Chapter 14 #3
“But you don’t intend to let me.” No more beating around the bush.
“No.”
“He’ll know.” I didn’t doubt it. Not at this stage of the game. The Auditor had been meticulous about everything. He was a highly organized killer.
“Maybe.” But Flint didn’t sound unhappy about the idea.
“And if he cancels?”
Now, he turned and met my gaze. “Then he never intended to talk unless he controlled every variable.”
I considered that. “That would still tell us something.”
Flint nodded.
I hated how reasonable it sounded. I hated more that he had built the plan without me.
“You should have waited.”
“For what?”
“For me.”
He studied my face. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me involved.”
The words were quiet. They opened the fault line between us before I could brace for it.
“This is our investigation.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
I knew. The apartment suddenly felt too small again.
“You backed away,” I reminded him.
“You told me I crossed a line.”
I didn’t scream or hit him. Though, I wanted to. “I told you that you were right.”
“After three days.”
“I needed time,” I said with a sigh.
“So did I.”
“For what?”
He looked toward the board instead of answering. That told me enough to make my pulse stumble.
“For what, Flint?”
His gaze came back to mine. The controlled neutrality I had come to hate was gone.
“I needed to decide whether I could keep standing beside you while you kept choosing every dangerous man in the room.”
Ouch. The accusation hurt. “Is that what you think I do?”
“I think you chase the person who knows the most, even when what he knows is exactly how to hurt you.” His voice was unnervingly even.
“That isn’t fair.”
“No. Probably not.” His voice stayed low. “But it’s true.”
“Elliot was a mistake.” I’d known it before he’d ever touched me and I did it anyway. If I could take it back…
“This isn’t only about Brewster.”
“The Auditor?”
“The man invited you into an empty building at midnight, and you’re already protecting the meeting from the FBI.” He raised his eyebrows as though daring me to prove him wrong.
“I’m protecting the story.”
“You keep saying that like it makes the cost theoretical.”
I stepped closer. “You think I don’t understand the cost?”
“I think you understand everyone’s cost except yours.”
The room went silent.
Flint’s anger never erupted. That made it worse. He held it tightly enough that every word emerged with an edge polished by restraint.
“I’ve seen you walk into war zones,” he continued. “I’ve watched you stand fifty feet from an explosion because the camera needed the shot. I’ve seen you interview men who would have killed you if they thought it would improve their leverage.”
“So have you.”
“Yes.”
The word came rough.
“Then why is this different?”
“Because you don’t seem to even want me there to have your back.”
I stopped breathing.
Flint looked away first.
The board stood between us and the rest of the apartment, crowded with routes, contingencies, and proof of how much he had done while I slept.
“You want me hidden this time,” he said. “Close enough to help if something goes wrong. Far enough that he believes you chose him.”
The last two words came out like he’d ground them down along with the coffee.
“That isn’t what this is.” I wanted to swear at him. But he had to understand.
“Then tell me what it is.”
An interview.
A source meeting.
A trap.
A test.
A chance to speak to the only man who seemed to understand why Colin and Guy did not fit.
None of those answers explained why the invitation felt personal.
Or why Flint’s objection did too.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted.
His eyes returned to mine. The honesty cost more than I expected. Flint picked up the access card’s enlarged photograph and studied it.
“Then we find out.”
“We?”
He gave me a tired look. “Don’t insult me.”
I almost smiled. “You’re not coming inside.”
“We’ll negotiate.”
“No.”
“Your position is noted.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
I folded my arms.
He mirrored me.
For several seconds, we stood there staring at each other across a plan neither of us fully controlled.
Then Flint dropped his arms before he reached for the black marker and drew a circle around the rear service entrance.
“This is our best exit if the main doors lock.”
“Our?”
He ignored that.
“The river side has limited camera coverage. If you have to leave fast, you take the east stairwell to five, cross through the mechanical corridor, then use the service stairs.”
“How do you know the corridor connects?”
“Permit drawings.”
“You didn’t go there.”
“No.”
I searched his face.
He held steady.
I decided to believe him. For now.
“What about the elevators?”
“Assume they’re compromised.”
“Too easy to get stuck inside one anyway.”
“Agreed,” he said with such fervency that I could tell he’d probably already imagined some worst case scenarios.
“Cell service?”
“Assume none.”
“Tracking?”
“The access card may contain RFID beyond the door system. Your phone definitely does. He may expect you to leave it behind.”
“He didn’t say.”
“He didn’t have to.”
I thought about Brewster’s powered-off phone where it rested inside a metal cash box on the bookshelf.
“What about a burner?”
“Burners are only going to be good for one call—maybe.”
“Useful as a decoy.”
“Maybe.”
“Flint.”
“I said maybe.” That counted as progress. He uncapped the red marker. “We need a code phrase.”
“For what?”
“If you need help.”
“If he’s listening, he’ll recognize one.”
“Then it needs to sound natural.”
“Well that certainly narrows the options.”
“Not for you.”
I frowned.
He looked almost amused now. “You say strange things constantly.”
Strange things? My mouth dropped open. “That’s almost insulting.”
“Almost means it wasn’t.”
With a huff, I shook my head. “I’m charming.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“You’re still here.” The answer slipped out before I could stop it.
His expression changed.
So did mine.
Neither of us looked away.
“Yes,” Flint said quietly. “I am.”
The words settled between us.
Not a promise.
Not yet.
Something closer to one than either of us had said aloud.
I turned toward the board before I did something impulsive.
“Code phrase,” I said.
Thankfully, Flint allowed the retreat. “Something you wouldn’t normally say.”
“That eliminates ‘you were right.’” I almost smirked.
“I’ve heard it twice,” he mused.
“Both under duress.”
“Still counts.” Getting cocky now, was he?
I considered. “What if I say I’ve changed my mind?”
“You never say that.”
“Exactly.”
“That may be too obvious.”
“To him or you?”
“Yes.”
I sighed.
He wrote at the bottom of the board:
I’VE SEEN ENOUGH.
I read it. It worked as a phrase a reporter could say at the end of an interview. A phrase that would mean the opposite if I used it. I don’t think I’d ever said I’ve seen enough.
“That works.”
“If you say it, I come in.”
“No matter what?”
“No matter what.”
“And if I don’t?”
His eyes held mine. “I wait.” That answer cost him. I could hear it.
“Where?”
“Close.”
“How close?”
“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.”