Page 55 of Wasted

“You have no business talking to Victoria like that. She doesn’t deserve it.”

A flicker of something lit Weston’s eyes for a split-second. Recognition? His attention aimed at Victoria behind Cillian.

“Is this who I think it is?” The unleashed fury in Weston’s tone warned she’d better say no.

Cillian twisted his head to see her, not wanting to turn his back to the bully.

Her widened eyes darted from her father to Cillian. The alarm in her gaze clenched Cillian’s gut.

He hadn’t come to make things worse. He’d come to support her. He swung his focus back to her father. Cillian would deal with this for her. “I’m Cillian Doherty, your daughter’s ex-boyfriend. Remember me?” He let his own edge of fury undergird the question.

“All too well.” Weston’s tone cooled along with his expression. “No wonder she’s in this mess.” He folded his arms across his blue dress shirt and tie as he walked around the desk, staring at Victoria. “I always said the Doherty boy was trouble.”

The Doherty boy. Been a while since Cillian had heard that familiar title, always said in a derisive way. Still cut into him more than it should.

“What is he doing in my house?”

“I…” Victoria shifted her gaze between them as her father faced Cillian about eight feet away. “I asked him to wait in the car.”

“You drove here with him?” Weston pinned her with a searing stare as his voice raised. “You’re seeing this boy again?”

“No, Dad. We’re not dating.” She took one step toward her father, placating him again. “He was only giving me a ride because I didn’t have my car. He works at CareFull Home Health as a social worker. We’re co-workers as of only a few days. That’s all.” And there she went, throwing Cillian under the bus again.

She glanced at Cillian for a second. “He isn’t the cause of this. It’s solely my doing. Cillian has only been helpful and kind.”

Oh. Maybe not throwing him under the bus. Was she defending him to her father? Warmth started in his belly and surged up into his chest.

“I find that very hard to believe.” Weston kept his stare on Cillian as if he was some criminal or ex-con who’d broken into his home. “Leopards don’t change their spots, and this one is obviously as wild and reckless as before.”

Cillian opened his mouth to answer the insult.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you.” Victoria beat him to the punch, her focus transferred to her father. “I did not intend to, and I will do everything I can to fix this situation. Unfortunately, I believe Detective McCully, the man in charge of this investigation, has a personal vendetta against me.”

Her father angled his head toward her. “Why would that be?”

“After I found Thomas Briscoe’s body, I pointed out the evidence that indicated he was murdered. The detective insisted the death was accidental and ignored the evidence.” Her voice was back to her usual controlled, smooth tone. “I left him to the case after that, but I believe his pride has been injured by the autopsy proving he was wrong. He seems to be taking that out on me.”

“If that’s the case, he could lose his job.” Not an empty threat from someone like Henry Weston. “You will stay away from the detective and this investigation from now on, is that clear? You’re not in law enforcement.” Weston delivered the order to Victoria, then aimed his gaze at Cillian, his jaw tight. “I’ll give you one minute to get out of my house before I call the police.”

Cillian smirked. “Sure you don’t want to try kicking me out your?—”

“Cillian?” Victoria’s grip on his arm was a lot tighter this time, her fingers digging into his skin. “Would you please drive me home?” The look of pleading and worry that defied her calm tone reached inside him to squeeze harder than her hand.

Fine. He’d go this time. But if her old man ever treated her like that again, Cillian would not let him off so easily.

“Sure.” He shot her father a nonchalant glance. “Nice seeing you again. I’ll be back.”

Victoria pulled his arm harder than he thought she’d be able to.

He let her drag him from the room, though he watched the doctor’s glare over his shoulder until they’d turned into the hallway.

She kept pulling until they’d walked through the foyer—completely ignoring her sister watching from the stairs—and out the front door into the cold darkness.

She dropped her hold and faced him on the step. “How could you do that? I asked you to wait for me out here.”

“I couldn’t let you face him alone. I knew he’d be berating you for something that wasn’t your fault. You shouldn’t just take that from him.”

“He’s my father, Cillian.” She lifted her arms out from her sides. “I don’t know how I’m going to smooth this over with him. And now he knows you’re back. That I’m talking to you, driving with you.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead as if Cillian’s existence was giving her a headache.