Page 121 of Chameleon Killer

“We lost an exterior camera.”

“You had exterior access?”

“Public traffic feed.”

The center monitor flickered.

For half a second, the building appeared in negative. Then it changed. A room filled the screen.

Not our camera. A live feed.

Mallory sat in a metal chair beneath a single overhead light. Her coat remained buttoned. Her hands rested loosely on the arms of the chair. She wasn’t restrained.

Behind her, unfinished walls disappeared into darkness.

She looked annoyed.

Good.

Annoyed was alive.

Across from her stood a large screen on a rolling frame. From our angle, I could see only its dark back.

A camera had been positioned high in one corner of the room, showing Mallory in profile and most of the space around her.

No second person. No second heat signature in frame.

Brewster leaned toward the monitor. “Where is this coming from?”

“He hijacked the receiver.” Fucker was more impressive than I realized.

“That isn’t how receivers work.”

“Then he hijacked something else.” Clearly, we now had eyes inside when we hadn’t before.

The speakers cracked. A low burst of static filled the van. Mallory looked toward the screen in front of her. Light reflected across her face as it activated. We couldn’t see what she saw.

A man’s voice emerged through our speakers.

Calm. Educated. Undistorted. “Good evening, Ms. McBryan.”

Every hair along my arms rose.

Mallory’s expression didn’t change. “You promised a conversation.”

“And here we are.”

“This isn’t face-to-face.”

A pause. “You can see me.”

“I can see a screen.”

“You can hear me.”

“I could have listened to you on the phone.”

Despite everything, I almost smiled. Beside me, Brewster didn’t move.