Page 242 of Chameleon Killer

A coffee cup rested untouched in front of him on the formica table. That was it. No food. No phone. No badge. No weapon—or at least none that I could see, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one.

Flint was already steering us toward the booth as I registered Brewster’s pick. With his hand at the small of my back, Flint guided us toward him.

Brewster’s gaze lingered on my shirt for half a second and then his mask fell into place. “Thanks for coming.”

I slid into the booth opposite Brewster and Flint joined me, nudging me over just a bit so he was directly across from Brewster rather than me.

“We’re giving one chance,” Flint pressed his thigh into mine as he locked gazes with Elliot. “We're here.”

“I need to speak with Mallory.”

“You are.”

Brewster's jaw tightened as though he was going to say something, but then swallowed it.

Déjà vu. I almost laughed. Flint apparently remembered the earlier exchange too because his mouth threatened to curve.

Sadly, for him anyway, Brewster didn't find it funny. “Privately.”

“No.” This time I answered before either man could continue this little testosterone-fueled tug of war.

Shock jerked Brewster’s attention to me.

Better that we were all on the same page. “I asked Flint how he wanted to handle this. This is how we're handling it.”

Something dark and altogether unfriendly crossed Brewster's face. It was gone too fast for me to be sure, but I went with my gut.

“You don't understand what you're involved in.” Brewster’s tone dipped so deeply into warning it became a threat.

“Then explain it.” I wouldn’t budge on this.

Brewster and I had many discussions about Simon pre and post our—bad decision—at length. He didn’t get to dismiss me as some kind of thoughtless idiot.

When he looked at Flint, I just shook my head once. “Here.”

Brewster’s gaze returned to me and for several seconds nobody spoke. A waitress approached with menus. The timing was spectacular.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“No,” Flint said simultaneously.

She looked between us.

“For me,” I clarified.

“No,” Flint repeated.

I stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You've had enough.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Those are fighting words.”

“I’m aware.”

“You made me coffee.”