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His voice is different. Cold. Controlled. Hitman Roman.

“No.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“No.”

“Did he see you looking at me?”

“I don't know.”

Silence. Not the good kind.

“Roman?”

“Go back to your office.”

“I was planning to.”

“Don't stop anywhere.”

I look through my windshield. I don't see him.“Okay.”

Another silence.

I grip the phone tighter. “Who is he?”

“Callie.”

“What?”

“Go back to work.”

My irritation sparks. “That's not an answer.”

“I know.”

“Roman—”

“Please.”

I stop.

Roman doesn't say please.

I’m quiet for a couple of beats. “Okay.”

His exhale is quiet. “Text me when you're there.”

“I will.”

“And Callie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don't post anything.”

I frown. “About him?”