Dr. Applewhite slipped a bookmark between the pages and put it to one side, smiling as she looked up. “My favorite graduate. How is the Bureau treating you?”
She had good reason to ask the question. It had been her suggestion, after all, that put Zoe on the path toward law enforcement. After her colleague, one of Zoe’s math teachers, had connected them, Zoe’s whole life had changed. She knew exactly who she had to thank for that.
“Good. My new partner is going well,” Zoe said. She picked up the menu to scan the items, but she barely needed to. She already knew what she was going to order. A scan of the column and row sizes told her that nothing new had been added, and they always met for lunch at this place.
Dr. Applewhite leaned over to grab the attention of a waiter, and while the doctor watched him walking over, Zoe watched her instead. She remembered that first meeting. How Dr. Applewhite had shown an actual interest in what Zoe had to say, one of the few people in her life who had actually really listened to her. The older woman had put on several pounds since that time, but had never lost an ounce of the compassion she showed to a young woman who had no idea of her place in the world.
Their relationship had grown over time. Zoe was slow to trust, slow to let her in. But eventually she had had to take a chance, to admit her secret. To tell her about the numbers.
It hadn’t been easy. After so many years of Zoe’s mother telling her that her gifts were given her by the devil, she had found the words caught in her throat many times. But Dr. Applewhite had been excited, not appalled, to learn of Zoe’s abilities. From then on, their bond had only strengthened.
“How about Dr. Monk?” Dr. Applewhite asked after Zoe had placed her order, her eyes twinkling slyly. “She told me you took me up on my recommendation.”
Zoe couldn’t contain a chuckle. “Checking up on me?”
“I always have to keep an eye on my favorites,” Dr. Applewhite laughed. It was an ongoing joke between them. Dr. Applewhite was not, of course, supposed to have favorites. But in many ways, Zoe had helped her career just as much as Dr. Applewhite had set Zoe on the way to hers. Dr. Applewhite had ended up specializing in the study of synesthesia with regards to math, and now mentored a number of others who had the same abilities that Zoe did. More or less, anyway.
“The sessions are going well,” Zoe acknowledged. “Dr. Monk has some good insights. I can see why you like her.”
“She has a very good reputation. Any progress you can share with me? Or is it all too personal?”
Zoe shrugged, studying the two inches of water in the bottom of the vase on their table, which would not be enough to sustain the two chrysanthemum stems for long. The internal calculations of how long it would take for a total wilt distracted her enough to allow her to say what was on her mind. “She said I should go on more dates.”
Dr. Applewhite grinned heartily, her own wedding ring glittering in the light from the sun as she raised her coffee cup to her lips. “She could be right.”
“I really do not think it will be the solution to all my problems,” Zoe huffed, lifting the fresh cup of coffee brought by the waiter to her lips.
“Maybe not all of them, but some,” Dr. Applewhite said, serious now. “I’m not saying that you have to feel bad about who you are. You’re functional—more than that. You have turned it into an advantage in your work. Others aren’t as capable as you are. I just worry about you. You know I do.”
Zoe nodded. “I appreciate that,” she said. She figured that, with all things considered, Dr. Applewhite might be the only person in the world to actually worry about her. That was a comfort, to have at least one person.
Before she could complete the thought, and even go so far as to take the recommendation to call John seriously, her cell rang in her pocket. Zoe grabbed it out and answered the call, seeing Shelley’s name on the display.
“Special Agent Zoe Prime.”
“Hey, Z. Hope you’re not doing something nice right now.”
Zoe sighed, looking down at her half-finished plate of food. Not that she had even really noticed the taste, with her mind on other things. “I take it we have a case.”
“I’ll meet you at HQ in thirty minutes. The chief says this is a big one.”
Zoe offered Dr. Applewhite an apologetic smile, but the doctor was already waving her away. “Go do your duty, Agent. But there’s one more thing I have to tell you…” Dr. Applewhite hesitated, taking a breath. She seemed reluctant to speak, but forged on, looking down at Zoe’s half-empty plate as she did. “One of the others in my research group—another synesthete. We thought he was doing better, but… I’m sorry to say, he killed himself last week. Without a support network beyond myself, he was struggling. Humans need other humans around us, to help us emotionally. All of us do. Even those who think a bit differently.”
Zoe paused, staring down into her coffee cup and the several millimeters by which it had been underfilled, leaning back against the chair for support. She had never gone to meet any of Dr. Applewhite’s “research group”—test subjects, Zoe called them in her head when she was being unkind—but all the same, it was a blow to hear. Someone like her, who wanted to die for the sole reason that he was exactly like her. That was something to swallow, all right.
She picked up her bag mechanically, walking away without really seeing anything around herself. In her head she was reframing. Thinking back on Dr. Monk’s comments. Work towards your goals. One step at a time.
What did she have in her life, really? One mentor, who served as the closest thing to a mother figure she was ever going to find. A partner—Shelley—who was the closest thing she had to a friend. Two cats, Euler and Pythagoras—and though she loved them both, she knew that it was in the very nature of cats that they would be just fine if she was gone and they lived with someone else. A career that seemed to be on the rocks more than it was on the up and up, even if right now was one of the better times. A small apartment to call her own.
And a condition, or an ability, or whatever you wanted to call it, that made her so different it drove people like her to kill themselves.
It was a sobering thought to confront.
CHAPTER THREE
Zoe strode along the corridors of the vast FBI HQ building in Washington, DC, heading toward the particular briefing room where Shelley had said she would be waiting. Buildings like this were soothing for Zoe: built long enough ago but with enough planning and precision that each floor was easy to predict and navigate.
The J. Edgar Hoover building had been built with intent. Although from the outside it was square and gray, the kind of architecture people described as an eyesore, the blocky, geometric composition was exactly what Zoe loved about it. The corridors branched off in the exact same way no matter where you got off the elevator, and the rooms were numbered in a logical way. Room 406, quite naturally, was the sixth door that you would come to after getting off on the fourth floor. That was immeasurably pleasing. Not all buildings were created equal.
Sure enough, Shelley was already sitting in the briefing room, studying notes and color photographs placed at neat intervals along a boardroom table. She looked up and smiled as Zoe entered.