Page 67 of Callan

“It’s not bad…” I murmur absently while moving my eyes across the street.

Some windows are dark, and some are faintly lit while Christmas lights pulse hypnotically, and the blue lights from the TV screens glow in the rooms.

A couple of men walk down the street, and I only see their backs. They wear short coats like Callan and are built like him.

Their strides are large and confident and they maintain situational awareness while chatting to each other.

Soon after, they stop, pivot slightly and look at my building.

I instinctively pull back as if they’ve stared at me. No way they have.

“What happened?” Kayla asks, munching on a gingerbread sandwich cookie.

It looks delicious, a bit of creamy filling smeared across her lips.

“Nothing.”

I gesture with my finger at her mouth, and she wipes it off, laughing.

“Are those your mother’s cookies?” I ask, my mouth watering at the thought of them.

“Uh-huh. I’ll bring you a dozen when I return.”

“No need to keep them for me until then. Eat them all now. They’ll go stale.”

She lifts her hand in protest while shoving the rest of her cookie into her mouth.

“She’ll bake another batch. Everybody loves her cookies in our house,” she says, chewing on her food. “So, what did you see outside?” she asks, looking down while searching for a napkin.

“Uh…”

I move my eyes back to the sidewalk, my eyebrows tilting up. “What the…?” I murmur, leaning forward and checking the street.

“Are you seeing something interesting over there?” she asks in the background.

One of the men lit a cigarette, and he’s now checking something on his phone. The other shoves his hands into his pockets and looks down the street.

I move my eyes up, following the direction of his gaze.

The headlights of a car glow across the road before moving to the spot where the two men stand.

They seem relaxed and casual, and I can’t find a good reason for them to surveil the street and looking consistently at my building.

I’m only seeing them because I’m peering at them from above. No one else can spot them since they’re next to the poorly lit entrance of another building, not even in the cone of light.

The car decelerates before coming to a stop.

The back door opens, and a man steps out.

Everything happens so quickly.

Him climbing out, the door sliding closed, and the car moving away without wasting another precious moment.

The man straightens and squares his shoulders, and every fiber in my body recognizes him.

He wears a long coat that looks stunning on him, highlighting his rock hard frame, and gloves that hug his hands smoothly.

Who the hell is Callan?

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