Page 12 of Chameleon Killer

His expression remained infuriatingly composed. “You're minimizing the danger again.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I'm refusing to surrender my autonomy because it makes your paperwork easier.”

A muscle ticked along his jaw. “You think this is about paperwork?”

“I think you've spent the last three weeks assigning agents to my building, approving where I sleep, deciding which interviews I should accept, and critiquing every sentence that comes out of my mouth while working diligently with the network to go over Flint’s head and keep me off the air.”

“Because someone killed the vice president of your network,” Brewster gritted out.

“And Colin.” I held his gaze. “I haven't forgotten either of them.” I let that hang there for a moment. Then I added, “If you are truly concerned that those around me are targets, you might want to keep your distance—unless you really are trying to use me as bait.”

For just a moment, something almost human crossed his face. Regret. Fatigue. Maybe guilt. Then it was gone.

“I don't want another body.”

Why did I not believe him?

“Shockingly,” I said, maintaining as neutral a tone as I could because being snide would get me nowhere. “Neither do I.”

“Then let me do my job.”

I folded my arms. “With respect, Elliot…” His name felt strangely intimate no matter what had happened between us. Even more revealing to use it in front of Flint. “I have let you do your job. For weeks now. But you’re not in charge of me.”

Silence settled between us.

He looked at me the way investigators looked at evidence that refused to cooperate. Finally he exhaled. “You're impossible.”

“So I'm told.”

Standing with his back to the elevator doors to keep them open, Flint watched us almost impassively. Almost. Because the corner of his mouth twitched at my response.

“If you get anything,” Brewster said, his voice returning to business, “anything at all…”

“I'll call.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

I took a step backward into the elevator.

“But here's a thought.” I met his eyes one last time. “Instead of following me around Chicago, maybe go investigate.”

His brows lifted.

“You're the FBI.”

I shrugged.

“Be federal.”

For the first time since we'd met, the mask slipped. Not much. Just enough for irritation to flash across his face.

“I am investigating.”

"Good." I stepped backward into the elevator as the doors began to close. "If I come across something before you do, you'll be my first call."

The doors closed between us. Only then did I let out the breath I'd been holding.