Page 23 of Chameleon Killer

Then I found the first useful contradiction.

A log printout for the day of the attack.

Guy had reportedly scheduled a meeting that he hadn’t informed his assistant about. The meetings on the log all meshed with his official calendar.

Agent Elliot Brewster was scrawled on a sticky note attached to the back of the log sheet. But it could have just become attached from anywhere else.

The FBI agent’s name and a phone number and the word “follow-up” beneath it. Follow-up. No date or time listed. Not enough to determine whether it was relevant or not.

I took a picture of it before I went to replace the file exactly as I found it but paused at the blank legal pad on the bottom. The light hitting it showed shallow impressions.

Removing the legal pad, I tilted it toward the light. A note had been written on the page above it, hard enough to leave pressure marks. No words, just numbers.

Nine digits broken into three groups. I made a copy of the number in my own folder then replaced all the material then restored the drawer.

As I straightened, a shadow crossed the frosted glass beside the door.

I stilled as the footsteps paused.

A keycard chirped against the reader. There was a beat of hesitation before the door opened and Flint Carter stepped inside.

He saw me immediately and his frown melted away leaving him expressionless.

“Insurance review,” I said, lifting my folder.

His assessing gaze moved from my visitor badge to the folder to my shoes. I didn’t doubt that he had to be asking himself, what didn’t fit.

“Corporate sent me up.” I offered a mild smile. Bland. Non-confrontational. Just a middle-manager doing my job.

“Hmm,” Carter said with more of a grunt than a sigh. “Corporate sends a lot of people up.”

“So I’m learning.”

He moved farther into the office but did not block the door.

An interesting choice. He seemed to communicate that he didn’t want me trapped. Was that more for him or for me? Did he want me to make a mistake? Or just get out of his way?

“Find anything?” he asked.

“Mostly exclusions.” I focused my attention back on my folder and jotted down a note.

“Those’ll kill you faster than the premiums.” A passable line, but delivered with sardonic wit.

I gave him the expected polite laugh. “Usually.”

His eyes narrowed by a fraction. He knew something was wrong.

From the hallway, Mallory’s voice cut cleanly through the room like a laser. “Flint?”

My attention betrayed me. Internally, not externally. I had far too much control over my basic reactions. Yet, the sound of her voice altered the room.

Flint’s expression changed, his eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring, and jaw tightening. Protective. Possessive. Controlled.

I was a stranger, an unknown variable, and his attention focused on me as Mallory appeared in the doorway.

She glanced at Flint first, then me. Her gaze didn’t linger. That was far more impressive than if it had.

“Corporate sent someone?” she asked.