Page 160 of Love Me Stalk Me
A voice crackled through my earpiece.
"Callahan, you there? We've got a situationdownstairs."
I exhaled, pushing away from my desk, already heading toward the exit.
"On my way."
Because once I handled whatever this was?
I was going back to Izzy.
I take the stairs two at a time, my mind already shifting gears. The sound of my boots echoes in the concrete stairwell. The store is only three levels when you include our admin spaces, and I've never really liked elevators. Far too confining for my preferences.
When I reach the security office, Ramirez and two other guys are stationed outside the locked room, arms crossed, eyes on the monitors showing the two suspects inside. They look exactly like what I expected—nervous, trying to play it cool, failing miserably.
"What do we got?" I ask, stopping beside Ramirez.
"Two idiots," he says, voice dry. "But, to be fair, they made it all the way to the stockroom before they got caught."
I exhale through my nose. That's obviously a weak point we will need to tighten up before the holiday rush starts to pick up.
Ramirez hands me a folder. "Pulled security footage. They were casing the place earlier, pretending to shop. Stuck around longer than normal, then made their way into the back when no one was looking. We found them near the employee lockers."
I flip through the photos, the glossy pages sliding between my fingers. I already know this isn't some petty theft ring. This has organized crime written all over it. I nod, closing the file, and push open the door.
The two guys look up as I step inside, their faces carefully blank.
They don't see me yet.
That's fine.
They will.
I take my time, grabbing a chair from the corner of the room, turning it backward, and lowering myself into it. The metal legs scrape against the floor. I plant my boots firmly on the floor, rest my arms over the back of the chair, and just stare at them.
Silence is a powerful weapon.
People underestimate it. They think power comes from words, from threats, from raising your voice and throwing your weight around. They don't realize that the real power? The real control?
It's in the silence.
People hate it.
They'll do anything to fill it.
They'll talk just to hear the sound of their own voice. They'll blurt out excuses, lies, half-truths—any story to make the tension less unbearable.
But I don't break the silence.
I let it stretch.
I get comfortable in my position, staring them both down without blinking.
The air gets heavier.
I can see them starting to sweat.
Shuffling their feet, shifting in their seats, exchanging nervous glances.
