Page 173 of Chameleon Killer

“What exactly did he say?” The question came too quickly.

I looked at him. Then at the agents around us.

Then at the cameras clipped to tactical vests, radios, phones, microphones and whatever else I couldn't see.

Simon had built our entire encounter around the difference between facts and narrative. I suddenly had no desire to contribute another word to either. “We should get out of here.”

Brewster frowned. “A minute ago you refused to leave.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

I started toward the office.

“Mallory.”

I kept walking. Flint’s hand slid down my arm until he wrapped his hand around mine and fell into step with me.

Brewster followed.

The room looked smaller with half a dozen federal agents inside it.

The desk remained exactly where I'd left it. Chair pushed slightly away. Monitor black.

No keyboard.

I stopped.

There had been a keyboard.

“Don't touch anything,” Foster warned like I was an idiot.

“I wasn't going to.”

His expression said he didn’t believe me but whatever.

Brewster moved around the desk. “Where were you?”

I pointed at the chair.

“And the computer?”

“Right there.”

“This monitor?”

“Yes.”

“Keyboard?”

I pointed to where there was nothing.

Foster swore quietly.

Brewster crouched to look beneath the desk.

Flint studied the walls.