Page 100 of Callan

Wow. She sounds bossy. And no introductions?

No damn explanation for showing up at my door uninvited?

“Why?” I push back.

“Open the door, damnit. This is about Charlie.”

Uh… What?

Charlie?

Who the fuck is Charlie?

Is Charlie Callan?Or is Callan Charlie?

What the fuck? What does she know that I don’t know?

The woman is a straight shooter, isn’t she?

Has he lied to her? Or has he lied to me?

I have a hard time understanding all this.

Haven’t we skipped a step or two?

Shouldn’t we catch up on things before getting ‘close’ and talking about our common friend ‘Charlie’?

“Who is Charlie?”

Her fist comes faster than her words, rapping on my door again.

“Open the fucking door, you little bitch.”

Oops.

“If I didn’t want to open it before, what makes you think I’d open it now?”

“Open the door. The man is in danger,” she says in a quiet, strained voice, and I imagine her with her cheek pressed to the door, her eyes shooting flames.

What if it’s true?What if he’s in danger?

She got me, didn’t she?

This might be a trap, but it could also be true.

So, what am I supposed to do now?

Open the door?Call the police?

Do I trust this woman?No. Not in the slightest.

But what if what she’s said is true?

I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.

I suck in a long breath and unlock the door before firmly pulling it open. The move is so fast that I don’t realize the door is pushed against me as much as I pull it toward me.

I only get a glimpse of Carmen––her green top and black skinny pants that emphasize every delicious curve the woman has––before I face a wall of tattooed muscles and a face scary as shit.

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