Page 94 of Chameleon Killer

“Then I’m saying it again.” It came out a pure masculine growl and my toes curled inside my shoes. There was something raw about Flint using that tone.

Rather than focus on how he was saying it, I addressed what he said.

“He wants to talk.” Not my strongest argument, but I could build up to that.

“He wants you isolated.” The immediate snap back told me that Flint was clearly not placated.

“He hardly needs to isolate me. We’re already sure he’s been in here while we were here and at the memorial service. If he wanted to, he could have killed me there or here.” That wasn’t his plan. I was almost sure of it.

“That isn’t as reassuring as you seem to think it is.” While he leaned back against my desk, it should have felt like he hovered over me. Yet, despite the surging energy of his presence, he didn’t loom.

“Flint,” I said in a softer voice. “I don’t think he wants to kill me. And I don’t fit his victim profile.”

“Maybe not this time, but that could change and you’re the one who has him talking in the first place. If you do something he doesn’t like…”

The tension between us had been growing for days, fed by too little sleep and too many questions. Now it tightened into something with edges that cut.

“You don’t get to decide for me,” I said, and I was damn proud of how even I kept my voice.

“I know.” As temperamental as he sounded, I doubted the veracity of those two words.

“Then stop acting like you do.” Okay, now I was snapping. Dammit.

“I’m acting like the person standing closest to the blast radius.”

I pushed my chair back and stood. “I’ve never asked you to do that.” Even if I had been grateful that he had my back.

“No.” His voice dropped. “You just keep making sure I’m there.”

Of all the things he’d said, those particular words silenced me. The truth in them slapped me harder than any tone he’d used.

I had gone to his apartment instead of mine. Worked in his conference room. Used his office for the conversation with Brewster. Told him about Elliot when I hadn’t told anyone else.

Every time the ground shifted, I reached for Flint and then resented him for standing where I’d placed him.

His gaze held mine.“You want me close enough to catch you,” he said. “But not close enough to stop you from jumping.”

My throat tightened. “That isn’t fair.”

“No.” He looked at the card in my hand. “Neither is this.”

All around us in the empty newsroom, monitors glowed over abandoned desks and the larger screens on each wall the top kept playing out their silent films of disaster and paparazzi around the world. The city reflected against the windows, making the dark outside look crowded with ghosts.

I looked down at the invitation. The Auditor had arranged the place, the time, and the terms. He expected me to believe I was choosing whether to participate.

Conditioning? Or a trap?

Didn’t have to be one or the other, because it absolutely was both. The answer didn’t change my determination or my need for answers.

A killer who had spent years speaking through evidence and had finally decided evidence was no longer enough. He wanted to talk to me. In person.

It could be the story coup of a lifetime.

It could also get me killed.

I slipped the access card into my pocket. It wouldn’t be the first story that I put my life on the line to get.

Flint’s eyes followed my action.