Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

Maura.
    “But we hardly got a chance to talk.”
    “I’ll call you another time. I can see you have other things on your mind.” She nodded to Carmen. “Glad to meet you. Good night.”
    “Let me walk you out,” said Ballard.
    They stepped out of the house, and he gave a sigh, as though relieved to be away from the demands of his family.
    “I’m sorry to intrude on that,” she said.
    “I’m sorry you had to listen to it.”
    “Have you noticed we can’t stop apologizing to each other?”
    “You have nothing to apologize for, Maura.”
    They reached her car and paused for a moment.
    “I didn’t get to tell you much about your sister,” he said.
    “Next time I see you?”
    He nodded. “Next time.”
    She slid into her car and closed the door. Rolled down her window when she saw him lean down to talk to her.
    “I will tell you this much about her,” he said.
    “Yes?”
    “You look so much like Anna, it takes my breath away.”
    She could not stop thinking of those words as she sat in her living room, studying the photo of young Anna Leoni with her parents. All these years, she thought, you were missing from my life, and I never realized it. But I must have known; on some level I must have felt my sister’s absence.
    You look so much like Anna, it takes my breath away.
    Yes, she thought, touching Anna’s face in the photo. It takes my breath away, too. She and Anna had shared the same DNA; what else had they shared? Anna had also chosen a career in science, a job governed by reason and logic. She too must have excelled in mathematics. Had she, like Maura, played the piano? Had she loved books and Australian wines and the History Channel?
    There is so much more I want to know about you.
    It was late; she turned off the lamp and went to her bedroom to pack.

EIGHT
    P ITCH BLACK. Head aching. The scent of wood and damp earth and . . . something else that made no sense. Chocolate. She smelled chocolate.
    Mattie Purvis opened her eyes wide, but she might as well have kept them tightly closed because she could see nothing. Not a glimmer of light, not a wisp of shadow on shadow.
Oh god, am I blind?
    Where am I?
    She was not in her own bed. She was lying on something hard, and it made her back ache. The floor? No, this wasn’t polished wood beneath her, but rough planks, gritty with dirt.
    If only her head would stop pounding.
    She closed her eyes, fighting off nausea. Trying, even through the pain, to remember how she could have arrived at this strange, dark place where nothing seemed familiar. Dwayne, she thought. We had a fight, and then I drove home. She struggled to retrieve the lost fragments of time. She remembered a stack of mail on the table. She remembered crying, her tears dripping onto envelopes. She remembered jumping up, and the chair hitting the floor.
    I heard a noise. I went into the garage. I heard a noise and went into the garage, and . . .
    Nothing. She could remember nothing after that.
    She opened her eyes. It was still dark. Oh, this is bad, Mattie, she thought, this is very, very bad. Your head hurts, you’ve lost your memory, and you’re blind.
    “Dwayne?” she called. She heard only the whoosh of her own pulse.
    She had to get up. She had to find help, had to find a phone at the very least.
    She rolled onto her right side to push herself up, and her face slammed up against a wall. The impact bounced her right onto her back again. She lay stunned, her nose throbbing. What was a wall doing here? She reached out to touch it and felt more rough wooden planks. Okay, she thought, I’ll just roll the other way. She turned to the left.
    And collided with another wall.
    Her heartbeat thudded louder, faster. She lay on her back again, thinking: walls on both sides. This can’t be. This isn’t real. Pushing up off the floor, she sat up, and slammed the top of her head. Collapsed, once again, onto her back.
    No, no, no!
    Panic seized her. Arms flailing, she hit barriers in every direction. She clawed at the wood, splinters digging into her fingers. Heard shrieks but did not recognize her own voice. Everywhere, walls. She bucked, thrashed, her fists pummeling blindly until her hands were bruised and torn, her limbs too exhausted to move. Slowly her shrieks faded to sobs. Finally, to stunned silence.
    A box. I am trapped in a box.
    She took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of her own sweat, her own fear. Felt the baby squirm inside her, another prisoner trapped in a small space.