Chapter 23 #3
“They pulled him.”
Flint's gaze remained fixed on the monitor. “Looks that way.”
Brewster glanced toward the camera and then directly into it. It didn’t surprise me that he knew where it was. Then he continued down the hall toward it—toward us.
Something tightened low in my stomach that had absolutely nothing to do with what Flint and I had been doing ten minutes ago.
“Why is he here?”
“Excellent fucking question.”
I looked at Flint. He looked at me. Neither of us moved toward the door. That, more than anything, told me how seriously Flint was taking this.
Normally he would have already positioned himself between me and whatever problem was coming.
This time he was thinking.
So was I.
Brewster had been removed from the case.
His supervisor had taken his credentials.
I'd seen enough of the argument through the glass to know his involvement with me had become part of the reason.
And instead of going home, sleeping, calling his union representative, attorney, supervisor, therapist, priest, or whoever suspended federal agents were supposed to call when their careers imploded—
He'd come here.
To Flint's apartment, probably because he suspected this was where I would be.
Not reassuring.
“How do you want to deal with him?” I asked.
Flint looked at me. Something shifted in his expression. It was subtle, but also warm and intoxicating. Which was frankly inappropriate considering we were standing naked in his living room while a recently disarmed federal profiler approached his door.
“What?” He blinked like he hadn’t fully registered what I’d said.
Which was bullshit. This was Flint, he didn’t miss much—if anything. “You heard me.”
“I did.”
I raised my eyebrows, “Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you asked.”
I folded my arms, then immediately reconsidered because that did things to my breasts I didn't particularly need him noticing right now.
Oops. Too late. His eyes dipped. “Flint.”
His gaze returned obediently to mine. Mostly.
“This is your home,” I said. “He's showing up uninvited. You know the building. You know the security. So—how do you want to handle him?”
His expression softened another fraction. I understood why. This wasn't me surrendering control. It wasn't Flint making a decision for me.
It was trust.
Apparently we'd stumbled into some of that between bouts of sex.
Terrifying? Maybe. But this was still Flint. I trusted him.
“I don't want him inside.” The response from him was immediate as was my reply.
“Okay.”
Another flicker in his eyes. Apparently the easy agreement surprised him too.
“Don't get used to it.”
“There she is.”
I almost smiled but a knock sounded. It was three hard strikes on the door.
“Carter.” Brewster was not being subtle or quiet. No question who he wanted to answer.
Flint looked at me again. “Get dressed.”
I considered arguing on principle. Then Brewster knocked again. “Mallory!”
Well. Shit. So much for that.
Flint's entire posture changed. His shoulders settled. His jaw locked. Something behind his eyes went very, very quiet.
I touched his arm. “Hey.”
His attention came back to me.
“He knows I'm here.”
“I noticed.”
“Then let's not pretend otherwise.”
Flint held my gaze for a second before nodding.
Together, we collected enough clothing to become socially acceptable.
Mostly.
I pulled on Flint's shirt because I wanted to. I’d like wearing it before he stripped it off me.
He noticed and I caught the look even if he didn’t say anything. We were going back to bed after this.
I didn't care if I had to physically throw Brewster into the elevator to accomplish it.
Flint pulled on a pair of sweats while I stood there in bare legs with his sweatshirt covering my ass. I found panties and tugged them on and then glanced around for—there they were. Sleep shorts.
Standing at the door, he didn’t open it. He’d pulled on a button down shirt but left it open. He checked the camera again while running his fingers through his hair.
Brewster stood outside.
Waiting.
No pacing.
No knocking now.
Just waiting.
That bothered me more.
Flint pressed the intercom button. “What do you want?”
Brewster looked directly into the camera. “I need to speak with Mallory.”
“No.”
Not even a pause.
I glanced at Flint.
He didn't look at me.
“Carter.” Onscreen, Brewster's expression tightened.
“You were removed from the investigation less than six hours ago.”
Interesting, but not surprising. Flint had apparently been counting too.
“This isn't about the investigation.”
That got my attention. Flint's too. “Then you have even less reason to be here.”
Brewster stepped closer to the camera. “He contacted me.”
Everything stopped. Flint looked at me. I stared at Brewster's image.
My pulse accelerated.
Simon.
Of course. Because apparently the man couldn't leave a single piece on the board without moving it.
“When?” I asked.
Flint shot me a look. Too late. Brewster heard me. His gaze shifted slightly, as if he could somehow see through the camera and into the apartment.
“This morning.”
“What did he say?”
“Mal.”
I looked at Flint. Right. We shouldn’t do this through an intercom and Flint didn’t want him in here.
Brewster answered anyway. “He knows about Reardon's toxicology.”
The last remnants of warmth left my skin.
Flint swore softly.
I moved closer to the screen. “What does he know?”
“I don't know.”
“You just said—”
“He knows I withheld it.”
That shut me up. Not because Simon knowing surprised me. Because Brewster had finally said the word.
Withheld.
Not overlooked.
Not compartmentalized.
Not awaiting authentication.
Withheld.
Flint heard it too. His eyes narrowed.
I looked at the screen. Brewster seemed to realize what he'd admitted.
For once, he didn't attempt to correct it.
“Why?” I asked.
His jaw tightened.
“Why did you withhold it, Elliot?”
Silence.
I leaned into Flint when he raised an arm and he draped it over my shoulder. No, he didn’t want to do this here, but he wasn’t running away from it either.
Brewster looked into the camera. “He told me to ask you the question I was actually afraid to ask.”
My skin prickled. I remembered Simon's cursor. The pauses. The maddening insistence on specificity.
“What was the question?”
Brewster didn't answer. That told me enough.
“You asked him about me.” It was a guess.
A muscle moved in his jaw. Yeah, he had. Simon had interviewed him, pressed his buttons—a lot like he had mine
“So what did you ask?” I said.
Brewster's gaze remained fixed on the camera. “What he told you about me.”
Flint’s muscles tensed, but he stroked his hand through my hair, slowly working free some of the knots. “And what did he say?”
For the first time since Brewster appeared on the monitor, something moved across his face that looked less like anger and more like uncertainty.
“Nothing you hadn't already begun to see.”
My heartbeat stumbled. Beside me, Flint went silent. Not still. Silent.
There was a difference. I looked at him. He was staring at Brewster. And suddenly I understood something that hadn't occurred to me before.
Simon had told Brewster almost nothing. He hadn't needed to. He'd sent him here.
No badge. No gun. No Bureau. No authority.
Just Elliot Brewster standing outside Flint Carter's door asking to see me. Whatever Simon wanted to learn from him—we might be about to find out.
“Mal.” Flint’s voice was low and I glanced up at him. His eyes held mine. There was no command, just a question.
“Your house,” I reminded him quietly. “Your call.”
His thumb moved once against my pulse. Then Flint looked toward the door.
Brewster couldn't see the decision happen between us. But Simon probably could.
And that thought made me wonder whether opening the door was the trap—or leaving Brewster standing outside it was.
“Go to the diner two blocks down on third.” Flint’s command seemed to startle Brewster out of whatever reverie he was in. “We’ll be there shortly.”
Then before he turned off the monitor, he added, “Go or stay, but if you want to talk to her face to face, you’ll do this our way,” Flint said. “One chance only.”
Then he turned it off and hooked his arm around my neck as he twisted his head down to kiss me. I let my arms wrap around Flint’s neck in turn as I opened to him.
When he whispered, “Still my call?” I smiled against his lips.
“Oh yeah.”
Then I let him devour my lips while we waited for Brewster to make a decision.