Page 216 of Chameleon Killer

Her eyes held mine. “Yes.”

Damn. As much as I hated the son of a bitch, I had to give fucking Simon some credit. That was elegant as hell. “He's using Brewster.”

“I think so.”

I considered the fake feed. The altered conversation. The emphasis on Elliot. The way Brewster reacted each time Simon's name came up. Then something clicked.

“Mal.” I straightened and it brushed her chest to mind. I dropped hands to her hips to keep her steady.

“What?”

“The feed.”

She waited.

“It wasn't primarily for us.”

Her brow furrowed.

“It had to be. You were the audience.”

“No. We were recipients.”

“What's your distinction?”

“Target.” The word fit. Her expression sharpened as I continued. “He didn't need to convince me you trusted him.”

“No?”

“Because I'm not running the investigation.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Brewster.”

“Yes.”

The son of a bitch really was clever. I flexed my hands against her hips.

“The fake conversation told Brewster exactly what he already feared. Simon was conditioning you. You were beginning to trust Simon. You didn't trust Brewster. You thought Brewster wanted control.”

Mallory went still. “Which is mostly true.”

“That's why it works.”

She swore quietly. “He used me to take a swing at Elliot.”

“Yes.” A very elegant, and pointed swing. He’d hit his target too.

“But why?”

I stared at her. We both knew the obvious answer. “To provoke him.”

The room seemed colder. Mallory rubbed her palms along my arms.

“Simon already knew how he'd react.”

“Or wanted to test his theory.” I leaned more toward the former than the latter, but both were probable.

Her gaze wandered toward the whiteboard. Brewster's name wasn't on it. Not yet. It would be—I didn’t have to say anything. She was thinking the same thing.