Page 80 of Callan

I shrug.

“Out.”

“At this hour?”

He checks the time on his watch while I move my eyes to the clock on the wall.

“Yeah. Why not?”

He laughs, amused.

He knows I’m playing with him, but he gives me a pass. Amazingly, he doesn’t give a fuck about the men outside, who, by the way, keep searching the building like they own it.

“Where were you going?” he asks, tilting his chin down and studying me with playful eyes.

I take my time to produce an answer while his eyes rove over my face and hair.

He seems impressed, although it's not like I've put much effort into it. But he likes what he sees.

The question is… Um… What is he doing?

Is he flirting with me? Distracting me? Using me?

All of the above?

Is he on the run?

Obviously.

He is hiding from those men.

But why would he choose my apartment?

Well, it’s easier to knock on the door and enter a place that is not yours than dangle from the balcony, I suppose.

That only worked once.

I get it.

“I didn’t have a plan,” I say. “But Christmas is around the corner. And since everybody’s partying, I thought I’d go out and have some time by myself.”

Our eyes meet.

“Are you alone in New York?” he asks after contemplating something for a moment.

Someone has turned off the music upstairs, and the crowd is no longer loud.

Intermingled voices travel down the stairs.

The guests finally leave.

And the men looking for him?

I don’t know what they’re up to.

The good part is that things seem to settle.

“As in living alone?” I say, buying some time.

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