Page 224 of Chameleon Killer

Anger flashed hot beneath my ribs. It was a burst of red fury that threatened to burn like acid through my guts. I controlled my reactions to it.

Barely.

“You think I'm compromised,” I said, remembering—barely—to tack on the “sir” at the end.

“I know you're too personally involved,” Warren said.

“I’m involved with every case.” It was what made me good at my job.

“You’re too involved with her.”

I laughed once. It was the wrong response, but at the same time I found it laughingly insulting to be accused of such.

Warren’s expression hardened. “You had a sexual indiscretion and developed a relationship with a journalist who is now in direct communication with the subject of a federal homicide investigation.”

I said nothing, just met him stare for stare. On the screen, Martin’s eyebrows lifted. I should have chosen a different word, but here we were.

“A sexual indiscretion I reported at the time. I hid nothing.”

Warren suddenly looked tired. “You understand that doesn't help.”

“It wasn't a relationship,” I reminded him.

“That helps even less.”

“It happened before she became a direct contact.”

“Elliot.” Warren’s tone said everything there. Nothing I was telling him was improving the situation. Clarifications only made it worse.

Somewhere beneath the anger, a colder awareness began taking shape. They wanted absolute specifics and I hated that word now. McBryan threw it at me, because Simon had given it to her.

The name crawled through my thoughts.

Not Auditor. Not unsub. Simon.

He had given her a name.

Then she had protected it before she let it slip.

Or had she?

I stared at the gray Chicago morning beyond the window. Mallory didn't make many accidental disclosures. Sure, she made mistakes. Everyone did.

But when she had said Simon in that room—She had immediately shut down.

Then she asked for counsel and made it look accidental.

My stomach tightened. Had it been?

“Elliot.”

I caught sight of Warren’s faint reflection in the glass.

“What?”

“Where did you just go?” Concern etched the lines under the words.

“Nowhere.”