Page 174 of Chameleon Killer

“What?” I asked.

“I'm looking for a camera.”

I nodded. “So am I.”

“You were here for over an hour.” Flint shot me a look, but I just shrugged it off. If he wanted to know more later, we could discuss it then.

“I had other things on my mind.”

His gaze came to mine. He understood far more than I’d intended to share at the moment. Brewster was watching me, whether he heard more than I meant for him to or he just didn’t trust me at all at the moment was up for debate.

Foster's radio crackled. He listened, then pressed the button at his shoulder. “Repeat.”

Static answered. Then, an agent said, “No one on thirteen.”

Foster looked toward Brewster.

Brewster looked at the black 12 painted beside the door. “There is no thirteen,” he said. Most buildings skipped labeling a floor 13. It was a rather quaint, if artificial, throwback to superstitions and bad horror movies.

Just calling a floor 14, didn’t make it not 13. I flicked a look at the 12. Nor did calling it floor 12 again.

“Correct,” Foster confirmed.

“Roof access?”

“Sealed from inside. Dust across the door and frame. Doesn't look disturbed.”

“Exterior?”

“Nothing.”

“Elevators?”

“Still disabled.”

Brewster straightened. For several seconds nobody said anything. He looked around the room.

Desk.

Monitor.

Chair.

Me.

His gaze returned to the monitor. “If he wasn't physically here, he didn't need an exit.”

“No,” Flint said, agreeing with him.

Something in his tone drew my attention. He wasn't looking at Brewster. He was looking at me.

“What?”

Flint hesitated, then said, “We heard him.”

My stomach tightened. “Heard who?”

It was Brewster who answered. “The Auditor.”