Page 241 of Chameleon Killer

“You think he's dangerous,” I said, head tilted as I tracked a woman moving at a brisk walk, arms swinging, her dog trotting with her, while also talking on her phone.

Flint's hands shifted on the wheel.

“I think he showed up at my building after being removed from a federal investigation for being too personally involved with you.”

“True,” I said softly. “But it’s also not really an answer.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Incomplete.”

His head turned and I swore I could feel the vibration of the growl he released when I truly aggravated him. The fact he swallowed the sound spoke volumes.

I smiled sweetly.

“Don't.”

“What?”

“You know exactly what.”

I did. The word belonged to Simon now and apparently that bothered Flint. I filed that away.

“I don't know whether Brewster is dangerous,” Flint finally admitted. “I know he's behaving unpredictably and that makes me wary.”

“That's profiler language.”

“It's common-sense language.”

“Still.”

He stopped at a light. “This isn't funny, Mal.”

“I know.”

The light changed. He drove.

I watched his profile for another moment. “I trust you.”

His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. I had expected some dry response. Maybe a joke. Instead, Flint remained silent.

“Are you okay?”

“Yep.”

“Pretend to be a little more convincing.”

“I'm driving.”

“Last I checked you could walk and chew gum at the same time.”

His mouth twitched.

Good.

I turned toward the window again. After another block, and he let go of the steering wheel with his right hand and found my left. When he slotted our fingers together, neither of us commented, but I did relax.

Brewster had chosen the rear booth. From there he could see the entrance, kitchen doors, bathrooms, and most of the windows.