Page 127 of Chameleon Killer

“I know.” The intrusive thought of “blow him a kiss” was wildly out of bounds so I just held his gaze then nodded before I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and settled into work mode.

With that, I closed the door and headed down the damp sidewalk in the drizzling weather.

My breath didn’t quite fog in the air as I approached the doors. The lobby lights came on a split-second before I stopped at the doors themselves.

Motion sensors? Or someone watching?

It was just as likely to be one as to be the other. Still… I palmed the access card from my pocket.

“Here goes nothing,” I murmured. I pressed it to the reader first, sometimes it was a tap but that didn’t work. So I slid it carefully along the side and there was a soft electronic chirp.

The lock disengaged immediately. I eyed the card then the building. Good to know it worked without having to fight with it. I pulled the door open and let myself in. The lobby lights might be on, but they were dim enough to give the whole area a kind of suspended feel.

Maybe the lights were aware that it was nearly midnight and if it were as a bright as day in here, it would be blinding. The lobby smelled faintly of drywall dust and fresh paint.

One elevator’s doors opened as I approached. Just an empty elevator with its doors spread like an invitation—or a gaping mouth. Take your pick.

With a half-laugh at my own melodramatic interpretation, I strode into the elevator and glanced at the panel. No buttons glowed and no floor indicator suggested where I should go.

The doors closed and the panel illuminated the number 12. I hadn’t pressed anything, but it rose without a sound.

I hummed the Twilight Zone theme. Too many crime scenes and far too little sleep. The elevator stopped at twelve and the doors slid open smoothly.

Weirdly, the twelfth hadn’t been on our list of possibilities. Good to know we still couldn’t predict everything about the Auditor, right?

The area looked nothing like the abandoned construction below. It had power, heat, and finished flooring.

The floor was also very dim, with low-lighting. One office at the end of the corridor stood open. Everything else was dark.

Subtle.

I counted cameras as I made my way down the corridor. One. Two. Four.

Too obvious and far too many for this space. I imagined they were decoys and the real problems were the cameras we couldn’t see.

At the open office door, I swept a look over the interior. It contained almost nothing beyond a desk, two chairs, a bottle of water, an unopened notebook with a pen, and a large monitor mounted on the opposite wall.

I took a couple of steps inside and unbuttoned my jacket. It wasn’t so warm I needed to remove it, but staying all bundled up wouldn’t work either. Pausing as I continued to scan the room, I found no computer or visible cables.

The silence lasted long enough for me to become aware of my own breathing. No ticking clock, no HVAC kicking in. Nothing.

Doing a slow pivot, I frowned. Then stepped back out into the hall for a moment. It was—noisier with a faint hum but when I returned to the office, not even two steps in and that sound vanished.

This wasn’t just quiet, it was—soundproofed.

Impressed, I eyed the door then glanced back to the desk, the setup, and the monitor. A tiny green light appeared beneath the monitor.

The screen awakened to black, no image, as white text flashed onto the screen.

Good evening, Ms. McBryan.

I debated sitting, but decided to remain standing for now. I wasn’t quite halfway to the desk but the open door behind me was also unnerving.

The letters just sat there—waiting.

Finally, I said, “Good evening.”

It wouldn’t surprise me to find out he had it wired for sound. Nothing the Auditor did at this point seemed too far-fetched. He was too controlled and meticulous. Even now, rolling with curveballs, he played so many steps ahead, there was no way to close the score gap.