Page 111 of Chameleon Killer

“Close enough.”

“That is not a location.”

“It’s the one you’re getting.”

I wanted to argue.

He wanted me to.

Instead, I looked at the building on the board.

At the photographs he had taken.

At the nine possible meeting spaces and the routes he had traced through each one.

Flint had accepted that I was going. He had not accepted losing me.

“We call Brewster after,” I said.

Flint’s face hardened.

“Not before.” I shook my head. If I told him before we’d be drowning in FBI agents.

“He needs to know.”

“He needs to know enough.”

“That’s exactly how this starts,” he reminded me.

“I remember.”

“Do you?” The hostile frustration was back.

“Yes.”

I slipped the marker from his hand and circled the address. “He gets the envelope after the meeting.”

“If there is an after.” He was grumbling.

“There will be.” Of that much I was certain.

“You can’t promise that.”

“No.” I looked at him. “But you can.”

Flint’s expression went very still. It was a cruel thing to ask.I knew that as soon as the words left me.

Still, he answered. “I’ll bring you home.”

Simple.

Certain.

Impossible to misunderstand.

For one reckless second, I wanted to close the narrow distance between us and find out whether the intensity in his eyes felt as dangerous as it looked.

Instead, I handed him the marker. “Then let’s build the rest of the plan.”