Thicker than Blood - Mike Omer Page 0,145

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.”

“Oh yeah? What would be better?”

“Almost anything. But jazz could be nice. Miles Davis or Duke Ellington . . .”

Zoe snorted.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tatum said, annoyed. “Obviously Rihanna is better than a couple of the most acclaimed jazz musicians of the twentieth century.”

“I was trying to say, before you pretentiously lectured me about my taste in music, that it was . . . better than I expected.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“I’m happy you came.”

“Sure. Anytime.”

She wanted to say more. It bubbled up in her, and she tried to get the words out. How she was glad he’d transferred to the BAU and that they’d ended up as partners. That when she worked with him, everything felt smoother, as if he had a knack for softening the sharp edges of reality. That in a way he completed her, because he could nudge her off her one-track pathways she sometimes got stuck on and could give her a different point of view. That she’d never worked with someone so well before. That she had been offered a promotion she was about to turn down because it meant she wouldn’t be his partner anymore. That she was really upset her sister was leaving for Boston because for a long time, Andrea had been the only one who understood her. But now she felt like she didn’t need to hold on to Andrea, because she knew he was there. That the FBI agents were no longer a single hostile cluster, because someone finally had her back.

“You know, we work well together,” she blurted.

“I think so too,” Tatum said brightly. “Look how fast we finished cleaning the dishes.”

“Right.” She smiled at him. “Best dishwashers in the bureau.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book was the hardest to write out of the three Zoe Bentley books. Figuring out Terrence Finch’s downward spiral while maintaining the correct pacing of the book and weaving a satisfying mystery? It was almost impossible. And would have never happened without the people who supported me every step of the way.

My wife, Liora, first and foremost. She helped me think through the plot and figure out how to plow through difficult scenes, and then she read the mishmash of a first draft I had and told me what I had to do to shape it into something more coherent. When people ask me how I can write books, Liora is always a large part of the answer. Anyone who wants to write should have a Liora of their own.

Christine Mancuso, who read the next draft, had to do the most difficult thing of all—to tell me that it didn’t work. There was a serious pacing problem (those are the worst), and if I didn’t fix it, the book would suffer. This prodded me to do several huge changes that made the book so much better.

My dad read the final draft, just to make sure that I got Terrence Finch’s state of mind right. It’s been useful to have psychologists as parents over the years, and this was one more perk.

Jessica Tribble, my editor, received the final draft and gave me her thoughtful notes, which later helped me correct some serious issues. The whole Allen Swenson subplot was rewritten from scratch due to these notes, vastly improving in the process.

Kevin Smith, my developmental editor, stepped in and helped me figure out how to rewrite several of the central moments in the book, with thoughtful comments and suggestions that were invaluable to the final draft. O’Donnell, Finch, and Glover all became much better under his guidance.

Stephanie Chou did the final editing on the book (and, like Jessica, has been there for the previous two). Her sharp eyes caught a torrent of mistakes, and she taught me something about pumas and gazelles in the process.

Sarah Hershman, my agent, was the one who first helped this series get published and has been there to support me since.

Hagar Cygler helped me with a bit of photography advice, assisting in getting Finch’s character just right.

Gali Lior helped me figure out some details in Catherine’s autopsy that were almost impossible for me to find by myself.

To my friends in Author’s Corner, without whom my entire writing adventure would never have taken off: You are the best friends I could hope for. Thank you for helping and cheering me every step of the way.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2017 Yael Omer

Mike Omer has been a journalist, a game developer, and the CEO of Loadingames, but he can currently be found penning his next thriller. Omer loves to write about two things: real people who could be the perpetrators or victims of crimes—and funny stuff. He mixes these two loves quite passionately into his suspenseful and often macabre mysteries. Omer is married to a woman who diligently forces him to live his dream, and he is father to an angel, a pixie, and a gremlin. He has two voracious hounds that wag their tails quite menacingly at anyone who dares approach his home. Learn more by emailing him at [email protected].