Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

which drove my dad totally nuts. I worked as a bartender in Baja. Taught surfing in Malibu. Smoked too much pot and drank a lot of bad wine. It was great.” He grinned. “You, Dr. Isles, wouldn’t have approved.”
    “It’s not something I would have done.” She took another sip of wine. “Not then, anyway.”
    His eyebrow tilted up. “Meaning you’d do it now?”
    “People do change, Doug.”
    “Yeah, look at me! I never dreamed I’d one day end up a boring pathologist, trapped in the hospital basement.”
    “So how did that happen? What made you transform from a beach bum into a respectable doctor?”
    Their conversation paused as the waiter brought their entrées. Roast duck for Maura, lamb chops for Doug. They sat through the obligatory grinding of the pepper, the refilling of their wineglasses. Only after the waiter left did Douglas answer her question.
    “I got married,” he said.
    She had not noticed a wedding ring on his finger, and this was the first time he’d said anything about being in a relationship. The revelation made her glance up in surprise, but he was not looking at her; he was gazing at another table, at a family with two little girls.
    “It was a bad match from the start,” he admitted. “Met her at aparty. Gorgeous blonde, blue eyes, legs up to
here
. She heard I was applying to med school and she had visions of being a rich doctor’s wife. She didn’t realize she’d end up spending weekends alone while I was working in the hospital. By the time I finished my pathology residency, she’d found someone else.” He sliced into his lamb chop. “But I got to keep Grace.”
    “Grace?”
    “My daughter. Thirteen years old and every bit as gorgeous as her mom. I’m just hoping to turn her in a more intellectual direction than her mom went.”
    “Where’s your ex-wife now?”
    “She got remarried, to a banker. They live in London, and we’re lucky if we hear from her twice a year.” He set down his knife and fork. “So that’s how I became Mr. Mom. I’ve now got a daughter, a mortgage, and a job at the VA in San Diego. Who could ask for anything more?”
    “And are you happy?”
    He shrugged. “It’s not the life I imagined when I was at Stanford, playing ninja on the rooftops. But I can’t complain. Life happens, and you adjust.” He smiled at her. “Lucky you, you’re exactly what you envisioned. You always wanted to be a pathologist, and here you are.”
    “I also wanted to be married. I failed miserably at that.”
    He studied her. “I find it so hard to believe that there’s no man in your life right now.”
    She pushed pieces of duck around on her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. “Actually, I am seeing someone.”
    He leaned in, focusing intently. “Tell me more.”
    “It’s been about a year.”
    “That sounds serious.”
    “I’m not sure.” His gaze made her uneasy, and she dropped her attention back to her meal. She could feel him studying her, trying to read what she wasn’t telling him. What started as a lighthearted conversationhad suddenly turned deeply personal. The dissection knives were out and secrets were spilling.
    “Is it serious enough that there might be wedding bells?” he asked.
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    She looked at him. “Because he’s not available.”
    He leaned back, clearly surprised. “I never thought someone as levelheaded as you would fall for a married man.”
    She started to correct him, then stopped herself. Practically speaking, Daniel Brophy was indeed a married man, married to his church. There was no spouse more jealous, more demanding. She would have a better chance of claiming him if he’d been bound to merely another woman.
    “I guess I’m not as levelheaded as you thought,” she said.
    He gave a surprised laugh. “You must have a wild streak I never knew about. How did I miss it back at Stanford?”
    “That was a long time ago.”
    “Basic personalities don’t really change much.”
    “You’ve changed.”
    “No. Beneath this Brooks Brothers blazer still beats the heart of a beach bum. Medicine’s just my job, Maura. It pays the bills. It’s not who I
am
.”
    “And what do you imagine I am?”
    “The same person you were at Stanford. Competent. Professional. Not one to make mistakes.”
    “I wish that were true. I wish I didn’t make mistakes.”
    “This man you’re seeing, is he a mistake?”
    “I’m not ready to admit that.”
    “Do you regret it?”
    His question made her