Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

forth across the screen. The time stamp advanced toward six PM and the crowd grew larger as guests headed toward dinner, the women now adorned in earrings and necklaces, the men in coats and ties.
    At six fifteen, a blond man appeared, facing across the desk.
    “There,” said Jane.
    For a moment, there was silence as everyone focused on the dark-haired woman standing beside the man. There was no doubt about her identity.
    It was Maura, and she was smiling.
    “That’s your gal, I take it?” asked Queenan.
    “Yes,” said Jane softly.
    “She doesn’t seem particularly distressed. That looks like a woman who’s headed out to a nice restaurant, wouldn’t you say?”
    Jane stared at the image of Maura and the nameless man. Queenan’s right, she thought. Maura looked happy. She could not remember the last time she’d seen such a smile on her friend’s face. Over the past months, Maura had grown wan and increasingly private, as though, by avoiding Jane’s questions, she could also avoid confronting the truth: that love had made her unhappier than ever.
    And the reason for that unhappiness now stood beside Jane, staring at the video of that smiling pair. They were a startlingly attractive couple. The man was tall and lean, with boyishly tousled blond hair. Even though it was not a high-resolution image, Jane imagined she could see a twinkle in his eye, and she knew why the clerk would remember this encounter. Whoever the man was, he knew how to attract a woman’s attention.
    Abruptly Daniel walked out of the room.
    That sudden departure made Queenan stare after him thoughtfully. “Was it something I said?” he asked.
    “He’s taking it hard,” said Jane. “We were all hoping for answers.”
    “I think this video may be your answer.” Once again, Queenan stood and reached for his jacket. “We’ll continue to field any calls that come in. And hope that your friend decides to surface on her own.”
    “I want to know who that man is,” said Jane, pointing to the monitor.
    “Good-looking fella. No wonder your friend’s got a big smile on her face.”
    “If he’s a hotel guest,” said Gabriel, “we could winnow down the names.”
    “We had a full house last week,” the manager said. “We’re talking about two hundred and forty rooms.”
    “We eliminate the females. Focus on men who booked singles.”
    “It was a medical conference. There were a lot of men who booked singles.”
    “Then we’d better get started now, don’t you think?” Gabriel said. “We’ll need names, addresses, phone numbers.”
    The manager looked at Queenan. “Don’t these people need a warrant? We’ve got privacy issues here, Detective.”
    Jane pointed to Maura’s face on the monitor. “You’ve also got a missing woman who was last seen in this hotel. In the company of one of
your
guests.”
    The manager gave a disbelieving laugh. “It was a bunch of doctors! You really think one of them—”
    “If she was abducted,” said Jane, “we have only a short time to work with.” She moved toward the manager, close enough to make him retreat against the doorway. Close enough to see his pupils dilate. “Don’t make us waste a single minute.”
    The ringing of Queenan’s cell phone cut the silence. “Detective Queenan,” he answered. “What? Where?”
    The tone of his voice made them all turn to watch the conversation. His face was grim as he disconnected.
    “What’s going on?” Jane asked. Afraid to hear the answer.
    “You folks need to drive down to Sublette County. The Circle B Guest Ranch. It’s not my jurisdiction, so you’ll have to talk to Sheriff Fahey when you get there.”
    “Why?”
    “They’ve just found two bodies,” said Queenan. “A man and a woman.”

I N ALL HER YEARS AS A HOMICIDE DETECTIVE, JANE RIZZOLI HAD never felt so reluctant to walk into a death scene. She and Gabriel sat in their rental car across from the Circle B Guest Ranch, watching as yet another Sublette County Sheriff’s Department vehicle pulled up, joining the cluster of official cars and trucks parked in front of the guest reception cottage. In the driveway, a woman with a microphone stood talking to a news camera, her blond hair hopelessly tangled in the wind. It looked like the usual scrum of cops and reporters that Jane was accustomed to wading through at every crime scene, but this time she viewed that gantlet with dread.
Thank God we convinced Daniel to stay at the hotel. This is not an ordeal he should