aggressive prodding of the FBI computer database, was able to deduce not only Galileo’s next likely target, but also his endgame.
This is how she did it:
Tom met her at the airport. The new lines on his long face weren’t just from age. It was obvious he hadn’t slept. Nevertheless, he put in the effort to smile.
“Esmeralda,” he said. “You look good.”
“So do you,” she lied. His left arm hung useless in a mauve sling. Oh, Tom.
They hugged, two old friends, and waited beside the baggage carousel for Esme’s two Louis Vuitton suitcases to emerge. Outside the bright Texas sun foretold a day luminescent with possibilities.
“Do you have any new photos of Sophie?” asked Tom. “She has to be, what, in grad school by now, right?”
Esme smirked. “Practically. Don’t worry, I’ve got a whole bunch of pictures in my digital camera. I’ll show them to you later.”
“Great.”
“How’s your family? Is your cousin still married to what’s-her-name with the Komodo dragon?”
“They’ve added a second pet to the household.”
“A unicorn?”
“A sea otter.”
“Oh, God.”
“It lives in their swimming pool in the backyard.”
“Of course it does.”
Her baggage arrived, intact and unblemished.
As they lugged it outside, Esme wondered how it all would fit on his Harley. To her surprise, a black sedan pulled to the curb and its trunk popped open. Behind the wheel sat 242 pounds of Norm Petrosky.
“The prodigal returns,” he said. Norm was one of the task force’s expert profilers.
Tom took the passenger seat and Esme sat in back. It felt odd to Esme, being chauffeured like that, but times had changed…
“How was your flight?” asked Norm.
“It didn’t crash.”
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