A Killer's Mind (Zoe Bentley Mystery #1)(54)

“So, about today . . .” Tatum said.

“What about today?” Zoe asked, taking another swig from her beer bottle. She had finished half her Snickers bar, and her brain was mostly consumed by the complex process of dividing the Snickers bar bites evenly throughout the beer. She didn’t want to drink the final third of the bottle with no chocolate to accompany it. Bad planning of chocolate division was how things went downhill.

“You practically bit my head off when I said I don’t agree with you.”

“I just said you’re entitled to your own opinion. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I mean, your tone was—”

“Look, I’m sorry I hurt your sensitive feelings. There was another dead woman in that alley, and every moment we dawdle increases the danger of another killing. This is what I’m focusing on right now.”

“Me too. You know, I’m part of the BAU just like you. I’m not just a pretty face in a suit. I have good instincts and experience.”

“You’re not wearing a suit,” Zoe remarked.

“I was speaking figuratively,” he said, his eyes flicking downward, as if to stress the fact that compared to her, he was in very formal clothing.

She wasn’t sure what he wanted—an apology? She wasn’t about to apologize for doing her job. She decided to do the next best thing: change the subject. “Are you unhappy with your new position in the BAU?” she asked, her voice soft, placating.

He eyed her, frowning. He crumpled the empty Snickers wrapper, his beer bottle still half-full. Amateur. “I don’t know,” he said and sipped from the bottle. “It’s not what I wanted. And I loved LA. But so far it hasn’t been boring.”

“Why were you . . . promoted?” Zoe asked. She tried to ask delicately, but her voice rose when she said promoted in a way she immediately knew was offensive.

He grinned at her. “Because I was great. Why else?”

She raised her eyebrow.

He sighed. “I was working on a pedophile ring case. We were closing in on one of the main suppliers of content. When we were about to arrest him, he ran.”

Zoe nodded, saying nothing.

“I caught up to him and told him to put his hands up. He reached for his shoulder bag, and I shot him.”

“What was he reaching for?”

“We can’t be sure, but we think he was reaching for his camera. There were some photos on it, and we think he wanted to delete them. He had no gun in his bag.”

Zoe thought it over. “Wasn’t the shooting justified? You thought he was reaching for his gun.”

“What I was thinking is a subject of much controversy. We were alone in an alley. No one saw the shooting. Before the shooting, I’d stated more than once my thoughts about this guy.”

“Which were?”

“That I thought he should get the death penalty,” Tatum said, his tone dry.

“So they think you . . . what? Executed him?”

“Some people do.” He shrugged. “In general, they weren’t happy with how I handled the case. Too emotional. Some things weren’t according to protocol. And I guess it wasn’t the first time. But my chief also wanted to present this as a win to the press. There was a lot of data in that guy’s home computer, and we managed to take down a lot of suppliers. So they couldn’t really fire me.”

“They promoted you to work in the BAU instead.”

He smiled. “You keep saying that word. I don’t think you know what it means.”

“What word? Promoted?”

“I was just joking . . . never mind. So what about you? Do you enjoy working in the BAU?”

“It’s what I always dreamed of doing,” she said.

“That’s nice. But doesn’t really answer the question.”

She blinked and looked away. “I don’t really . . . enjoy a lot of things,” she said. “I find them interesting. And I like being busy. But I don’t skip merrily on my way to the office every day.”

“Well, skipping all the way from Dale City to Quantico sounds like quite a chore.”

They were silent for a second, and then Tatum said, “You’re a psychologist. You could be helping people or working with kids. Why did you decide to be a forensic psychologist?”

She broke a piece from her Snickers bar and put it in her mouth, hesitating. “I’m just not . . . I’m not very good with people.”

She was half expecting him to feign shock, mock her. But he said nothing, just looked at her, his eyes soft.

She wasn’t sure if she was talking because of the emotional toll of the evening or because Tatum’s presence reassured her somehow. She found herself saying things she had only told Andrea before. “I seem to always say the wrong thing or offend someone. When I practiced counseling—we do it in front of a class—my peers would always say I was cold, too clinical. I knew I’d never be really good at counseling. I’m too insensitive for that.”

She stopped, looking at the bottle and last bite of her Snickers bar. She ate the final piece of chocolate and then drank the remainder of the bottle, not enjoying them like she’d hoped she would.

“I don’t think you’re insensitive,” Tatum said, his voice breaking the silence. “I think you’re just very focused.”