Page 143 of Chameleon Killer

“Why?”

My question.

I closed my eyes. I should have negotiated a bulk rate. “Fine.”

What makes Mr. Carter different?

I opened my eyes again. “From Elliot?”

Yes.

The question irritated me for reasons I didn’t want to examine, including but not limited to the fact my personal life had nothing to do with this.

“Flint isn’t part of this investigation in an official capacity.”

Irrelevant.

“You asked what makes them different.”

To you.

I glared. “I’m beginning to regret giving you a name.”

You requested it.

“And you supplied it.”

Reciprocity.

“Right.”

I rubbed my thumb along the edge of the notebook. What made Flint different? Years of working together. A shared history. Trust. Arguments. Hotel rooms. War zones. Coffee. His ridiculous eggs.

That too-short couch and a lifetime subscription.

I exhaled. “With Flint, I don’t have to calculate every interaction.”

Not anymore?

There it was. The knife. I looked at the monitor. “You’ve been paying a lot of attention.”

You established that.

“Yes, I did.” Another pause. “He knows when to push me.”

So does Agent Brewster.

“Not the same.”

Why?

I hesitated. Because Flint stopped when it was my choice. Because Elliot pushed until my choice matched his or he risked losing me. Because one stood beside me and the other tried to put me somewhere he could keep me.

The distinction had never seemed so obvious before.

“Flint wants me safe.”

And Agent Brewster does not?