Page 207 of Chameleon Killer

I waited until the bathroom door closed. Then I leaned both hands against the kitchen counter and finally let myself breathe.

She was here. Alive. Safe enough for now.

I had spent hours knowing none of those things. My hands started shaking. I curled them against the stone until it stopped.

The feed replayed in my head.

Mallory on the monitor.

The false smile.

The wrong pauses.

Her voice saying things she hadn't said.

I believe you.

I knew it was manufactured now.

Didn't matter.

I'd heard it.

Believed it.

For several minutes, maybe longer, I had sat in that van and believed Mallory was forming some kind of connection with a killer while I could do absolutely nothing.

Then Brewster. That bastard watched her, watched me, and his control seemed to fray one strand at a time.

I rubbed a hand over my face.

The shower started. Water rushing through the pipes. The ordinary sound grounded me.

I opened the refrigerator.

Eggs.

Cheese.

Leftover Chinese food that I wasn’t even going to check. I just tossed it.

Bread.

Fruit.

Coffee.

Decaf remained negotiable, but I wasn’t throwing in the towel yet. I started water heating anyway. A man had to choose his battles.

Mallory emerged twenty-five minutes later wearing my clothes.

Again.

That should not have affected me as much as it did. Gray sweatpants rolled twice at the waist. One of my black T-shirts.

Bare feet. Wet hair combed back from her face. No makeup. No armor. She looked even more exhausted than she had going in.

She also looked so completely at home in my apartment that something low in my chest pulled tight.