Page 43 of Wasted

“I’m guessing a woman could move him, too, if she used a tarp or something.”

“Perhaps.” Victoria slowed, angling toward a closed door on the right. She reached for the handle and opened it. “But I don’t—” Her gasp cut off the words.

“Victoria?” Cillian stepped between her and the room she stared at as if it contained some kind of threat.

Papers scattered the floor and a desk. Books were tossed all over the room. Chairs were flipped upside down, toppled.

The room had been ransacked.

Cillian stepped inside, scanning the space. “Was this his office?”

Victoria didn’t answer.

He turned to face her.

Shock paled her cheeks and widened her eyes. “This wasn’t the work of a thief looking for valuables. What if Thomas was right? What if one of the people he said he couldn’t trust turned on him, and?—”

Something dark appeared at the corner of Cillian’s eye.

It moved quickly. Slammed into Victoria, knocking her down.

A person.

“Hey!” Cillian’s shout launched at the same time as his body, but the dude in dark clothes and a mask dodged the lunge and took off up the hallway. Cillian crouched by Victoria as she sat up. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She gestured toward the hall. “Go after him.”

Cillian sprinted in the direction the attacker had gone.

No one was in the hallway. The attacker had a good lead.

Cillian pushed his speed faster, reached the foyer.

Front door stood open.

He didn’t slow. Kept running through the doorway, into the dark night. He pumped his arms as he dashed down the driveway, cold air filling his lungs.

Movement. By the gate.

The dark figure was climbing over it.

Cillian ran for him, but he dropped on the other side. Cillian jumped, grasping the top of the wrought iron bars. With one pull, he hefted himself up and over the top, landing on the blacktop on the other side. Paid to be taller than the bad guy.

He’d gained but still had his work cut out for him. He sprinted after the fleeing coward. His blood seethed as he remembered the way the thug had knocked down Victoria. Right there in front of Cillian.

Anger pushed him faster, following the guy’s scramble up the sidewalk, then across the empty road.

The attacker must have a getaway car somewhere in the quiet, ritzy neighborhood.

But Cillian was closing in. He would catch him in a few more seconds if?—

No.

The attacker reached a silver Mercedes parked along the curb by the entry into the neighborhood. He darted to the driver’s door and disappeared inside.

“Hold it!” Cillian kicked into his highest gear.

The engine rumbled to life. The car took off, Cillian only feet away.