Page 6 of Chameleon Killer

I leaned back in my chair.

She'd changed.

The sharp edges remained, but she'd wrapped them in velvet. I doubted it was weakness. No, she’d adapted because of cost. Real or perceived, it had left a mark.

The host folded one leg over the other. "There are reports the FBI has asked you to scale back your coverage."

Mallory laughed, a soft, and almost effortlessly genuine sound. It was—quite beautiful. "The FBI asks for a lot of things."

"And do you listen?"

Another pause. Long enough for me to wonder if she was choosing between truth and diplomacy. "I listen," she said at last. "But listening and agreeing have never been the same thing."

I found myself smiling.

Small.

Involuntary.

She was still there beneath the caution.

Still asking questions.

Still refusing to surrender the story simply because someone with a badge preferred a different ending.

Whatever Brewster had done...

Whatever pressure he'd applied...

He hadn't changed who she was.

Only how she survived.

For now, that would have to be enough.

“…can you tell us what’s next for you, Mallory?” the host asked and Mallory glanced at the camera again. She looked right at me, or that was how it felt. She met my gaze and held it.

“You’ll know when I do,” she said and it was an answer without being an answer. Another careful choice on her part. She never revealed more than she had to, just like she never revealed her sources. She never had. It also meant she hadn’t stopped asking questions.

Good.

Because neither had I.

Somewhere in Chicago, a man was wearing my methods like a borrowed suit.

He’d killed Colin Thorne.

He’d murdered Guy Reardon.

Then he’d disappeared. Men like that didn’t disappear. They went deep. They waited. They prepared.

Mallory was still hunting the truth.

So was I.

And this time, I would not wait for someone else to make the next move.

Chapter