Body Double: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

been kidnapped because of an image built on borrowed money. Dwayne can’t afford to pay any ransom.
    She pictured him walking into their house and finding her gone. He’ll see that my car is in the garage, and the chair’s on the floor, she thought. It won’t make sense, until he sees the ransom note. Until he reads the demand for money.
You’ll pay it, won’t you?
    Won’t you?
    The flashlight suddenly dimmed. She snatched it up and banged it against her hand. It flickered brighter, just for a moment, then faded again. Oh god, the batteries. Idiot, you shouldn’t have left it on so long! She rummaged in the grocery sack and ripped open a fresh package of batteries. They tumbled out, rolling in every direction.
    The light died.
    The sound of her own breathing filled the darkness. Whimpers of mounting panic. Okay, okay, Mattie, stop it. You know you’ve got fresh batteries. You just have to slide them in the right way.
    She felt around on the floor, gathering up the loose batteries. Took a deep breath and unscrewed the flashlight, carefully setting the cap on her folded knee. She slid out the old batteries, set them off to the side. Every move she made was in pitch blackness. If she lost a vital part, she might never find it again without light. Easy, Mattie. You’ve changed flashlight batteries before. Just put them in, positive end first. One, two. Now screw on the cap . . .
    Light suddenly beamed out, bright and beautiful. She gave a sigh and slumped back, as exhausted as though she’d just run a mile. You’ve got your light back, now save it. Don’t run it down again. She turned off the flashlight and sat in darkness. This time her breathing was steady, slow. No panic. She might be blind, but she had her finger on the switch and could turn on the light any time.
I’m in control
.
    What she could not control, sitting in the darkness, were the fears that now assailed her. By now Dwayne must know I’ve been kidnapped, she thought. He’s read the note, or gotten the phone call.
Your money or your wife
. He’ll pay it, of course he’ll pay it. She imagined him frantically pleading with an anonymous voice on the phone.
Don’t hurt her, please don’t hurt her!
She imagined him sobbing at the kitchen table, sorry, very sorry, for all the mean things he’d said to her. For the hundred different ways he had made her feel small and inconsequential. Now he was wishing he could take it all back, wishing he could tell her how much she meant to him . . .
    You’re dreaming, Mattie.
    She squeezed her eyes shut against an anguish so deep it seemed to reach in and grasp her heart in its cruel fist.
    You know he doesn’t love you. You’ve known it for months.
    Wrapping her arms around her abdomen, she hugged herself and her baby. Curled into a corner of her prison, she could no longer block out the truth. She remembered his look of disgust as she’d stepped out of the shower one night, and he had stared at her belly. Or the evenings when she would come up behind him to kiss his neck, and he’d wave her away. Or the party at the Everetts’ house two months ago, where she had lost track of him, only to find him in the backyard gazebo, flirting with Jen Hockmeister. There’d been clues, so many clues, and she had ignored them all because she believed in true love. Had believed it since the day she’d been introduced to Dwayne Purvis at a birthday party, and had known that he was the one, even if there were things about him that should have bothered her. Like the way he always split the check when they were dating, or the way he couldn’t pass a mirror without fussing vainly with his hair. Little things that didn’t matter in the long run because they had love to keep them together. That’s what she’d told herself, pretty lies that were part of someone else’s romance, maybe a romance she’d seen in the movies, but not hers. Not her life.
    Her life was this. Sitting trapped in a box, waiting to be ransomed by a husband who didn’t want her back.
    She thought about the real Dwayne, not the make-believe one, sitting in the kitchen reading the ransom note.
We have your wife. Unless you pay us a million dollars . .
.
    No, that was way too much money. No sane kidnapper would ask that much. What were kidnappers asking these days for a wife? A hundred thousand dollars sounded far more reasonable. Even so, Dwayne would balk. He’d weigh all his assets. The Beemers, the house. What’s a wife worth?
    If you