Page 222 of Chameleon Killer

A muscle tightened in my jaw. There was no winning this by rushing to defend or deny, so I just let it sit there. Inadvertently said I made a mistake I wasn’t proud of. I wouldn’t defend it or try to deny it.

Warren tapped one finger against the folder. “That's the problem, Elliot.” His tone took a step back from superior to fellow agent. Not all the way, but close.

“No,” I said in an agreeable tone. This was my wheelhouse and he’d opened the door, so I put a hand back on the wheel. “The problem is someone compromised federal surveillance, constructed synthetic audio and video in real time or near enough to make no difference, routed it into an operational feed, and lured a journalist into a building without triggering a single security measure we put in place.”

“And we're investigating all of that,” Martin stated in cool tones that would have been distant without the help of the computer.

“Without me.” It was a correction worth mentioning. I’d been the lead profiler on this case for years.

“Yes.” Warren didn’t avoid my gaze or the subject. That burned. Burned because it was being delivered as a fait accompli.

I stood.

Warren’s eyes followed me. “Sit down.”

“I've been sitting for six hours.”

“Then stand there.”

I walked to the window instead. Probably a bad choice, but I needed the illusion of being ready to go. The parking area below remained visible through a narrow angle between buildings.

There was no sign of Carter’s vehicle or the van he’d been in. Chances were, they either had been driven home by their attorney or taken to his car or the van. Maybe both.

No doubt, Mallory was still with him, her hand tucked firmly into his. Was she resting her head against his shoulder?

I had no reason to think otherwise. It hardly kept the image from forming. Carter resting a hand on the small of her back. Her leaning toward him. Him stepping between us to keep me at a distance.

I shut the thought down.

“Elliot.”

“What?” My impatience escaped on the growled syllable. I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. Let him try to figure out what was annoying me at the moment. I wouldn’t apologize for it.

Warren said nothing for several seconds, but I could feel the weight of his stare on my back. “When did this become about Mallory McBryan?”

“It isn't.”

“No?” Pure, unadulterated challenge.

I shifted my stance, hands clasped behind my back to glance over my shoulder at him. I waited until our gazes locked. “No.”

“Then why did you follow her last night?”

I’d already returned my gaze to the window. These were the questions you anticipated even when you would prefer no one would ask them. “That was an operational decision.”

“You were ordered, Agent Brewster, to not follow either journalist.”

Perhaps. I wouldn’t argue the order or who gave it since I didn’t think it was relavent “I was advised that Carter had arranged surveillance.”

The click of his tongue against his teeth was one of Warren’s more irritating habits. “You were ordered not to conduct independent surveillance on McBryan.”

Turning slowly, I met Warren’s gaze. “I wasn't conducting surveillance on McBryan.”

He stared at me, consternation written all over his face. “Then who were you surveilling?”

“The unsub.” The lack of hesitation in my delivery seemed to startle Warren so I waited him out as he shared a look with Martin on the screen before focusing on me again.

“You didn't know where the meeting was until you followed McBryan,” Martin argued.