Page 165 of Chameleon Killer

Foster counted silently with his hand.

Three.

Two.

One.

They entered, one high and the other low before the rest followed.

I waited, counting down the seconds. Five. Ten. Then…

“Clear.”

We followed.

The seventh floor was an unfinished maze of framing studs, electrical conduit and plastic tarps. Wind pressed faintly against windows that had never been properly sealed.

No Mallory. No unsub. No indication anyone had occupied the space in months.

Except for the stairwell door.

Foster examined it.

“Magnet.”

A small black device had been attached near the latch. He didn't touch it.

Carter stared. “He wanted us to stop here.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To waste time.”

The answer came too quickly.

Carter noticed. “So where is she?”

I looked toward the ceiling. Five floors above us was my guess, but… “I don't know.”

It was the first time I'd said it aloud. I didn't like the taste of it.

We returned to the stairs.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

Nothing.

No movement.

No footsteps.

No voices.