Page 152 of Crash Course
Cilla swiped at the screen. "Not unless you start talking."
She shot him a glance and he let out a sigh. As if the entire episode might kill him. "The day you found the reports on the plane," he said. "I spoke to Paul. I know you, Cilla. You’re the curious sort. Always wanting to do the right thing."
"And that’s bad?"
"I couldn’t have you poking around. I had your access pulled. Clearly, it didn’t stop you."
"Okay. When that didn’t work, you sent Paul to see me. And when that didn’t work?"
Silence once again hung over the room, but Dad shook his head. "All I wanted was to stop your inquiries. To show you that if you mess with my business, there are consequences. I wanted all your access shut down. That's all."
Her access. What didthatmean? She thought back on the last weeks. The things that had gone sideways.Oh, no . . .He didn't.
But if he'd gotten to Nagle . . .
"Dad, please tell me you're not the reason my investigator suddenly can't get his contacts to return his calls."
Beside Cilla, Mom tsk-tsked. "So typical."
"I may have put a call in to the police chief. That's all."
"Dad! You're messing with my clients' freedom! What the hell is wrong with you?"
A stabbing pain pierced her right eye and she pressed her fingers against it. So twisted. All of this.
"Never mind," she said. "I'll be sharing that with detectives as well. Unless you'd like to call your buddy the police chief and fix this on your own?"
Dad met her gaze again, the flush of his cheeks indicative of his annoyance. "I'll take care of it."
"Excellent. Were you the one who put that bullet on my car?"
Mom bolted upright and swung her gaze to Cilla. "What bullet?"
Yikes. She’d made the tactical decision to not share that minor detail with her mother. Now, she’d have to deal with the fallout. "I was leaving the office one day and found an envelope on my car. It had a spent bullet casing in it."
"Cilla," Mom said, "why didn’t you tell me?"
"Because you’d worry, and I didn’t know exactly what I was dealing with. I wasn’t sure if it was a disgruntled former client or what." Cilla went back to her father. "Was it you?"
Dad’s silence told her everything she needed to hear. Typically, he’d be his bombastic self, spinning a tale, deflecting blame, and somehow making it her fault.
This time? Silence. Perhaps he had a soul.
How the hell did they get here? He’d adored her.
Or maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe her accomplishments were what he adored.
"Fine," Cilla said. "When that didn’t back me off, you had my car blown up. From what I’ve heard, it was a pipe bomb. I haven’t seen the security footage yet—I’m guessing the police will show it to me later. Cruz saw it. The person who put the bomb in my car had the access code to the garage. Drove up at three a.m., punched in the code, parked across from my car, crawled under, and did something. We’re assuming it was the bomb. Then he simply drove off. Who is he, Dad?"
Again, her father stayed silent. She should have expected as much. The throb in her head double-timed and she closed her eyes for a brief second before facing her father again. How she wished she had the energy to scream or cry. Something.
So tired.
Or maybe she was like Mom, and her father was simply dead to her.
"I could have been killed," she said, "and you won’t give me the benefit of an explanation?"
Nothing. Self-preservation mode had kicked in. All he did was sit there and stare at her.
