Page 219 of Chameleon Killer

“No.” She shifted her grip and this time, it was her hand on my chin and the rasp of my stubble against her hand reminded me it’d been far too long since I’d shaved. “Listen to me, Flint. Yes, I made that mistake with Elliot. You—you aren’t a mistake. You never have been.”

Then she kissed me.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

BREWSTER

They took my credentials at six forty-three Sunday morning.

Temporarily.

That word had been used four times.

Administrative leave.

That phrase had been used six.

They took my gun because while on temporary administrative leave, I would not need it.

Right.

Neither changed the fact that Assistant Special Agent in Charge Harold Warren held my credentials in his hand while I stood in a borrowed office at Chicago PD headquarters and considered how much trouble I would cause if I simply took them back.

Enough.

Probably.

Warren set the credential case on the desk between us next to my holstered gun.

“You understand this isn't disciplinary action.”

Really? He wanted me to buy that? Well… “Then give them back.”

His expression didn't change. Warren had spent twenty-eight years in the Bureau perfecting the ability to look disappointed without moving a single muscle in his face.

“That's not how this works.”

I didn’t bother to disguise my snort. “I know how it works.”

“Then stop making me explain it.” He didn’t attempt to disguise his impatience with me.

I looked toward the window.

The blinds were open. Dawn had arrived without improving anything.

Behind the glass, Chicago moved through another Sunday morning. Cars passed. People walked dogs. Somewhere, people were waking up with nothing more pressing to consider than breakfast.

Mallory had left eleven minutes earlier with Carter. I was aware because I’d watched them go. Their exit—together—hadn’t improved anything either.

“Elliot.”

I looked back at Warren.

He’d taken a seat across from me, jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. Deputy SAC Martin was patched in by secure video from the field office, his face frozen in one corner of the laptop screen while he listened.

Two supervisors for a temporary administrative reassignment. Yeah. That’s what this was. I didn’t care what they wanted to call it, the packaging said it was so much more.