The waitress gave them a final toothy smile and then turned away.

“Did you have a nice flight?” he asked Zoe.

“The guy who sat next to me tried to hit on me and got quite unpleasant when I turned him down,” Zoe said. “But other than that it was fine.”

“I’m sorry to drag you to Chicago like this, but I could really use your help.”

“No problem. The case sounds fascinating.”

“Well,” Tatum said, feeling uncomfortable with her choice of words, “it’s definitely unusual.”

“I mean, what I find so interesting is the reasoning. This guy obviously has necrophiliac tendencies, and the embalming must make the sexual act much more complicated because—”

“Perhaps we should talk about this later, in a more private place,” Tatum said hurriedly, noticing that Zoe’s voice became louder when she was animated. The woman sitting at the table next to them put her fork down noisily and gave them a disgusted look.

“Okay.” Zoe nodded, then became silent. She was less talkative when serial killers weren’t the topic of conversation.

“I found a nice clean motel not far from the police station,” Tatum said. “I took the liberty of booking you a room there for tonight. Is that okay, or do you want to look for a different motel, or—”

“That’s great, thanks,” Zoe said.

He nodded, and she nodded back. He added a strained smile, which she returned. They were the essence of awkward silence.

“So I understand you’re also new to the BAU,” Tatum said. “I heard you were in Boston until recently?”

Zoe nodded. “I worked there as a consultant for the FBI for several years. But Mancuso was determined to get me into the BAU, and quite frankly, it’s every forensic psychologist’s dream, so I couldn’t really refuse.”

“I totally get that,” Tatum said. “Do you have family in Boston?”

“My sister used to live there,” Zoe said. “But she moved to Dale City with me.”

“Really?” Tatum raised an eyebrow. “You two close?”

“Yeah,” Zoe said. “And she said she needed a change. She hated Boston. She left a bad relationship back there.”

She looked uncomfortable discussing it, and Tatum nodded noncommittally, deciding not to push the subject.

She cleared her throat. “What about you? How did you get from the field office in LA to the BAU?”

“Oh . . .” Tatum mumbled. “I don’t really know. It was a promotion of sorts, I guess.”

The waitress returned, putting their plates and coffee mugs in front of them. Tatum was glad to stuff some pancake into his mouth and have a reason to stop talking about his “promotion.” While chewing, he looked at Zoe handling her meal. She picked up a piece of toast, carefully broke off a piece of bacon, and speared them both with her fork. Then she dipped the happy couple into her egg carefully and lifted the fork, inspecting it as if it were a rare specimen. Finally, she put it in her mouth, chewed a bit, and shut her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose.

“So . . . it’s good?” he said.

Zoe kept chewing and finally swallowed. “It’s good,” she said. “I like my bacon a bit crunchier.”

She sliced a piece of the egg white, placed another bacon chip on it, and carefully lifted it to her mouth. Zoe was not a fast eater. They would be here for a while. Tatum tried to slow down. He’d already eaten a third of his plate, while she’d taken just two bites.

“So about the case,” he said, deciding to broach the safer topic, their job. “The guys investigating it have hired a local profiler. A Dr. Bernstein?”

Zoe twisted her nose in disgust, as if he’d just mentioned a malignant skin disease. “Oh,” she said.

“You know him?”

“I’ve seen him on TV a few times.”

“I don’t think he’s very good,” Tatum said. “I have some ideas about the case, and the investigators aren’t very receptive because of this guy.”

“Okay.”

“I figure you go in there and wow them with your credentials. I think they’ll be a bit nicer, since you’re a civilian. And then back me up a bit, so we can get some headway with the investigation.”

“Oh,” Zoe said. “You really planned this carefully. So you have an idea.”

“Several,” Tatum said.

“And you asked for me to help you get rid of the competition.”

“Well . . .” Tatum hesitated. “And hear your opinion, of course.”

“Of course.”

Somewhere, he had taken a misstep. He tried to correct the situation. “I hear you did a really good job on the Stokes case,” he said.

“Really?” Zoe said disinterestedly, creating another bacon, egg, and toast sculpture. “I’m glad. Who knows? I might even be as good as a real FBI agent one day.”

Tatum sighed. He just couldn’t catch a break with people lately.

CHAPTER 10

Dan Finley was not enjoying his time on the beach as much as he wanted to. For one, a snotty-nosed toddler next to him was excavating a large hole, throwing scoops of sand over his shoulder in complete disregard for the people around him. Two scoops had already landed on Dan’s beach towel. He would have said something, but he didn’t think it was his job to discipline other people’s kids or to teach parents how to be parents. These days, people gave birth to kids without taking responsibility for them. Instead, they lobbed their children onto society and then complained when crime rose or unemployment got worse.