Page 223 of Chameleon Killer

“Perhaps, but I knew she had received an invitation.”

“You didn't know the address,” Martin pressed.

“No.”

“You didn't know the time.”

“No.”

“But you assembled a team?” Warren retook the lead.

“I had personnel available.”

“Without authorization.” Warren’s fingers struck the folder on the desktop in a slow cadence.

“Agreed, however, I do have operational authority if I also have probable cause. I didn’t deploy them until cause had been proven.”

Warren’s expression remained almost offensively patient. “You followed a journalist who had explicitly excluded you from her plans, after your supervisor told you not to conduct unilateral surveillance, with federal personnel you assembled without an approved operational plan.”

“When you say it like that—” I grimaced as though finding his tone more than his words distasteful.

“How would you like me to say it?”

I didn't answer.

Warren leaned forward. “Because that's how OPR is going to say it.”

I looked toward the laptop. Martin didn't contradict him. “You referred this?”

“I didn't have to,” Warren said. “Half the fucking building witnessed what happened.”

My molars pressed together.

“CPD has already filed concerns about information compartmentalization. Their Major Crimes commander wants an explanation for why one of his detectives learned about a second toxicology order while you questioned a witness.”

“She isn't just a witness.”

Silence.

Neither Warren nor Martin moved. I replayed my words. Too late. I should have reserved that comment. My lack of sleep was playing havoc with my judgment.

Warren’s voice grew very quiet. “What is she?”

I forced myself not to look away. “A journalist embedded in the investigation through direct contact with the offender.”

“Embedded?” Martin raised both eyebrows, The embedded made it sound like it was a choice on all our parts.

Fine. “Entangled.”

“Interesting choice.” Warren leaned back in his chair again. Nothing friendly inhabited his gaze as he studied me.

“It’s an accurate choice.”

“Is it?” Martin challenged.

“Yes.” I didn’t even spare the man on the laptop screen a glance as Warren rose.

He wasn't a particularly tall man, but he had the irritating ability to occupy more room when he wanted to. “From where I'm standing, McBryan isn't the person whose objectivity I'm worried about.”