Page 202 of Chameleon Killer

She eventually noticed. Of course she did. “You're awfully quiet.”

“So are you.”

“I'm traumatized.”

I looked at her. She stared straight ahead.

Then one corner of her mouth lifted. “Too soon?”

I didn’t laugh, though I did smile. “Probably.”

“Okay,” she said in an agreeable tone. “I'll put it in the maybe pile.”

The silence returned.

Three blocks later, she said, “You can ask.”

“No.”

She glanced at me. “No?”

“No.”

“You have questions.”

“Yes.”

“Lots of them.”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not going to ask?” She sounded puzzled, and maybe a little disappointed? I wasn’t positive on the last.

“No.”

“Hmm.” She studied me. But I kept my eyes on traffic. “That doesn't seem healthy.”

“I'll risk it.”

“Flint.”

“Mal.”

“What did you hear?”

My hands tightened around the steering wheel. There it was. Not what Simon said. What did you hear?

I took the next light before answering. “A version.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“It is the only one I'm sure of.”

She went still beside me. Good. Maybe she'd understand.

“We thought we were listening to you.”

“But you weren't.”