Chapter 24 #4
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “Same song, different verse. But let’s cut it out at the refrain. I know he is. Just like I know you are.”
That stopped him.
“I know exactly what he's doing,” I continued. “What I don't know is why it scares you so much.”
Brewster's eyes hardened. “Because you have no idea who he is.”
He really wasn’t going to let this go. It was like he was throwing every reason he could think of, the strong, and the weak at the wall to see what stuck.
“Neither do you.”
“I know what he's capable of.”
“So do I.”
His expression turned stormy once more.
“We can go around in circles all day, Elliot,” I said. “Until you get so mad you walk off or I do. But you’re not going to control this story no matter how many roadblocks you put in my way. It just makes me that much more determined.”
“Dammit Mallory.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “This isn’t personal.”
“You say potato, I say pot-ah-to.” I leaned forward. “You keep asking what Simon told me.”
Brewster said nothing.
“You asked whether he talked about you. Whether he accused you of hiding evidence. Whether he told me you knew why Guy died.”
“Yes.” The word exploded out of him on a wave of frustration that had him knocking over his cup.
Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of coffee left in it. Flint slapped a couple of napkins onto the mess before it could stream across the table to me.
“He's trying to turn you against me,” Brewster said in hard tone.
“Maybe.” I tilted my head. “But you supplied every one of those possibilities.”
His nostrils flared.
Elliot hadn't tracked us down because Simon might kill me. He'd tracked us down because he knew I wouldn't stop digging. Simon had pointed me somewhere Elliot desperately didn't want me looking.
At Elliot.
The realization was so clean it almost felt quiet. I didn't know what he'd done. Hell, I didn't know if he'd done anything.
But Elliot Brewster was afraid of my questions.
That was enough to make me ask better ones.
“You’re not going to stop.” It wasn’t a question, but Brewster looked resigned. Finally.
“Nope.”
“Then don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” He slid out of the booth and rose. Flint started to rise.
I caught his hand beneath the table.
Don't.
He looked at me.
I gave the smallest shake of my head.
Brewster stared at me, then he looked at Flint. “If she doesn’t stop, you won’t be able to protect her.”
“I’ve got her back.” Flint's expression didn't change.
With a long sigh, Brewster peeled off a few dollars and dropped them on the table. “I hope you know what you're doing.”
“I rarely do,” I told him. “That's why I ask so many questions.”
He didn't smile.
Neither did I.
He walked away.
The bell over the diner door rang once.
I watched him through the window until he disappeared around the corner.
“We need to go back to the network,” I told Flint as I pulled out my phone.
He sighed. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” He raised his hand. When the waitress hurried over, he said, “I want to place two to go orders, and more coffee. This time for me too.”
“Sure thing, hon.”
I glanced up from the photos I was paging through on my phone. I wanted to look at the files we’d photographed again. Flint met my gaze with a wry smile and I grinned at him.
Yes, Flint got me.
Two hours later, I’d changed into something from my locker so I could pretend to be a bit professional and Flint got dragged into a meeting with the executives.
Enhancing an image took time and patience. I was perilously low on both. But I didn’t want to drag anyone else into this, not until I was certain.
The program continued rendering and I sipped my coffee as it counted down the last thirty seconds. I just hoped this one worked or I’d be doing it again.
My eyes were gritty, my stomach a little sour but I kind of wanted more of those crispy fried potatoes with onions and peppers. Breakfast felt eons ago. The coffee from the office machine was promising me an ulcer as I paced restlessly.
When the machine dinged, I all but leapt into the chair and watched as the image flickered and rolled as it showed me the last line ordering the sample to be destroyed. It had been ticked on the previous page, but the one that followed it was something else, but there were impressions from the pen.
Impressions that showed the force used to fill it out. The enhanced image was hard to read, but it was there.
I zoomed in a little closer.
E. brEWSTER.
I knew it. I knew it before I’d gone hunting for the pictures. I’d known it before I started the enhancement. The answer had been right there, but I hadn’t even told Flint.
Because I wanted to be wrong.
My pulse went strangely quiet. Simon hadn’t pointed me at Elliot to distance me from the agent. He’d done it because he suspected or had already linked him. Then to make his point, he'd pointed Elliot toward me.
The conference-room door clicked shut behind me.
I didn't turn around. It had been too late the from the moment I decided to come here and prove what I knew.
“You really should have stopped, Mallory.”
Elliot.
Fuck.