Page 87 of Chameleon Killer

“No.” His eyes returned to mine. “I was going to ask whether it affects the investigation.”

The professionalism of the question should have relieved me.

It didn’t.

“Yes,” I said. “It does affect the investigation.” This was also why he needed to know.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Because you trust him?”

“Because I don’t know whether I distrust him for professional reasons or personal ones.” Which was as basic a truth as I could make it. I didn’t want to see him because I didn’t want to act or react to him based on that bad decision. Not when he clearly wanted so much control.

“And does he know that?”

“He knows I’m keeping him at a distance.”

“That wasn’t my question.” Flint dropped his folded arms to grip the edge of his desk behind him. It looked casual enough unless you looked at his hands.

The white knuckles were a dead giveaway.

I exhaled through my nose. “He knows what happened complicates things.”

“Does the Bureau?”

“No.” At least not from me. I suspected not from him either.

Flint looked toward the office door, then back at me. “Could it compromise your reporting?”

“Yes.”

“Could it compromise his role in the case?”

“Yes.”

“Then why is he still attached to you?” Genuine concern replaced his neutrality.

“I’m not his assignment.”

“Mal, you’re not an idiot and you don’t play one on television. You are his assignment because you’re his connection to communicating with the Auditor.”

I sighed. “I didn’t choose that.” I also hadn’t resisted it. “But fine, he still considers me a primary on the case and would prefer I stay in protective custody. I’m refusing that for—“ I made a wave of my hand. “Reasons.”

“Still, Brewster is staying on the case and in your face about it.”

“He’s been chasing the Auditor for years.” It wasn’t an excuse or a justification. I just—I got the hunger to finish the story. I shared it.

“So have other agents.” The implication slammed down between us. “Local and federal. He’s one guy. If he’s a problem, we report him.”

“He didn’t force me.” That seemed an important distinction. “Or manipulate me. Don’t make me the victim here.”

“Oh, trust me, Mallory,” Flint said in a cool tone. “I’d never make the mistake of making you the victim. You are more than stubborn enough to throw yourself on that pyre.”

I regretted my comments and the reaction they provoked.

He stepped away from the desk narrowing the distance between us.

“I’m not asking who you slept with or why you did,” he said. “I’m asking whether the man controlling access to evidence and to the case has a personal reason to control access to you.”

The distinction stripped the argument of every defense I’d prepared. The intensity in Flint’s eyes matched the concern he’d evinced earlier. The question was important.