Page 37 of Chameleon Killer

"What if he was pointing me toward something?"

Three steps. Turn.

"What if⁠—"

"Mal."

I kept walking.

"Mallory."

Still walking.

Flint crossed the room and stepped right into my path. I had to stop or go around him. He held out one of the food containers.

I stared at it, bemused, then took it. It was the sesame chicken with the chopsticks still poking out of it. The smell of it teased me.

"Look at me."

I did.

His expression hadn't changed. If anything, he’d grown steadier. His full mouth firmed into a tough line, but he wasn’t scowling.

“The facts first.” It was a good reminder. A solid one.

One I needed.

I let out a slow breath. “The facts."

Flint nodded once. ”Guy changed the budget."

"Yes." That was an indisputable fact, one Flint could source himself since he’d been there.

"He changed your assignments." He canted his head. “He attempted to manipulate your assignments by heavily suggesting.”

“So that’s a maybe?” I couldn’t help it, I nearly smiled and Flint shrugged.

“He kept getting in my lane.” He wasn’t going to apologize. “He might know budgets, but I know the news.”

“Yes,” I said, not so much to soothe him but because Flint was right. He did know the news and I hated it when people cut into my lane too. “Do you think he was personally approving investigations he would've rejected two years earlier?”

Marker capped again, Flint tapped it against his chin as he stared at the board. “I think he might have. I’ll need to go through my notes and the meeting minutes to verify it…”

To see what had been said. “Then we look into each one he touched, suggested, or supported.” I tilted my head from side to side. “We also look into anything he vehemently rejected.”

With another slow nod, Flint said, “Looking as closely at what we were pointed away from is as important as what was put in our path.”

Half of all good investigations, and sometimes three-quarters of them, was all about the tedium. Verify. Verify. Backstop. Source. Verify.

"Then we ask why." Flint tapped the question in the center of the board. “Why did he want us to do any of it that goes beyond ratings or optics.”

I laughed quietly. “No pressure.”

He snorted. “Admit it. You love how my brain works.”

“You learned from the best,” I quipped rather than just say it. Though, I did love how his brain worked even when he frustrated me.

A grin finally escaped him and for one, seemingly impossible moment, everything else disappeared.