Page 74 of Love Me Stalk Me
"IZZY OPEN UP RIGHT NOW, I'M READY TO COMMIT HOMICIDE IN YOUR NAME."
I let out a short laugh, tension draining from my shoulders, relief washing through me.
Callahan raises a brow, questioning.
"Amanda," I explain, shaking my head, a small smile tugging at my lips despite everything. "Let her in before she actually does something illegal."
My brain is already calculating exactly how to defuse whatever Amanda is planning. I've talked her out of five potentially illegal revenge schemes in the past year alone, using the same crisis management skills that help me navigate corporate politics. When your best friend operates with no filter and even less impulse control, you develop certain abilities—like knowing exactly when to distract her, when to reason with her, and when to just hide the sharp objects.
He moves toward the door, unlocking it with a smooth motion. The second it opens, Amanda bursts in like she's been waiting outside with a battering ram, her blonde hair flying, her eyes wild with righteousfury.
"I heard what happened," she says, eyes blazing, hands on her hips, her whole body vibrating with barely contained rage. "And I am fully prepared to unalive multiple people in your honor. Just say the word and I’ll make some calls. I know a guy who can get us industrial-strength acid and a barrel?—"
She stops mid-sentence, eyes narrowing.
“Or we could go the old-fashioned route. You distract Evan, I push him down a flight of stairs. It’s elegant, it’s simple, it’s tragic?—”
Her gaze snaps to Callahan, finally clocking his presence, his proximity to me.
Then to me, noticing my red-rimmed eyes, the lingering evidence of tears on my cheeks.
Then back to him.
A slow, devious grin spreads across her face, transforming her expression from murderous to delighted in an instant. Her perfectly glossed lips curve upward, her eyes gleaming with interest.
"Ohhhh," she says, dragging the syllable out like she's savoring it, her eyebrows rising toward her hairline. "Sorry for interrupting."
I swear to God.
I want to die.
I want to collapse into a pile of dust.
I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
Callahan, of course, is completely unbothered.
"It's no problem," he says, completely neutral, not giving Amanda anything to work with. His voice betrays nothing of our previous conversation.
Then he looks at me, his expression softening just slightly, just enough for me to notice but hopefully not enough for Amanda to pick up on.
"You good?"
I exhale, nodding, grateful for the simplicity of the question, for not having to explain or justify or analyze.
"Yeah," I say. "I think I'm good."
We just look at each other. A quiet, understanding kind of moment where words aren't necessary, where something passes between us that I couldn't name even if I tried.
Amanda’s watching it all happen, looking like the goddamn Cheshire Cat thatalsoate the canary, her eyes darting from me to him, cataloging every detail for later analysis. I can practically see her mental notebook filling with observations.
I ignore her pointed look, the way she's practically vibrating with questions and assumptions.
Callahan gives me one last look, then heads for thedoor, his movements smooth and controlled as always. The air seems to shift as he passes, as if the room itself feels his absence.
"See you later, Russo."
And then he's gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving me alone with Amanda and the lingering warmth of his presence.
