin up from his chest to meet his gaze, trying to squash her skipping heartbeat and regulate her breathing despite the visceral response she apparently still had to him. “I was about to tell him before you interrupted.”

Cillian angled his head down toward her without moving any closer or farther away. His coal-colored eyes roamed her face, then paused…on her lips.

Her breath caught.

His mouth slowly tugged up at one corner. “Don’t let me stop you.” The flirty, amused twinkle in his eyes woke her up.

“I would never let you stop me.” The words spewed out with the irritation that flared in her stomach. She marched away, searching for the irascible detective.

Honestly. How could she have fallen under Cillian’s spell again, even for only one moment? Cillian Doherty was trouble. She knew that. She was mature enough that she shouldn’t be swayed by attraction, no matter how handsome he was.

And apparently, he thought she needed his prodding to speak with the detective. He probably thought she was still the shy, quiet girl who’d followed his lead in everything. Sixteen years of being the only mother figure to the strong-willed Weston siblings had cured her of all hesitation and timidity.

A brown blazer caught her eye near the front door. Detective McCully stood there, speaking with a female uniformed officer. Good. Victoria would have a chance to make her case.

“Detective McCully.”

He turned her way as she approached, his mustache following the deep frown of his lips.

No matter. She wasn’t trying to make a new friend. She was attempting to see that justice was done for Thomas. But she had to take the correct approach, or the detective would never listen to her.

She gave him a smile as she stopped in front of him. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I can tell you’re a thorough detective. I’m sure you would like to have all the facts related to what happened to Mr. Briscoe.”

The sound of a small grunt reached her ears, but she held on to her sincere expression, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

“As Mr. Briscoe’s physical therapist for the past eleven months, I would be willing to give expert testimony that he would never have walked out to the mailbox on his own to retrieve his mail.”

A smirk curved McCully’s lips. “This isn’t going to court, Ms. Weston. Like I said, it’s a slip and fall.”

She worked to keep her voice even. Showing her rising irritation wouldn’t help. “But my point is that he could not have been outside of his own free will.”

“Are you saying he wasn’t able to walk that far? Some physical disability?”

“Not precisely, no.”