Page 11 of Chameleon Killer

He asked.

It was such a small thing, but after three weeks of being managed, monitored, redirected, and protected, the choice felt almost startling.

Flint had never tried to run my life.

He'd challenged my reporting. Tore apart my copy. Sent me back to verify sources I swore were airtight. We'd argued over headlines, ethics, anonymous attribution, and whether the story was ready to air.

But when the debate was over...

The decision had always been mine.

Somewhere over the past few weeks, that distinction had become impossible to ignore.

Flint trusted my judgment.

Brewster trusted his own.

I wasn't entirely sure when that difference had begun to matter so much.

Only that it did.

More than either of them probably realized.

I nodded.

"Yeah."

His smile wasn't broad enough to draw attention, but I caught it anyway. It softened the hard lines around his mouth, chasing away the exhaustion he'd been carrying almost as long as I had.

For the first time all morning, I felt like I could breathe.

Flint fell into step beside me, not in front of me, not behind me.

Beside me.

Exactly where he'd always been.

Whatever was happening around us—whatever the FBI thought they knew, whatever game the killer was playing, whatever secrets Guy Reardon had died protecting—one thing had become painfully clear.

Flint and I were on the same side.

Neither of us was entirely certain who else was.

As we started toward the elevators, Brewster followed us. "You still need protection."

I glanced at him over my shoulder as Flint hit the button for the elevator and the doors opened. He held the doors open as I met Brewster’s cool eyes and met him stare for stare.

“I know.”

His jaw flexed almost imperceptibly. “Then stop making my job harder.”

I couldn't help it. I smiled.

“Your job is to investigate a serial homicide, Agent Brewster.” I tipped my head toward him. “Mine is to ask inconvenient questions until someone gives me answers.”

“You're part of this investigation now.”

“I've always been part of it.” My smile faded. “I just don't happen to work for you or the FBI.”