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“The profiler training material is outdated and needs to be rewritten from scratch.”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