Page 77 of Callan

“I’ll see about that,” I say. “Maybe I’ll come back.”

She nods, a sexy grin curving her lips.

“You do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to take care of my guests.”

She spins around––a rehearsed move––and heads to the exit while I pick up my drink and take a swig, sunk in thought.

The moment she disappears through the door, I drag my gaze around the room again, trying to find a spot I might’ve left unchecked.

My chances of finding something in her apartment are slim, but you never know with these people.

I won’t go through her stuff again.

It’s too risky, and besides, I’ve done it once already.

Smoothly I turn to the window and glance outside when a noise wafts through the air from the other end of the street.

I slightly lean forward to get a better view of the road when two sports cars dash toward the building.

Things move quickly as my men step out of the dark, and my burner buzzes in my pocket.

They’re only supposed to use this phone in an emergency, and judging by the cars abruptly pulling to a stop and the individuals rushing out, I feel that this might be it.

“Yeah…” I say quietly, placing my drink down and moving to where I left my coat.

The passengers of the cars already make a beeline for the entrance while the drivers are quick to steer their vehicles away.

“Alvarez and his men are here. They’re probably looking for ‘Charlie’ to ask him some questions. What exit will you use?”

Casually, I sneak out of the room and head to the bathroom, cutting my way through groups of people.

“I’ll get out. Don’t worry,” I say before I end the call, open the exit door, and listen to the noise coming from the stairwell.

The men stomp up the stairs in a frenzy.

Someone must’ve tipped them off.

But why the hell are they after me, when I should be after them?

Because they’re useful idiots, that’s why.

Someone sent them here looking for me.

I guess the time of pretending to be someone else has come to an end.

I sneak out without saying goodbye to my gracious host and take a few steps down before pushing the door to the lower floor open and entering the corridor.

A few seconds pass, and the men, moving up in stern determination, walk past the floor I’m on.

The wise thing for me would be to walk out and get lost, and I’m about to do that when someone barks at the top of the stairs.

“He’s not here,” a man says––Alvarez, most likely, based on the roughness of his voice. “He can’t be too far. There was no time for him to exit the building. Go, go, go,” he instructs hismen, and my mind goes to the conversation I just had with that woman.

Knock me over with a feather.

Carmen tipped them off.

If that’s the case, this is a trap.

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