Page 113 of Chameleon Killer

Nothing happened.

A sick clock began to tick down in my head.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then the reader flashed green. The little bolt of emerald light in the darkness dumped a ruthless amount of adrenaline into my system.

She disappeared inside and I started the timer. No communication unless she initiated it. No entry unless she used the code phrase. No intervention just because I got nervous.

All rules which had seemed so much more reasonable ten hours earlier while we were still in my apartment. I second-guessed every choice I’d made, beginning and ending with, why am I letting her do this?

The answer never changed though. I was letting her do anything. I was respecting her choices, even if I didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell of her coming out of this unscathed.

The front lobby remained dark. After what seemed like an eternity, a pale rectangle appeared deeper inside as an elevator opened. The light revealed Mallory crossing toward them. She appeared in silhouette for a split second, then she disappeared again as the doors closed.

The eighth-floor light went out at the same time. I leaned closer to the monitor even though it showed me nothing except the building’s exterior.

“Come on, Mal.”

The light reappeared on eleven. Then out again.

So not eight or one of the likelier floors. Eleven had been a possibility. I checked my notes. It had an unfinished office suite with incomplete walls and an active electrical permit. It also had no tenants and no scheduled work for another month.

I lifted the headphones to my ear. Static whispered a greeting. There was no signal yet. Not that I had expected one.

Didn’t mean I wasn’t annoyed anyway. The clock ticked over to 11:52. Movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention. A dark sedan rolled past without slowing.

Government.

Clean bodywork, standard plates, tinted rear windows, and as nondescript and plain as a black sedan could be. It continued down the block and slowed further before turning into the public garage across the street.

I frowned.

A second vehicle arrived thirty seconds later. This one a dark utility van. Like the van I was sitting inside, it had no visible markings but it pulled into the same garage.

“Dammit,” I murmured. A third car stopped just two blocks east. A dark compact SUV. Driver remained inside and the lights all went out at the same moment.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It was too orderly and coming hot on the heels of her going inside? Making sure the monitors were dimmed, I eased back into the front and used binoculars to study the garage entrance just in time to see a man in a navy suit emerge from the pedestrian stairwell.

Even at this distance, I recognized the posture and the stride.

Brewster.

When he crossed beneath a streetlamp, he had one hand near his coat. It drifted repeatedly as though he was just one moment away from drawing his weapon. He moved with his head on a swivel. He scanned the facade, the roofline, the doors, parked vehicles, and even the building across the street.

Likely scanning for surveillance positions. He swept his gaze past the van I occupied, and I lowered the binoculars after his head turned. I didn’t want even a suggestion of movement giving me away.

Then he looked directly at my van. For three seconds, I didn’t breathe and he didn’t move. Then he shifted his trajectory and walked toward me.

Fuck.

My.

Life.