by Mike Omer
Zoe crossed the road, approaching her apartment. “Any news about you? Are they transferring you out of Violent Crimes?”
“I don’t know.” O’Donnell sighed. “Maybe. I still don’t have a partner, and you can’t be without a partner in Violent Crimes for long. But seeing as I was the detective who arrested Glover, I guess that buys me some time. My husband isn’t thrilled.”
“What do you feel about it?”
There were a few seconds of silence. “This is what I do best,” O’Donnell said. “I like doing it. Even with all that shit with Manny and the department.”
“I get that.”
“What about you? Any new cases?”
“No. Just a few ongoing things.” She stopped by the entrance to the building and exhaled. “I might transfer out of BAU. I’ve been offered a position.”
“Really? What position?”
“They want me to take charge of the profiler training in the FBI Academy. I’d be working with new agent trainees, and I’ll also be in charge of any agent assigned to the BAU.”
“That sounds right up your alley,” O’Donnell said. “Will you take it?”
“I don’t know. Probably. It’s a good job, and I’ll be able to make some important changes. And I won’t need to travel all over the country so much.”
“Any downsides?”
“Uh . . . no. Probably not.”
“Congratulations then,” O’Donnell said. “Oh, one last thing. Leonor Carpenter didn’t lose the baby. It was a close call, and she’s being monitored at the hospital, but it looks like they’re going to make it. So you probably saved two lives that day.”
“That’s good.”
“Just in case you’re still beating yourself about Rhea Deleon.”
“I’m not,” Zoe said. But she was.
“Okay, good. It’s been nice talking to you, Zoe. I might give you a call sometime. You’re a good listener. You’re my own personal shrink.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “I’m a forensic psychologist.”
“Yup. I guess that’s what I need. Good night, Zoe.”
“Night.” Zoe hung up. She stared up at her building, feeling a slight stab of trepidation. The day was far from over. She was about to do something she rarely ever did.
CHAPTER 80
Zoe paced her living room, her hair still wet from the shower, Beyoncé singing in the background. Despite her recent jog, she needed to go out again, the walls closing in on her.
“You seem tense,” Andrea said.
Her sister stood in the kitchen doorway, dressed in an apron, holding a ladle. Zoe smiled despite herself. Even though Andrea had flown in two days ago, Zoe still felt a jolt of pleasure every time she saw her.
“I’m not tense,” Zoe said.
“There’s literally a groove in the carpet from your pacing,” Andrea said. “Are you worried about tonight?”
Zoe was about to deny it, then thought better of it. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into it.”
“It’ll be a nice evening.”
“It’s too many people.”
“Five people, including us, Zoe.” Andrea grinned. “How is that too many?”
Zoe sighed. “Fine, you’re right,” she said hollowly. “It’ll be a nice evening.”
“It will. Come help me in the kitchen.”
Zoe obediently followed Andrea to the kitchen. There were three pots on the stove and lasagna cooking in the oven. The mixture of scents in the air was divine. Zoe paused by the pots and inhaled deeply.
“Wash and chop those vegetables.” Andrea gestured at a pile of cucumbers, tomatoes, and peppers. “And I want them lightly chopped. Don’t mince them. I’ll tell you if it’s too small.”
“I think I can handle chopping a cucumber on my own.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Zoe began washing the peppers. “Mom called me today.”
“Oh yeah? What did she want?”
“She said she wanted to hear how we’re doing. But then she spent fifteen minutes trying to convince me to quit my job and come back to Maynard because Dr. Rozenberg’s secretary just quit and the doctor’s looking for someone capable to replace her.”
“Those once-in-a-lifetime job opportunities are hard to pass up,” Andrea said, adding salt to the mushroom soup. “She tried to convince me to take the same job. And by the way, that secretary quit two months ago, and Dr. Rozenberg is probably about to retire.”
“And apparently there are some handsome single men in Maynard,” Zoe said. She chopped one of the tomatoes. “She ran the entire list by me.”
“So it was a nice conversation?”
“I don’t know how you could stay there for so long. I would have gone insane.”
“It was peaceful,” Andrea said after a moment. “Sure, Mom can be . . . Mom. But she’s busy most of the day. You’re cutting the tomatoes too small. Staying there was just what I needed.”
“And now you’re done?” Zoe asked, trying to keep the hope away from her voice.
Andrea gave the soup one final stir. “Yes, but I’m not returning to Dale City.”
“Oh.” Zoe focused on the cucumber.
Andrea peered over her shoulder. “You’re mincing it. I told you don’t cut them too—”
“I’m doing it fine. Why don’t you want to return here?”
“For one, I have a few very bad memories from here.”
“Glover is in prison! He’ll die in a few months; you can’t let him ruin—”
“I didn’t like living here, Zoe. I didn’t! I’m sorry. I know you found your place, but it’s not mine.”
“Okay.” Zoe blinked away a tear that threatened to materialize. “What will you do, then?”
“You remember Mallory? From Boston?”
“Is she the one with the touching habit?”
“She doesn’t have a touching habit. She’s a bit physical.”
“She keeps touching anyone she talks to. She caresses their shoulder. It’s clearly an obsessive habit.”
“It’s not . . . never mind.” Andrea sounded exasperated. “She wants to open a restaurant.”
“So you’re going to work in her restaurant?”
“She actually suggested we open it together.”
Zoe bit her lip. “You want to open a restaurant with Mallory?”
“I’m considering it.”
“Where will you get the money?”
“She just inherited some money from her grandmother. And I thought I might take a loan.”
“It sounds really risky.”
“Said the woman who chases serial killers for a living. Look, you’re cutting it too small. Let me just show you for a second.”
“I am holding a very sharp knife, and this is not the moment to tell me how to cut vegetables,” Zoe said, slamming the knife just a hair’s breadth away from her own finger.
“Okay.”
“How much do you need?”
“We need to figure it out, but it’ll probably be between thirty and forty thousand.”
“I’ll loan you the money.”
Andrea snorted. “With what? Your government salary?”
Zoe turned to face her. “Harry Barry’s publisher is willing to pay me for the exclusive rights to my story.” She’d told Harry she wouldn’t do it in a million years, and he’d responded in that infuriating smug tone of his that he’d give her some time to think it over. “It’ll be enough for your share of the restaurant.”
“I can’t take your money.”
“You’re not taking it. It’s a loan. It’s not like I have anything to do with it.”
“Oh, Zoe.” Andrea’s voice cracked. She lunged at Zoe and hugged her fiercely.
“But I’m eating there for free whenever I show up,” Zoe said, shutting her eyes and wrapping her arms around her sister.
“Okay.”
“And you don’t get to tell me how to cut vegetables.”
“In your dreams.”
&
nbsp; They held each other for a few seconds, until a knock on the door made them pull away.
“They’re here,” Zoe said, wiping her eyes.
She went over to the door, Andrea following behind. She opened the door just as Tatum was about to knock again. Marvin stood by his side, Christine Mancuso behind them.
“We brought wine,” Tatum said, then frowned, looking at her and Andrea. “Are you two okay?”
“We were cutting onions,” Andrea said, sniffing. “Give me that bottle.”
CHAPTER 81
Andrea had made a tray of cheese and fruit that she served as an appetizer until the lasagna would be ready. The five of them sat in the living room drinking wine, mostly listening to Marvin talk. The old man had an uncanny ability to hold everyone’s attention.
“We were discussing it in my book club just last night,” he was saying, turning to face Mancuso. “Did you ever go to a book club?”
“No, I can’t say that I have,” she answered, smiling.
“You should come to my book club—you’d love it. You’d fit right in.” He frowned slightly. “You’re a bit young; most of the women there are forty or fifty. But I think they’ll like you.”
“How old do you think I am?” Mancuso asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Well, I don’t like to guess a lady’s age, but in your case I’ll make an exception. Thirty? No, hang on . . . twenty-nine.”
Mancuso glanced at Tatum. “I like your grandfather.”
“Everybody does.” Tatum sighed.
Zoe felt strange. She was too focused on herself, on her posture, her behavior. Trying to look as if she was part of the conversation but doing her best not to say anything significant. Was she smiling too much? She placed her palm on her knee, but it seemed artificial, and she took it off. Then she tried to lean casually back, but the couch was somehow all wrong.
She never cared about what people thought. But inviting them over made her too conscious of everything. It was unnerving.
“Do you think we should tell Marvin that Christine is married?” Andrea asked her in a low voice.
“I don’t think it would matter either way,” Zoe answered.
She lost the thread of the conversation for a few seconds, trying to sit straight. When she tuned back in, Marvin was explaining to the chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit how you really caught a killer.
“It’s all about the eyes,” he said. “Gotta look them in the eyes.”
“Really?” Mancuso seemed to be having the time of her life.
“‘Eyes so transparent that through them the soul is seen.’ Gootier said that.”
“It’s Gautier,” Tatum said, rolling his eyes. “And he was talking about women, not murderers.”
“You know, Tatum, when I need French literature lessons, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”
Zoe got up. “The lasagna is probably ready. I’ll go get it.”
“I can get it,” Andrea said.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it.” Zoe hurried away to the kitchen. Once out of sight, she exhaled and leaned on the counter. She took a moment to steady her nerves.
“Need a hand?” Mancuso said behind her.
Zoe whirled around. “No,” she blurted. “I’m fine.”
Mancuso stepped into the kitchen. “Thanks for inviting me,” she said. “I’m having a really nice time.”
“Oh. Good.” Zoe felt a surprising wave of relief.
“Do you have an answer for me yet? The assistant director of the FBI’s Training Division is nagging me.”
“I . . . I need another day to think.”
“It’s a good position Zoe. It’s perfect for you.”
“I know.”
“The profiler training material is outdated and needs to be rewritten from scratch.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Zoe suddenly remembered the lasagna. She quickly opened the oven and grabbed the tray with an oven mitt.
“That looks incredible,” Mancuso said.
“Andrea made it. She’s great with Italian food. She’s actually opening a restaurant in Boston.” The words felt strange in her mouth but not entirely unpleasant.
They returned to the living room.
“Look, I’m just saying, if the fish didn’t do it, who did?” Marvin was asking Tatum.
“Marvin, you’re being ridiculous. The fish isn’t some sort of criminal mastermind—”
“Is that the fish I gave you?” Mancuso sat back down.
“You gave him the fish?” Marvin asked.
“Yeah,” Mancuso said. “I love fish. I have a large aquarium at the office and another one at home. The fish I gave Tatum is named Timothy. He’s a bastard.”
“I should have known that fish got special FBI training before it moved in with us. That explains everything,” Marvin said.
“It’s just a goldfish, Marvin,” Tatum said.
“It’s not a goldfish, Tatum. It’s a gourami. If you knew anything about fish at all, you’d know that.”
“And you know about fish?” Tatum asked, incredulous.
“I know a lot about fish.” Marvin glanced at Mancuso. “I love fish. They’re fascinating.”
“Really?” Tatum said. “Name three types of fish.”
“Well . . . gourami. And tuna.”
“That’s two.”
“You know what, Tatum? You’re a pain in the ass. I don’t want to bore the women here with our talk about fish names. We could be talking about much more interesting stuff. Like that geography teacher you had in eighth grade. And the thing that happened.”
“Fine,” Tatum said grudgingly after a second. “You’re a fish expert.”
“Damn right I am.”
“I want to know about the geography teacher,” Andrea said.
“Maybe later,” Marvin said. “It’s not something to talk about before dinner.”
“Okay,” Zoe said. “Let’s eat.”
“Can I make a toast first?” Marvin asked.
“Uh . . . sure,” Zoe said.
“Marvin—” Tatum said irritably.
“Be quiet, Tatum. Your grandpa is talking.” Marvin raised his glass. “Six months ago, my grandson told me he was going to Quantico. I wasn’t thrilled, because I knew I needed to come along since he wouldn’t manage a day without me.”
Tatum rolled his eyes but stayed quiet.
“I always knew Tatum was a good man, but he never seemed happy in LA, and I thought he just wasn’t the right fit for the bureau. But we came here, and he ended up with a brilliant, talented partner. And suddenly my grandson began to smile more.”
Blood rushed to Zoe’s face.
“He doesn’t talk a lot about your unit. But when he does, it’s with great admiration and enthusiasm, and I now see he ended up where he belongs. And you guys are lucky, because you won’t find a better agent in the FBI.”
Tatum’s mouth hung slightly open, as if he was mimicking the previously discussed fish.
“So thanks, Dr. Zoe Bentley, for being such an incredible woman. And thanks to the three of you for getting those psychos off the streets so people like Andrea and I can sleep better at night.”
He raised his wineglass slightly higher. “To the agents of the BAU.”
CHAPTER 82
After Marvin’s toast, the weight in Zoe’s chest diminished. She was still tense and jittery, but she could also relish the wonderful meal Andrea had made. And to her surprise, she enjoyed the company. Mancuso left soon after dessert. Marvin regaled Andrea with suggestions and anecdotes about his own experiences with the restaurant business. Zoe went to the kitchen to get some peace and quiet while washing the dishes. Her small kitchen wasn’t equipped to deal with Andrea’s five-course meal, and the pots and dirty dishes towered over the tiny sink.
Tatum entered as she scrubbed one of the pans, cleaning a particularly stubborn patch of burnt tomato sauce. He grabbed a towel and began drying the wet dishes.
“It’s okay—I can finish up here,�
� Zoe said.
“I want to help.” Tatum picked up a wineglass and wiped it. “Better warn Andrea. If she listens to Marvin’s advice, her new restaurant might never survive the opening.”
Zoe put the clean pan aside and started with the lasagna tray. “I wouldn’t worry about her—she knows what she’s doing.”
“I’m sure she does.”
They stood side by side in silence for a moment.
“Everything okay?” Tatum asked.
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?” She realized she was clenching her jaw tightly and forced herself to relax. “It was a very nice evening.”
“Uh-huh.” Tatum placed the dry wineglasses in a row. “You know, it occurred to me we actually had three different signatures in this case. Three profiles.”
“Yes. Glover, Finch, and Glover’s client, who gave him instructions.”
“Is there a precedent? I don’t recall a serial killer ever fulfilling requests.”
“Serial killers sometimes interpret the media coverage that revolves around them as a request,” Zoe said. “But of course, there’s no point in profiling the media. This case was particularly interesting because there really were three individuals. We never tried to profile the third. But it would be worthwhile to try. It’s fascinating to think of the internet functioning as a mechanism of victim obfuscation. Glover’s client didn’t need to actively depersonify the victim, because seeing her through the filter of his computer screen already did that. It’s very similar to the process with other internet trolls. The BAU should definitely research this topic more. We should talk to Mancuso . . . what? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Tatum had a tiny smile. “No reason.”
“Okay.” She laid a few washed spoons aside just as he reached for another wet plate. Their fingers brushed. Zoe was suddenly aware of their proximity. Tatum was much taller than her, and her head was inches away from his shoulder. If she tipped her head just slightly, she could touch it. Put her cheek against it. She recalled the feeling of him holding her in the motel room, then later, falling asleep with his reassuring presence beside her.
She took a tiny step away and cleared her throat. “I’m not used to having guests over.”
“Oh? I can give you a few tips. First of all, Rihanna usually isn’t the right background music for dinner.”