Chapter 12 #2
“Did he record your confirmation?”
“He could have.” I shrugged. “But he didn’t get to take it with him.”
His cell phone was in my back pocket. I’d filched it when I handed him his jacket.
“He’ll come back for it.”
“I know.”
“What else?”
Turning to face him once more, I folded my arms. “He thinks the Auditor is conditioning me.”
Flint didn’t immediately dismiss the idea. That bothered me more than if he had.
“You agree him?” I wasn’t entirely certain how I felt about that.
Unfazed by my surprise, he lifted his shoulders before he said, “I think someone who calls you in the middle of the night, gives you information no one else has, and sends you chasing a question of his choosing probably wants something.” His implied don’t you?
hung unspoken off the end of that statement.
“It isn’t the same thing.” A weak defense. I could do better.
“No.” His easy agreement had me narrowing my eyes.
“But?”
“But Brewster isn’t wrong just because you don’t like how he said it,” Flint said it with a straight face and not an ounce of irony or teasing.
I stared at him.
Flint held my gaze without apology.
Grimacing, I continued to meet his stare. “That sounded almost ridiculously reasonable.” It came out every bit as disgruntled as I was feeling.
“I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”
At the deadpan response, I chuckled. “You don’t trust Brewster.”
“This isn’t about whether I trust him.”
“Doesn’t sound like a denial to me.”
It was his turn to narrow his eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with profilers.”
“And evasive newsroom directors.” I pasted on a sweet smile to that last that just made him snort. Yeah, I wasn’t this nice on a good day. But it was almost—what? fun? Yes, it was fun to tease him
“I trust the FBI profiler to act according to what he believes is necessary.” The rather understated, but utterly dry delivery told me that Brewster lived down to his expectations of him. Not up.
I turned toward the glass wall. Brewster was gone, but I could still picture him moving through the newsroom with the quiet authority of someone accustomed to doors opening before he reached them.
“What aren’t you saying?” Flint asked.
I should have told him nothing. It wasn’t about trust, not between us. But at the same time, I knew the truth would matter.
“Elliot and I have a history.” That was a pathetic description for a bad decision made in the heat of the moment.
“I know.”
I turned. “What do you know?”
“You’ve gone from casually holding the upper hand and maintaining your professionalism to letting him get under your skin.
You aren’t necessarily thinking strategically about him.
” The suggestion of disappointment in his voice was softened only by the element of sympathy.
He seemed to be assuming the source of the issue was Colin and Reardon.
Those were the most obvious to assume. On some levels, he wasn’t wrong. But…
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Flint went still. “I’m listening.”
The statement was neutral. His tone was almost bland. His eyes were neither and they scorched where they burned into me.
“Once.” I blew out a breath. “I slept with him—well, there wasn’t sleep involved. We hooked up. Once.”
The newsroom continued moving beyond the glass. Someone laughed near the assignment desk. A producer hurried past carrying a stack of scripts. The world didn’t pause to gawk at a confession I’d never intended to make.
Flint’s face revealed nothing. Not surprise. Not anger. Not—anything. It was as neutral a face as I’d ever seen him wear. It was his professional mask of unbiased reporting.
A distancing technique to be sure, but also… he wasn’t my friend, my partner, or even my boss at the moment.
“When?” he asked.
I didn’t want to answer that question. The timing was important. But the fact I didn’t want to answer it made me answer it. I wasn’t going to run away from this. A lie of omission is still a lie.
“When I was still in the safe house with him.”
His gaze shifted away for the first time.
I could have continued and tried to explain. Frustration. Proximity. Grief. Adrenaline. Exhaustion. I could lay out the details of how that bad choice was probably inevitable.
But all that would have just been a justification.
“It wasn’t a relationship,” I said. It wasn’t then. It still wasn’t now.
“I didn’t ask.” The lack of intonation on the words left a hollow ache in my gut.
“You were going to.” Even if he hadn’t, he’d wondered and I wanted to answer as completely as I could.
“No.” His eyes returned to mine. “I was going to ask whether it affects the investigation.”
The professionalism of the question should have relieved me.
It didn’t.
“Yes,” I said. “It does affect the investigation.” This was also why he needed to know.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Because you trust him?”
“Because I don’t know whether I distrust him for professional reasons or personal ones.” Which was as basic a truth as I could make it. I didn’t want to see him because I didn’t want to act or react to him based on that bad decision. Not when he clearly wanted so much control.
“And does he know that?”
“He knows I’m keeping him at a distance.”
“That wasn’t my question.” Flint dropped his folded arms to grip the edge of his desk behind him. It looked casual enough unless you looked at his hands.
The white knuckles were a dead giveaway.
I exhaled through my nose. “He knows what happened complicates things.”
“Does the Bureau?”
“No.” At least not from me. I suspected not from him either.
Flint looked toward the office door, then back at me. “Could it compromise your reporting?”
“Yes.”
“Could it compromise his role in the case?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is he still attached to you?” Genuine concern replaced his neutrality.
“I’m not his assignment.”
“Mal, you’re not an idiot and you don’t play one on television. You are his assignment because you’re his connection to communicating with the Auditor.”
I sighed. “I didn’t choose that.” I also hadn’t resisted it. “But fine, he still considers me a primary on the case and would prefer I stay in protective custody. I’m refusing that for—“ I made a wave of my hand. “Reasons.”
“Still, Brewster is staying on the case and in your face about it.”
“He’s been chasing the Auditor for years.” It wasn’t an excuse or a justification. I just—I got the hunger to finish the story. I shared it.
“So have other agents.” The implication slammed down between us. “Local and federal. He’s one guy. If he’s a problem, we report him.”
“He didn’t force me.” That seemed an important distinction. “Or manipulate me. Don’t make me the victim here.”
“Oh, trust me, Mallory,” Flint said in a cool tone. “I’d never make the mistake of making you the victim. You are more than stubborn enough to throw yourself on that pyre.”
I regretted my comments and the reaction they provoked.
He stepped away from the desk narrowing the distance between us.
“I’m not asking who you slept with or why you did,” he said. “I’m asking whether the man controlling access to evidence and to the case has a personal reason to control access to you.”
The distinction stripped the argument of every defense I’d prepared. The intensity in Flint’s eyes matched the concern he’d evinced earlier. The question was important.
Very important.
And…
“I don’t know.”
Flint nodded once, but there was no satisfaction in it. “That’s the problem.”
I looked toward the newsroom where Brewster had disappeared only minutes earlier. The Auditor wanted my attention. Brewster wanted my trust.
I wasn't sure either of them deserved it.