Chapter 32
IF IT TAKES CAMERAS IN EVERY CORNER, SO BE IT.
CAL
If it were up to me, I would've taken the entire week off to be with Izzy.
I would've stayed at her apartment, cooked every meal, made sure she drank water, made sure she wasn't alone with her thoughts for too long.
I sat outside her bedroom every single night, listening for signs of bad dreams, for the restless shifting of sheets, for the soft whimpers that might tell me she needed me.
And even if she had told me she didn't want me there anymore, if she had tried to push me away, I wouldn't have left.
I would've slept outside her front door.
But every morning, I had to leave. Closing the door behind me felt brutal in a way I couldn’t shake. But with the security issues at the store getting worse, I didn’t have the luxury of staying.
The organized crime ring that I was hired to deal with? They'd been dormant for months. And now, suddenly, this week of all weeks, they'd decided to start making moves. So I had to be at the store.
But that didn't mean I wasn't watching her.
While Izzy slept in, exhausted, healing, I had installed cameras in every single corner of her apartment.
She only knew about the exterior ones, because those were the ones I told her about.
But, every other corner of that apartment was visible to me, too, and that was a security measure I didn't explicitly tell her about.
Mainly because I wasn't going to watch that feed unless there was an intruder alert.
I wasn't going to violate her privacy to that extent, which, I guess isn't saying much considering.
But, if a spider so much as sneezed in that apartment, I would know about it.
And I wouldn't change that for all the privacy lawsuits in the world.
Because what mattered to me more than her potential anger was her safety. Because I knew that Evan wasn't done with her yet. At least, that's what he thought. Because, he was very, very much done, and lucky to be alive in my book.
The first action I took—besides securing Izzy's safety—was to run a full background check on the douchebag.
In my position, I had access to databases that most people didn't. Criminal records, financial histories, even credit scores. And if information wasn't available in those systems, I had plenty of contacts who were more than willing to do a favor or two.
What I found?
Was disconcerting.
Somewhere during the first year he and Izzy were together, Evan had been fired from his finance job.
And never got a new one.
His employment history was a blank space after that. No applications, no records of new income. But he was still making money.
A lot of money.
It was being deposited into his accounts through an offshore LLC.
Where was it coming from?
What was he doing to earn it?
And that wasn't even the worst of it.
Since being fired, he'd upgraded his life. A brand-new BMW sedan, an extremely overpriced Manhattan apartment. Living well beyond what he should be able to afford with zero job history.
And then there were the women.
A constant rotation of them.
Different faces coming in and out of his building, security footage showing them entering late at night, leaving early in the morning.
Even when Izzy called him to break up, there was already another woman in his apartment.
Which meant he wasn't faithful.
So why the fuck had he been so possessive?
Why drag Izzy through the mud for years if he had been sleeping around? Why snap when she tried to leave?
None of his behaviors added up. His entire life story was a fabrication.
Which meant I had more work to do.
Because this wasn't just about Izzy anymore. Evan was involved in something illegal. And I was going to find out what.
I had, of course, been monitoring Izzy's calls since the attack.
Was it an invasion of privacy?
Yeah.
Did I give a fuck?
No.
She was too vulnerable, too raw, too easy to manipulate in this state.
So if Evan was going to try to crawl back into her life, I was going to make sure it didn't happen.
And of course, he tried.
He called her the day he got out on bond and left a voicemail.
That was my mistake. I should have been more proactive in blocking his number.
With the restraining order in place, it didn't dawn on me that he'd violate it so quickly.
I know she saw the call come through, saw the voicemail, but hadn't listened to it. But I had.
"Izzy, you're being dramatic. You know you overreacted.
We just had a fight, that's all. You're probably feeling really emotional right now, but I forgive you for what happened.
You should call me back so we can talk this through.
Don't throw away what we have over some misunderstanding.
You and I both know I didn't mean any of it. You'll regret this. Just call me."
Gaslighting.
Manipulation.
It made my blood boil.
I blocked his number immediately, which didn't stop him from trying again. Three times a day, like clockwork, he would continue to attempt to call. He persisted in leaving voicemails. He kept trying to get inside her head.
Thankfully, she was unaware of any of it.
And I was going to keep it that way.
Because the only reality more infuriating than what he had already done was the fact that he was continuously trying to worm his way back in.
The other call she hadn't answered was from the District Attorney's office. They needed her to testify. They said without her testimony, they probably wouldn't take the case to trial.
She hadn't called them back.
I already knew why.
Her confidence wasn't where it should be. Testifying in open court about an attempted rape wasn't an experience just anyone could endure. Even the strongest people in the world would struggle with it.
And Izzy—as strong as she was, as far as she had come—was still healing.
It was a conversation I would have to have with her eventually.
A process I'd have to help her work through.
Because there was no way in hell I was letting Evan get away with what he did.
But, at the end of the day, whether or not she wanted to testify would ultimately be her decision.
A voice crackled through my earpiece.
"Callahan, you there? We've got a situation downstairs."
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.
And then, right on cue—
They crack.
After ten seconds.
"Look, man," the one on the left finally says. "This is all just a misunderstanding. We were just trying to make a little cash on the side. You know, grab some merch, flip it for—"
I hold up a hand, and he immediately stops talking.
I tilt my head. "You think I'm stupid?"
The guy swallows. "No, man, I—"
"You think I don't know what you're doing?
" I lean forward, letting my tone go low.
"You're not here to grab a couple bags to resell online.
This is organized. You don't move unless someone tells you to move.
You don't steal unless someone orders you to steal.
And you don't scope out a store unless someone tells you exactly what to look for. "
The guy shifts, his confidence starting to crack. The cheap leather of his jacket creaks as he moves. His friend, the one on the right, clears his throat. "We don't know anything. We're just, you know, low-level—"
I snort. "Bullshit."
I let my expression go hard.
I let my presence settle over them.
"You two are fucked," I say simply. "You know that, right?"
They go still.
I lean back slightly, letting the words sink in.
"I've got contacts in the precinct," I continue. "I can make a call, right now, and give them exactly what they need to charge you with grand-scale larceny."
One of them laughs, but it's weak. "Come on, man. We didn't steal anything."
I smirk.
They just walked into my favorite trap.
I tilt my head. "You ever open a law book?"
Silence.
I chuckle, shaking my head. "Attempt and the actual crime have the same fucking consequences. The law doesn't care if you're bad at your job."
The guy on the right shifts uncomfortably. "We're not—"
"Save it." I snap, cutting him off. "We both know you're working for someone. And we both know you're not dumb enough to try pulling this shit without orders. So here's how this goes. You start talking, or you take your chances with the DA's office."
They glance at each other.
I see the hesitation.
Then, finally—
"We don't know much," the first one admits. "We just...we get orders. We go to stores, collect information. That's it."
"From who?"
He shakes his head. "It's always anonymous. We get a time, a place, a location. Occasionally we're ordered to steal merchandise, other times we're just told to get a feel for security."
I file that away. An invisible mastermind is testing our weaknesses. Someone's planning a significant heist. And they're getting closer. Because these guys made it into an off-limits area, and that's on me and my team.
I push to my feet. "Call the precinct."
One of my guys nods and presses a button on his headset.
The two thieves' heads snap up.
"Wait—what?"
The guy on the left looks panicked. "But you said—"
"I didn't promise you anything."
Their faces fall.
"I only said that if you didn't talk, it'd be bad." I shrug, adjusting my sleeves. "I never said that if you did, it'd be good."
I push out of the holding cell, rolling my shoulders back, shaking off the last bit of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I can hear the two guys inside, muttering curses under their breath, probably continuing to convince themselves they aren't fucked.
They are.
I make my way back to the security office, where Ramirez and the rest of the team are watching the feed from the holding cell. I stop just inside the doorway, arms crossed over my chest.
"We're patching our weaknesses," I tell them, voice firm. "Tomorrow morning, thirty minutes early. No exceptions."
A few guys exchange glances, but no one argues.
Ramirez nods. "Got it."
"Good," I say. "You all did your jobs today. But we're not playing defense anymore." I exhale, my fingers drumming against my bicep. "We're getting ahead of this."
The room is silent, then Ramirez nods again. "Understood."
I don't need to say anything else.
I turn, grab my keys, and head to my bike.
The second I get on, I dial corporate. Bad news doesn't get better with age.
Better to get ahead of it now. It only takes two rings before someone picks up.
I keep the call short, efficient. Tell them exactly what happened.
Two men casing the store, made it into the back.
Security caught them before they could get any further.
No losses, no property damage, no employee injuries.
Just a reminder that we're dealing with something bigger.
Corporate is receptive. They trust that I have it under control.
And they should.
Because I do.
I end the call, exhaling as I grip the handles.
Ready to put this day behind me.
Ready to go to her.
I reach to put my phone away—
And then, a text pops up.
From Izzy.
To Caleb.
She hasn't talked to him in a week.
Which means there's no way in hell I'm letting the AI take over for this.