Killian, Billy, Sir
Billy who?
Rae felt the tension roll through Killian and then he turned, while almost imperceptibly pulling her behind him. Giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, he let go, facing the man. High noon popped into her head, with his shoulders back and hands at his sides all he needed was a holster, a pistol, and a cowboy hat.
"I'm finished for the day," Killian said, his voice soft yet authoritative. "If you want to speak with me make an appointment."
The man barked a laugh, and said, "As if I haven't tried for the past two months. I can't even make it to the top floor. Security has been polite but firm."
"Without an appointment there's no reason to come to the top floor."
Rae knew that wasn't true, security hadn't even blinked when she walked past them that first time. So Killian had specifically told them to keep him out. She glanced surreptitiously at the camera in the corner, wondering if they were witnessing the ambush.
Running a hand through his scraggly hair that was more grey than brown, he stepped closer to Killian, the dark circles under his eyes making them look slightly unhinged. "You have no appointments available, at least not for me. But then, you went to great lengths to mask your involvement didn't you? According to our attorney the paper trail was almost a work of art. When it led to Killian Laird, he dug, but there was nothing that connected you to us, and certainly not to Billy Harris. I'm assuming you took care of that yourself. After all, you're Killian Laird! Lawyer to the wretched refuse polluting our country with sin!"
"Go home to your family Mark," Killian said, his body loose, but the predator coiled and ready to strike.
"You killed my parents."
Killian cocked his head slightly to the side and said, "Your mother had a stroke, and after a night of drinking your father flipped his car and ended up in a pond. You want someone to blame? Blame the almighty."
Mark looked at her his eyes burning. "Do you know who you work for?"
The fact that he knew she worked for Killian meant he'd been watching, and it chilled her to the bone. Killian shifted, almost shielding her completely from sight. "Do not terrorize her with wild accusations."
"Wild!" he barked. "You destroyed whole families!"
"You're confusing me with your father."
"My father was ten times the man you are!"
"Your father was a hypocrite using Jesus to further his own agenda. And honestly Mark, for a true believer your lack of faith is telling."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Mark growled.
Killian smiled and a chill ran down Rae's back. "This was God's will. So submit, forgive, and move forward in the light of the Lord."
Murder flashed through Mark's eyes but Killian didn't move. He faced the man without a hint of fear, hesitancy, or remorse.
"Why?" Mark whispered, his voice cracking. "Why did you do this to us?"
"I did nothing to you. The lawsuits brought against Calvary were filed by people who suffered as a result of the church and its policies. Policies which shamed victims and sheltered perpetrators, all in the name of God."
"Everything alright Mr. Laird?
Two security guards appeared and Rae breathed a silent sigh of relief. She let go of the pepper spray, which was always in her pocket, and stepped back.
"Everything is fine Walt," Killian said, his eyes never leaving Mark's. "Mark and I were catching up. If you'd be so kind as to help him to his vehicle."
"It would be our pleasure Mr. Laird. Sir, let's get you to your car."
Mark stared at Killian, his eyes roiling with a mass of emotions. "You will be held accountable Billy. No one escapes God's judgement. No one."
"Goodbye Mark."
All that moved were Killian's eyes, following the three men until they were out of sight. His stillness was unsettling against the sudden silence that surrounded them, thickening with every breath. He shifted, and the scratch of his shoe against the pavement was like a foghorn blasting through the garage. Killian held his hand out, his eyes unreadable. A part of her thought it would be best to call it a night and just go home. With the house to herself she could eat junk food and binge a couple shows she'd been itching to watch. It would definitely be best.
She placed her hand in his, and he grasped it firmly, lightly stroking her knuckles with his thumb. That electricity rolled up her arm and to the top of her head and then down to her heels. She couldn't suppress the pleasurable shudder that moved across her shoulders. The corner of Killian's mouth twitched and he led her to the car.
It was a quiet drive, no music, no conversation. Occasionally she caught his hands tighten around the steering wheel, and he was a little heavy with the gas pedal. But she didn't press. In her experience, it was better to let people get to the point of sharing on their own. When he pulled in front the restaurant to pick up dinner, he looked like he wanted to say something, struggling to find the right words. He kissed her instead and disappeared inside.
She'd read a few articles on the sudden destruction of the church after Bob told her about it, but there was nothing sudden about it. Their take down was too expertly planned for it to be sudden. Killian made sure that when he struck, the dominoes would fall too fast for them to mount enough of a defense or even be able to afford it. Billy Harris. Killian hadn't denied the name or feigned ignorance, which made the downfall of Calvary a story she was curious hear. It had to be about more than the church taking sides in a divorce for him to wage the war he did.
Killian got back in the car and pulled out of the parking lot without a word. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his jaw clenching and tightening. His carefully crafted narrative had been cracked open, and in front of her. Appearances matter, and to him any inkling of weakness or lack of control bruised his image. The king had been thrown off the hill by his own past, and he did not like it.
She looked out the window, taking in the houses as they drove deeper into the residential tranquility of wealth. Majestic trees, carefully crafted yards, with the glimpse of an occasional pool or tennis court or both made her remember her youthful vow to herself to be independent and wealthy. A powerful actor then director were her life goals, and it stung to think about how her twenties had completely gotten away from her, as well as her dreams.
Killian slowed and turned onto a long driveway, bushes lining both sides. The Tudor house at the end was massive and gorgeous, and seemed like an odd choice for him. She always pictured him a penthouse kind of guy. They pulled into a garage large enough for four, possibly five cars. She got out looking at the pristine walls, the tile floor that was warm underfoot, and the lights overhead completely blown away.
"This isn't a garage, it's a show room."
He gave her a small smile and walked into the house. She took one last look at the garage then followed. A short hall opened into a spacious kitchen with state of the art everything. The seafoam green paint and white trim were flawless, no nick or scratches that she could see, and the marble countertops shone. While the garage looked like a showroom, the kitchen looked like it was about to be photographed for a magazine spread, everything decorated with the right amount of masculine for a man of Killian's tastes.
He put the food on the counter, threw his coat over a chair, and walked over to a cabinet. "Would you prefer beer or wine?"
"Beer please," she replied, taking off her own coat.
He opened the door on the left, and took two beers out of a drawer. "Cold glass?"
"Sure."
He pulled glasses from another drawer and grabbed a bottle opener. "Are you hungry?"
She shook her head. "Not yet."
He handed her a beer and then poured himself one. "Excuse me for just a moment." He walked through an archway and around a corner. She heard him speaking quietly and walked over to the archway, beer in hand. When she peaked around the corner, she saw him standing in a dining room, his finger tapping the dark wood table. "Mark Weisman. I just want to make sure he flew home and isn't a threat to me or my employees...Yes, waiting in the garage...I honestly don't think he has it in him to take things further, but we both know grief can drive people to acts they would never commit otherwise...Thank you Evelyn."
He put the phone on the table then picked up his beer. Instead of coming back to the kitchen he walked over to a glass patio door and stared into the night. The outside lights gave everything a soft warm glow, and she could see a pool, furniture and even a fire pit. In the summer the door could be opened while people were dining. She wondered if he'd ever done that. The dining room looked like the kitchen, barely used. She took a sip of her beer and couldn't help but smile. Citrusy wheat. He remembered. She stepped into the room watching the tension roll through him. He knew she was there but didn't say anything.
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be alone?"
"Why do you insist on calling me sir?"
His voice was soft and low, and she shuddered. She was in trouble, and if the heat suddenly pulsing between her legs was any indication, her body was thrilled at the prospect. And yet, that anger roiling through him made her nervous.
"Answer me sunshine."
