"What do you mean?" I ask. It feels rude to be talking to my door, but I'm not going to open it to some strange guy that might not even be here to help Killian—unless helping him means killing me.
"I'll explain. It's just not something I should be talking freely about out here."
“Nope, I've seen the movies. If I let you in, I'll be sleeping with the fishes. I hate fish—I mean, not to eat, but I definitely hate the smell.”
He chuckles again, "I can't leave. Killian's life is on the line, and it's your father's fault." By the end of his sentence, I can tell all traces of laughter have gone from his attitude. Then again, my father has that effect on people.
Shit! My self-preservation is screaming not to open the door while the part of me that knows he's telling the truth is saying that I'm somewhat obligated to help.
I open the door hesitantly and watch him, waiting for him to shove it open. Instead, he's standing a foot away, not even moving. The chain is still on, so I know he can't force himself in easily. We stand staring at one another for a second before I unlatch it. He's intimidating for sure, but this isn't about me. It's about Killian.
"Come in," I allow, motioning to the small couch. He takes a seat and looks around as I make myself comfortable in the chair opposite of him. At least as comfortable as I can make myself with this guy in my home. My unease must be showing on my face because he gives me a kind smile.
"We just need to talk, and I'll go," he says, holding up his hands.
"You already know my name, although, I'm not sure how. Who are you?" I ask.
"E-Z," he answers,
“E-Z?”
“Like Sunday mornings,” he responds, and the reference to the song would almost make me smile if I didn’t feel so lost. “Anyway, I work with Killian, but over the years, he's more of my friend than a co-worker.”
"I’m not sure what that has to do with me,” I respond, mostly lying. If he’s here because of what I saw, I’m dead. Maybe I can bluff my way around it. It’s about the only hope I have. He mentioned my father, too, and that can never be a good thing.
"I think you know," E-Z says, looking at me pointedly. I gulp down my trepidation. What does he think I know? I’ve watched enough television to know that mob hits are not pretty. I hope that I can give him the answers he's looking for. I study him for a minute before I nod, confirming his suspicions.
"My father set Killian up, didn’t he?" I ask quietly. I keep playing with the hem of my shirt.
"Yes, Killian was shot, and his memories of that night are scrambled. I need you to tell me what you know so I can help him." He reaches into his pocket, and for a second, I freeze—like a deer in headlights. This must be the part where he kills me. My heart pumps adrenaline into my system. I only take a breath when I realize he’s getting out a small notepad. I breathe a sigh of relief.
"What makes you think I know anything?" I ask, wondering how they would think to ask me any questions. I didn't actually get to talk to Killian that night as he was…well, busy.
"You talk too much when you sneak onto an elevator when no one is looking," he says, smirking.
I hold my head down. Crap!
"Fine," I mutter. He tapes his elevators? Of course he does. That’s my luck. I hadn’t even realized that I was speaking out loud. I internally smack myself for being so careless. "I came there to tell Killian that my father let it slip that he was going to frame him for some crime. I wanted to warn him and…." I bite my tongue to keep from saying anything else. If I didn't see anything, I can't say anything. It didn't happen.
“I know you were there, Belle.”
“I don’t suppose you would believe me if I told you that I didn’t see anything,” I mumble, wringing my hands together.
“You don’t need to worry about anything, Belle. Killian won’t hurt innocents, and you’re about as innocent as they come, or at least that I've ever laid eyes on.” I want to believe him, but I don’t know if I’m just fooling myself.
"Does that include people that could send him up the river for murder of two men?" I ask.
"It's better you forget all about anything you saw that day, Belle," E-Z says, grimacing.
"Is that a threat, Mr. E-Z?" I whisper, mentally wondering how long it would take me to pack and disappear.
He purses his lips to stop from laughing—which annoys me. There’s not much funny here if you ask me.