Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

newscaster. Lori Hwang had been on the air only a year when she was shot to death in front of the studio. She’d never realized she was being stalked. The perp had been watching her on TV and had written a few fan letters. And then one day he had waited outside the studio doors. As Lori had stepped out and walked toward her car, he had fired a bullet into her head.
    “That’s the hazard of living in the public eye,” said Rizzoli. “You never know who’s watching you on all those TV screens. You never know who’s in the car right behind yours when you drive home from work at night. It’s not something we even think about—that someone might be following us. Fantasizing about us.” Rizzoli paused. Said, quietly: “I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to be the focus of someone’s obsession. I’m not even that much to look at, but it happened to me.” She held out her hands, revealing the scars on her palms. The permanent souvenirs of her battle with the man who had twice almost taken her life. A man who still lived, though trapped in a quadriplegic’s body.
    “That’s why I asked whether you’d received any strange letters,” said Rizzoli. “I was thinking about her. Lori Hwang.”
    “Her killer was arrested,” said Father Brophy.
    “Yes.”
    “So you’re not implying it’s the same man.”
    “No, I’m just pointing out the parallels. A single gunshot wound to the head. Women in public jobs. It just makes you think.” Rizzoli struggled to her feet. It took some effort to push herself out of the easy chair. Frost was quick to offer her his hand, but she ignored it. Though heavily pregnant, Rizzoli was not one to reach for assistance. She hoisted her purse over her shoulder and gave Maura a searching look. “Do you want to stay somewhere else tonight?”
    “This is my house. Why would I go anywhere else?”
    “Just asking. I guess I don’t need to tell you to lock your doors.”
    “I always do.”
    Rizzoli looked at Eckert. “Can Brookline PD watch the house?”
    He nodded. “I’ll make sure a patrol car comes by every so often.”
    “I appreciate that,” said Maura. “Thank you.”
    Maura accompanied the three detectives to the front door and watched them walk to their cars. It was now after midnight. Outside, the street had been transformed back into the quiet neighborhood she knew. The Brookline PD cruisers were gone; the Taurus had already been towed away to the crime lab. Even the yellow police tape had been removed. In the morning, she thought, I’ll wake up and think I imagined the whole thing.
    She turned and faced Father Brophy, who was still standing in her foyer. She had never felt more uneasy in his company than at this moment, the two of them alone in her house. The possibilities surely swirled in both their heads.
Or just mine? Late at night, alone in your bed, do you ever think of me, Daniel? The way I think of you?
    “Are you sure you feel safe staying here alone?” he asked.
    “I’ll be fine.”
And what’s the alternative? That you spend the night with me? Is that what you’re offering?
    He turned toward the door.
    “Who called you here, Daniel?” she asked. “How did you know?”
    He looked back at her. “Detective Rizzoli did. She told me . . .” He paused. “You know, I get calls like this all the time from the police. A death in the family, someone needs a priest. I’m always willing to respond. But this time . . .” He paused. “Lock your doors, Maura,” he said. “I don’t ever want to go through another night like this one.”
    She watched him walk out of her house and climb into his car. He did not immediately start the engine; he was waiting to make sure that she was safely inside for the night.
    She closed the door and locked it.
    Through the living room window, she watched Daniel drive away. For a moment she stared at the empty curb, feeling suddenly abandoned. Wishing, at that moment, that she could call him back. And what would happen then? What did she want to happen between them? Some temptations, she thought, are best kept beyond our reach. She scanned the dark street one last time, then stepped away from the window, aware that she was framed by the light in her living room. She closed the curtains and went from room to room, checking the locks and the windows. On this warm June night, she would normally sleep with her bedroom window open. But tonight, she left the windows closed and turned on the air conditioner.
    In the