there, transfixed. His gaze ran down her curved nose, her small parted lips, her slender neck, and stopped just as he realized that in this pose, her shirt collar was loose, exposing quite a bit of her pale skin. He tore his eyes away.
He tried to get out of bed quietly, but the motel had a penchant for squeaking beds that almost seemed intentional. As he rose, the bed let out a startled squawk, as if it were offended by their unceremonious parting.
Zoe’s eyes opened at once, and she blinked at him, already seeming much more focused and alert than he was. “What time is it?”
“Uh . . .” He searched around for his phone. He’d fallen asleep with it in his pocket, which explained the dull throb in his thigh. He took it out. “Quarter past eight.” It was very late. They were usually on their way out by seven.
Zoe blinked. “I slept well,” she said.
“Good.”
“It’s the first time in weeks I didn’t have nightmares. At least I don’t think I did.”
Tatum thought back to his own dream. “I dreamed I was in the North Pole, doing the hundred-meter dash against a bunch of penguins. I was doing pretty well, since my legs were much longer than theirs, except I was naked, freezing my ass off. And I kept thinking that it was nationally televised, and everyone I knew was watching, which was pretty embarrassing.”
“There are no penguins in the North Pole. Only in the South Pole.”
“That’s true. I should have told that to the penguins. Who’s embarrassed now, right?” He needed to brush his teeth.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “But from now on, we need to slow down. You need more sleep.”
“Okay.” She fumbled at her nightstand. “Where’s my phone?”
“It’s right there, by your hand . . . and now you’ve dropped it on the floor.”
Zoe bent down to pick it up, nearly toppling from the bed herself. Tatum looked away and searched for his shoes.
“Oh, shit,” Zoe muttered. “He published the story.”
“Who did?” He found his right shoe but not the left one, which was ridiculous. He’d taken them off together. Was there a shoe-thieving pixie in the motel, with a penchant for left shoes? Maybe it was the penguins from his dream, trying to hobble him so he’d lose the race.
“Harry Barry. He saw me at the crime scene yesterday and put two and two together. The man is a public menace.”
“I think that’s giving him too much credit. Public annoyance, maybe.”
“Fishburne murder possibly related to the Lamb murder.” She read the title of the article from the phone. “Oh, for god’s sake, listen to this. ‘An aura of mystery envelops the two murder cases, and the police are still refusing to comment on why the accomplished profiler Dr. Bentley is advising on the case.’”
Tatum sighed. “You need to get a leash for your pet reporter.”
“He’s not my pet reporter.” Zoe put the phone down. “This might work in our favor. Both killers are under a lot of pressure. Keeping this story in the headlines might increase the pressure, and one of them will make a mistake. Especially the unsub, who is probably already losing it.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t go completely off the rails and start a killing spree,” Tatum said darkly. He found the left shoe and put them both on.
“I’m really hoping he’ll snap and approach the cops to confess,” Zoe said. “It’s happened several times before. Kemper, Wayne Adam Ford, Spahalski . . .”
“There was that guy from Britain,” Tatum said. “Michael Copeland. And what’s his name with the creepy smiley face drawings.”
“Keith Jesperson. He was obsessed with the media.”
“Oh, and Mack Rey Edwards.” Tatum scrolled through his own messages on his phone.
“Edwards only confessed because some of his victims managed to escape. He knew he was about to get caught.”
“Well, we’re hoping our unsub feels the same. And there’s an even bigger chance someone will spot Glover and recognize him from the picture or call in with pertinent information.”
“I just wish Harry would stop using my name with those adjectives. Renowned, accomplished, famous.”
“Guy’s got a crush on you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s just doing this because he’s about to publish a book about me, and he wants to increase his sales.”
“It can be both.”
“I need to go talk to him.” Zoe put her phone down. “Let’s go grab a coffee, and I’ll swing by the Chicago Daily Gazette afterward, before going to the station.”