Page 9 of Chameleon Killer

The heels joined it.

The woman from television remained in the dressing room. It was time for me, the journalist, to slip quietly back into my own skin.

I unlocked the door.

Brewster stood exactly where I'd left him.

Dark suit.

Dark overcoat.

Dark circles beneath eyes that looked as though they hadn't slept much better than mine.

"I thought you'd gone away." It was a lie and I didn’t care if he knew it.

"I was waiting."

“Typical.” I bypassed him, but he fell into step beside me before I even reached the hallway.

"You shouldn't have said someone wanted us to stop asking questions."

“Everyone wants someone somewhere to stop asking questions.” It was a flippant response.

“Mallory,” he growled my name and there was just a glimmer of satisfaction piercing the dark cloud of my mood. It took a lot to push his buttons.

I was getting really good at it. "I didn't realize I needed federal approval for complete sentences."

His jaw tightened. "You know the Auditor watches you."

"According to the ratings, lots of people watch me." I shrugged. “Free country.”

"Don't be deliberately difficult." He snapped.

"I'm not being deliberate at all." Another lie, well, a half-lie. It was a deliberate choice at this point but more of a default. Brewster had begun to piss me off.

He lowered his voice. "You made that sound personal."

"It is personal." He’d get no argument from me on that one.

"Yes,” Brewster hissed, then said nothing as we passed a tech in the hall. Once we were clear, he added, “Very personal to him."

Another shrug of my shoulders. "To Chicago. To the public. To the families of his victims."

"To you."

I stopped walking. "So we're finally saying it out loud."

His expression never changed. "I've been saying it."

"No." I folded my arms, not smirking but there was frisson of excitement threading through my irritation. "You've been implying it."

For just a second something flashed behind his eyes. It was gone before I could name it but it was something sharp and visceral. A cross between frustration and possession, maybe. Either way, he wasn’t happy with me.

Too. Damn. Bad.

"You've become emotionally involved."

"The vice president of my network was murdered." I pointed out.