Page 206 of Chameleon Killer

“Yes.”

“You didn't tell me.”

“You would have accused me of being overprotective.”

She snorted. “You were being overprotective.”

“I also saved us time.”

She stared at me. I braced for impact. Instead she touched one of the photographs. “You photographed the west side.”

“The construction openings.”

“You knew they weren't accessible.”

Now I shrugged. “I thought they weren't.”

Her fingers slid along the edge of the photograph. “Still can’t figure out how he left.”

“If he was ever there.”

“Right.” She looked at the board for another moment. Then her shoulders dropped. “I'm taking a shower.”

“Good.” She needed that and about eight hours of solid sleep.

“And coffee.”

“After sleep.” If she started on the coffee now, she wouldn’t be sleeping.

She turned. “Coffee before sleep.”

“No.” For once, I wasn’t going to back off on this.

Her eyes flashed. “I've had coffee before bed for twenty years.”

“That explains a lot.”

She pointed toward me. “Quad-shot latte.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Flint.”

“Decaf.”

“Why not just get some food coloring and dump it in the water?” Her expression became genuinely offended.

“I can do that too.”

“You should hear yourself.”

“I’m the responsible one.” I raised my eyebrows daring her to dispute it. “Deal with it.”

“You sound evil.”

“Shower.”

She glared but I refused to budge and with one last look, she threw up her hands and disappeared down the hallway.