Page 226 of Callan

Or learn if I could change his mind.

To kill my simmering despair, I take a long bath, drench myself in every aroma I find on the bathroom shelves, and go to bed wearing nothing.

Around midnight, I fall asleep to the sound of crackling logs in the background and the view of soft snowflakes quivering in the wind.

I doubt it’s been long since I drifted off to sleep as the sound of footsteps and voices draws me back to being awake.

I push upright and listen. The male voices ring out in front of the house. Swiftly, I clamber out and put on my robe before going to the window.

I spot three men.

Callan exits the house, and they talk. None of them, not even the owner of the house, are aware of my presence.

A few seconds pass, and they shake hands with Callan before climbing into their cars and pulling away.

I jerk back just as Callan turns around to enter the house.

Not far from the driveway, I notice one of the men guarding the place.

Quick steps take me back to bed.

I don’t slide under the covers.

I wouldn’t be able to sleep to save my life right now.

I only press my back into the pillow and the headboard and listen in perfect silence.

Unfortunately, the house is solid and built for privacy, so no sound moves through the walls.

Eventually, steady, measured footsteps take the stairs up. They move past my door and enter a different room in the hallway.

I roll off the bed, tiptoe to the door, crack it open, and check the corridor.

A sliver of light slips from under a door close to the reading room. A short battle ensues inside me, and after debating with myself, I muster enough courage to go to him and ask him questions.

I knock once.

Nothing.

I knock again.

“Yes.”

His voice is raspy and tired.

I push the door open and find him standing in front of a room minimally furnished with a bed, a chair, a desk, and a simple bathroom. It looks like a guest room.

He lifts his gaze from his phone, runs his gaze over me, and expects me to speak.

Whatever I had to say had vanished from my head.

“Are you sleeping here?” I ask.

He looks at me, frozen.

He wears a dress shirt and suit pants and looks like he could put his coat on and leave at any moment.

“Are you staying the night?” I ask again.

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