Page 68 of Callan

The two other individuals who’ve seemed at odds with my street pull out of the shadow, one stubbing his cigarette out.

They seem connected to Callan and have an interesting dynamic with him.

I bet Kayla’s last gingerbread sandwich cookie that they work for him.

The same way that I do.

“I’d be damned,” I let out, forgetting about Kayla.

“Is something wrong?”

The seriousness in her voice makes me shift my eyes to her.

“Can I call you back in a minute?”

Her eyes search mine.

“Are things okay?”

I push out a clipped smile.

“Everything is good. I spotted someone downstairs, and I want to talk to them,” I say nonchalantly.

“Oh. Sure. Of course. Call me when you can.”

We hang up before I shift my attention to the street, a jolt of tension barreling through me.

Shit.

They’re gone.

I pull my robe closer and walk out on the balcony. The cold greets me with a could of icicles.

I don’t care.

My eyes move up and down and to the entrance.

Where did they go?

I only looked away for a few seconds.

A shiver rams through me.

A few seconds were enough for them to disappear?

Were they headed up the street?

Down the street?

I look up and down.

There’s no sign of them.

Ugh.

There are no moving cars.

I bite my lip in frustration.

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