Page 166 of Chameleon Killer

Nothing over comms except agents confirming positions.

By eleven, my shirt clung between my shoulder blades despite the cold. Carter's breathing had grown heavier, but he hadn't complained once.

Foster stopped us at the landing.

“Twelve is next.”

I glanced up at the narrow wired-glass window in the stairwell door.

Darkness.

“Any confirmation?” I checked with Ruiz who was still running electronics in the lobby.

Static answered first. Then, “Negative.”

“Cameras?”

“Negative.”

“Thermal?”

“Still garbage.”

“Cell?”

“McBryan's phone isn't responding.”

Carter stepped closer. “What does that mean, specifically?”

I knew what he was asking. Was it turned off? Destroyed? Blocked? Somewhere else entirely?

“Nothing yet.”

His expression said he hated the answer as much as I did.

Foster motioned his people into position.

I checked my weapon again.

The unsub had brought her here.

He'd gotten inside her investigation, redirected her thinking, manipulated her curiosity and convinced her to enter a building alone.

Then he'd taken away our ability to observe her. I had warned her. Repeatedly. She had ignored me. Repeatedly.

And underneath the anger thrumming through my veins was a very real, but far less useful feeling. Fear.

After three years of chasing him, he'd somehow managed to take the one person capable of bringing him into the open and turn her into⁠—

No.

I shut the thought down.

Foster glanced at me. He raised his brows and I nodded once. He gave a nonverbal command, then the door was open and the team poured through.

I followed with Carter so close behind me that he bumped into me when I stopped.

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