Page 196 of Chameleon Killer

Before anyone could speak, the door opened. A silver-haired man in an FBI windbreaker stood there.

I'd seen him before. Not tonight. He was one of Brewster’s supervisors. His gaze traveled over the room, paused briefly on me, then settled on Brewster.

“Elliot.”

Brewster's posture changed. “Sir.”

“Outside.”

“We're in the middle of⁠—”

“Now.” The single word ended the argument.

Brewster looked toward me, then Flint and Alisha, before returning to me. Something in his face made the hairs rise along my arms.

He followed his supervisor into the hallway.

The door shut behind them.

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

Then Ortiz released a long breath. “Well.”

Alisha looked at her. “Don't.”

“I wasn't going to say anything.”

“You were thinking loudly.”

Ortiz smiled faintly.

I stared through the narrow glass panel beside the door. Brewster stood with his back partly toward us.

His supervisor spoke quietly. Another federal agent joined them. Then another.

Brewster shook his head once. Sharp.

The supervisor said something.

Brewster answered.

I couldn't hear the words. Didn't need to. His hands had gone to his hips. Classic defensive posture.

Then his supervisor pointed down the hallway.

Brewster glanced toward the interview room.

Toward me. Even through the glass, I felt his eyes collide with mine. The professional was gone. Completely. The man staring at me wasn’t my friend.

Not anymore.

Flint came to stand beside me. “What?” he asked.

“I don't know.”

“You're doing the face.”

I glanced at him. Despite everything, a laugh threatened. “I don't have a face.”