Page 101 of Chameleon Killer

“Maybe Brewster has a point.” He even managed to say it without a grimace.

“That must have hurt.”

“It did.” He returned to the board and uncapped a blue marker. “The access card is one variable. The building is another. The time is another. We can control some of them.”

“We?”

“Yes, we.”

“The invitation says alone.”

He paused, not moving or turning for so long, it was like he’d become a statue. Then in a quiet, brutally sincere voice he said, “I don’t care what the invitation says.”

“He won’t show if he sees surveillance.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Flint, c’mon, he got it into the newsroom under four FBI cameras and two guards to leave that envelope. He’ll know.”

“Then we make sure he sees what he expects.”

I studied Flint. “What have you planned?”

“Nothing you can refuse yet.”

“Not really reassuring there.”

“It wasn’t designed to be.” He marked a small room on the fifth floor. “This is listed as electrical storage. It has active power and no tenant assignment.”

“This is important because?”

“Because the fifth floor is directly above the law office and below a vacant floor. If someone wanted a controllable meeting space without drawing attention, it would work.”

“You think that’s where he wants me.”

“I think it’s a possibility.”

Exhaling a long breath, I studied the rigid line of his back and then nodded slowly. He hated everything about this but he was still working on it and finding ways to make it work for both of us.

“What others have you identified?”

He marked a conference suite on seven, an unfinished office on eleven, and a mechanical floor near the roof.

“Four?”

“Four likely. Nine possible.” He capped the marker as he turned back to me and reclaimed his coffee.

“How many did you visit?”

“None.”

I eyed him. “The garage.”

“The garage isn’t one of the nine.”

I gave him a look.

His expression remained admirably blank despite the puffy little bruise under his eye.