Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

she said, “I don’t think you should stay here tonight.”
    Slowly he straightened. His eyes were still on hers, but there was distance between them now. And disappointment.
    She rose to her feet; so did he.
    In silence they walked to the front door. There he paused and turned to her. Gently he lifted his hand to her face and cupped her face, a touch she did not flinch away from.
    “Be careful,” he said, and walked out.
    She locked the door behind him.

TWENTY-NINE
    M ATTIE ATE THE LAST STRIP of beef jerky. She gnawed it like a wild animal feeding on desiccated carrion, thinking: Protein for strength. For victory! She thought of athletes preparing for marathons, honing their bodies for the performance of their lives. This would be a marathon, too. One chance to win.
    Lose, and you’re dead.
    The jerky was like leather, and she almost gagged as she swallowed it, but she managed to wash it down with a gulp of water. The second jug was almost empty. I’m down to the bitter end, she thought; I can’t hold out much longer. And now she had a new worry: Her contractions were starting to get uncomfortable, like a fist squeezing down. It didn’t qualify as painful yet, but it was a harbinger of things to come.
    Where was he, goddamn it? Why had he left her alone so long? With no watch to track the time, she didn’t know if it had been hours or days since his last visit. She wondered if she had made him angry when she’d yelled at him. Was this her punishment? Was he trying to scare her a little, make her understand that she had to be polite and show him some respect? All her life, she’d been polite, and look where it had gotten her. Polite girls got pushed around. They got stuck at the end of the line, where no one paid them any attention. They got married to men who promptly forgot they even existed. Well, I’m through being polite, she thought. If I ever get out of here, I’m going to grow a spine.
    But first I have to get out of here. And that means I have to
pretend
to be polite.
    She took another sip of water. Felt strangely sated, as though she’d feasted and drunk wine. Bide your time, she thought. He’ll come back.
    Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she closed her eyes.
    And woke up in the grip of a contraction. Oh no, she thought, this one hurts. This one definitely hurts. She lay sweating in the dark, trying to remember her Lamaze classes, but they seemed like a lifetime ago. Someone else’s lifetime.
    Breathe in, breathe out. Cleanse . . .
    “Lady.”
    She went rigid. Stared up toward the grate, where the voice had whispered. Her pulse hammered.
Time to act, GI Jane.
But lying in the darkness, breathing in her own scent of terror, she thought: I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. Why did I ever think I could do this?
    “Lady. Talk to me.”
    This is your one chance. Do it.
    She took a deep breath. “I need help,” she whimpered.
    “Why?”
    “My baby . . .”
    “Tell me.”
    “It’s coming. I’m having pains. Oh, please let me out! I don’t know how much longer it will be . . .” She gave a sob. “Let me out. I need to get out. My baby’s coming.”
    The voice fell silent.
    She clung to the blanket, afraid to breathe, afraid to miss his softest whisper. Why didn’t he answer? Had he left again? Then she heard the thud, and a scraping.
    A shovel. He was starting to dig.
    One chance, she thought. I have just this one chance.
    More thuds. The shovel moved in longer strokes, scooping away dirt, the scrapes as jarring as the screech of chalk on a board. She was breathing fast now, her heart banging in her chest. Either I live or die, she thought. It all gets decided now.
    The scraping stopped.
    Her hands were ice, fingers chilled as they clutched the blanket to her shoulders. She heard wood creak, and then the hinges gave a squeal. Dirt spilled into her prison, into her eyes.
Oh god, oh god, I won’t be able to see. I need to see!
She turned away to protect her face against the earth trickling onto her hair. Blinked again and again to clear the grit from her eyes. With her head down, she could not see him standing above her. And what did he see, staring down into the pit? His captive huddled under a blanket, dirty, defeated. Wracked by the pains of childbirth.
    “It’s time to come out, ” he said, this time not through a grate. A quiet voice, utterly ordinary. How could evil sound so normal?
    “Help me.” She gave a sob. “I can’t jump all the way up there.”
    She