Page 120 of Chameleon Killer

“You said she went there to meet him.”

“No,” I said without an ounce of deception. “I didn’t.”

“Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes.”

Brewster reached toward his ear. I caught his wrist. His eyes dropped to my hand.

“Don’t,” I ordered.

“Release me.”

“If you send them in now, you destroy the meeting.”

“If I don’t and he kills her⁠—”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No.” I tightened my grip. “But then neither do you.”

The van seemed to contract around us. Brewster’s eyes had gone cold. “Take your hand off me.”

“Tell your team to hold.”

“They’re holding.”

“Keep them there.”

“Or?”

“Or Mallory discovers you followed her, brought a tactical team, and treated her like bait after she explicitly refused federal involvement.”

His stare sharpened and I played the very last card I had.

“You think she’ll forgive you?”

“This isn’t about forgiveness,” he snarled the words in a heated hiss but he didn’t try to pull away.

“Everything with her is about forgiveness. You just haven’t figured out what you’re asking her to forgive.” The words came from somewhere I had not meant to access.

Brewster went perfectly still. For one second, I thought he might hit me. A part of me wanted him to try. Instead, he slowly lowered his hand.

I released his wrist.

Neither of us commented on the exchange.

The timer passed twelve minutes.

A monitor blinked. Static rolled across the left screen before the image returned. Then the right monitor failed.

Not black. Gray. A flat, uniform field without signal noise.

I leaned forward.

Brewster noticed. “What?”