And I knew he wasn’t just talking about the questions.
Brewster hadn’t moved.
Still seated across from me, fingers steepled in front of him like he was conducting a goddamn psychological séance.
“What?” I asked, more weary than annoyed now.
He gave a faint shake of his head. “I’m still circling something.”
“Of course you are.”
He studied me like a puzzle with one piece missing—and like maybe he already knew which piece it was.
“Do you enjoy the attention, Mallory?” He’d asked that already, or something similar. But this time, the question was slightly different, his tone even more so.
The words hit like a whisper shouted into a cathedral. Everything in the safe house went still.
Even Flint stopped pacing.
I leaned back in my chair, slowly, dragging my fingers along the rim of my coffee mug. Not because I was cold—but because I needed the grounding.
“That’s a hell of a question,” I said.
“But not a denial.”
“Would you prefer I pretend I don’t know how to use the camera?” I asked sweetly. “Or how to shape a story? Or how to let the moment stretch just long enough to get under people’s skin?”
He didn’t blink. “You’re good at what you do. That doesn’t mean the attention isn’t addictive.”
I smiled. Small. Dangerous. “You asking for yourself, or the killer?”
“Both,” Brewster said, without pause.
And that? That landed.
“If he’s watching,” I said, “then I decide what matters.”
Brewster’s mouth twitched. Not a smirk—recognition. “You sure about that?”
I shot him a look. “He’s not trying todateme.”
“Maybe not,” Brewster said, voice low and careful. “But obsession wears a lot of masks. And this one—this has intimacy written all over it.”
He leaned in, just slightly.
“So whatwouldsomeone have to do to get your full attention?”
The question hung between us like a live wire. Not just about the unsub now. Not really.
I met his gaze and held it. “Stalk less. Bleed less. Show up with decent whiskey and a spine that’s not made of profiling jargon.”
That almost got a real smile out of him. Almost.
Flint finally moved again, the scrape of his boots on the floor like a gunshot. “That’s enough.”
But I was still watching Brewster.
And he was still watching me.
