Page 82 of Wasted

She blinked, and the memory vanished from her vision, hot tears filling her eyes instead.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have come to his room, the location of those first visits when he was recovering from surgery, where they’d started to become friends.

But if his office was a target for someone looking for information or evidence Thomas may have had, his bedroom was an equally possible hiding place.

She straightened her shoulders and stepped inside. Tabling her memories, she tried to remain objective and detached, while still accessing what she knew about Thomas.

Where would he have hidden something important in his room? Something he hadn’t wanted his family or even Mrs. Kline to discover. Perhaps the armoire?

She crossed the room to the beautiful, antique armoire made of dark wood carved with an elegant design. The doors squeaked slightly as she pulled them open.

Clothing greeted her—shirts and sweaters on hangers, sorted by color, all infused with his familiar scent.

Moisture pooled in her eyes again.

She reached for the wool, burgundy sweater, running her fingers over the fabric.

His favorite sweater—the one she’d always complimented him on when he’d worn it, since it had suited his skin tone so well.

She sniffed. She wasn’t here to walk down memory lane. And it wouldn’t do for Cillian to come upstairs and find her weeping.

She scanned the armoire. Nothing appeared out of place. Shifting the clothing to one side, she ran her fingers along the back wall that was too dark to thoroughly inspect.

No bumps or hidden wires met her touch.

She conducted the same tactile search along the bottom of the interior.

Apparently, hidden compartments weren’t as common in real life as in the murder mysteries she’d read since she was a teenager. She had told Cillian she watched them on TV, but she had only seen a few such programs. She still preferred books to TV but telling him that would have only encouraged him to think she was controlled by her father’s preferences.

The armoire was not proving helpful. Perhaps the dresser drawers would hide something?

She closed the left door.

“What are you doing here?” Ryan Briscoe glared at her, standing exactly where the door had been. Much too close.

Her heart stopped, then took off at superspeed. “I could ask you the same question.” She lifted her chin.

She should have said something calmer and less confrontational. Cillian might be having a negative effect on her.

Anger lit Ryan’s eyes, and his fists flexed at his side.

But letting him see fear would only make him more aggressive.

“You have no right to be here. This is our house. It rightfully belongs to us.”

Victoria tried to pull in enough oxygen through her nose to calm her system and help her think of the best response. “I suppose that will be for the courts to decide.”

His nostrils flared as he took a step closer. “Oh, it’s already decided. You aren’t welcome here.”

She needed to deescalate this situation. Now. “I understand you’re upset. You’ve lost your uncle, and I’m sorry for that.” She stepped around him, headed for the door.

He grabbed her from behind, gripping her upper arms.

She gasped and tried to pull away.

He slammed her shoulder into the wall.

She spun toward him, but he pinned her back against the wall, pushing her hard into the wood paneling.