Page 268 of Chameleon Killer

“Who shot Flint?”

His eyes met mine. Not answering was an answer. Something inside me went cold and died. “You.”

A faint smirk touched his expression. “No.”

“You shot him?”

“No.” Another smirk, though this one carried an element of regret? For Flint being hurt? Or for not being the one who actually did it?

“You had him shot.”

“I needed him out of the way.” So. Fucking. Dismissive.

My hand moved before I made a decision. The slap cracked across the empty lot. Brewster's head snapped sideways. Pain shot through my palm.

He didn't retaliate.

Slowly, he turned his face back toward me. A red mark appeared along his cheek. “Feel better?”

“No.”

So I slapped him again. That one he caught. His fingers closed around my wrist in a brutal grip that squeezed so tightly my bones groaned.

“Enough.”

“No. I don't think we're anywhere near enough.”

His grip tightened. “You don't understand what's happening.”

“You’re so fucking patronizing,” I snarled. “You kidnapped me, shoved me in a trunk, and you had Flint shot. What part am I failing to understand?”

“Not fatally.”

I went very still then I jerked my hand back. He didn’t release me immediately. Instead, he kept ahold of me like he wanted to prove I had no control. Only when I stopped yanking did his fingers loosen.

“You arranged to have him shot.” I had seen Flint shot before. I hated it then. I hated it now.

“He was supposed to be delayed.” A shrug.

“Someone put a bullet in him.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen that way, Mallory. But it did delay him.”

“That's the problem with hiring people to hurt other people, Elliot. Sometimes they actually shoot them.”

His face tightened. “He got in the way.”

“Of what?”

No answer.

“Me?”

His silence lasted too long.

“Oh my God.” He really had lost it.

“This isn't about Carter.”