Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

strap on a pair of snowshoes. “Go inside,” he said. Then he and the dog walked off into the woods.
    Maura hesitated only a few heartbeats. Much longer, and she would have been left too far behind to locate them in the dark. Heart thumping, she followed.
    At first she could not see them, but she could hear the creak of the snowshoes and the thrashing of the dog through the underbrush. As she moved deeper into the woods, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she began to make out more details. The looming trunks of pines. And the two figures moving ahead, the boy striding purposefully, the dog leaping to clear deep snow. Through the trees ahead, she saw something else: a faint glow that was gauzy orange through the falling snowflakes.
    She smelled smoke.
    Her legs were wobbly from the effort to keep up, but she kept struggling ahead, afraid to be left behind, wandering and lost. The boy and dog seemed tireless and they kept moving, covering what seemed like endless ground as she fell farther behind. But she would not lose them now, because she saw where they were headed. They were all being drawn to that ever-brightening glow.
    When at last she caught up, the boy was standing very still, his back turned to her, his gaze focused down on the valley.
    Far below them, the village of Kingdom Come was ablaze in flames.
    “Oh my God,” whispered Maura. “What happened?”
    “They came back. I knew they would.”
    She stared down at the twin rows of flames, as orderly and regular as military campfires. This was no accident, she thought. Those flames did not spread from rooftop to rooftop. Someone had deliberately set the houses on fire.
    The boy moved to the edge of the cliff, so close to the drop-off that for a panicked moment she thought he was about to leap off. He stared down, hypnotized by the destruction of Kingdom Come. The seductive power of fire trapped her gaze as well. She imagined the flames licking at the walls of the house where she had sheltered, turning all to ash. Snowflakes fell, melting on her cheeks to mingle with her tears. Tears for Doug and Arlo, for Elaine and Grace. Only now, as she watched the fires burn, did she truly believe they were dead.
    “Why kill them?” she whispered. “Grace was only thirteen—just a girl.
Why?”
    “They do whatever he wants.”
    “Whatever
who
wants?”
    “Jeremiah. The Prophet.” On the boy’s lips, the name sounded more like a curse than a name.
    “The man in the painting,” she said.
    “And he shall gather the righteous. And lead them all to
hell
.” He shoved the fur-trimmed hood off his head, and she could see his profile in the gloom, his jaw squared in anger.
    “Whose houses were those?” she asked. “Who lived in Kingdom Come?”
    “My mother. My sister.” His voice broke and he lowered his head in mourning for a village that was now engulfed in flames. “The chosen ones.”

W HEN J ANE , G ABRIEL, AND S ANSONE PULLED UP AT THE ACCIDENT site, they found the search team already waiting for them at the side of the road. Jane recognized Sheriff Fahey and Deputy Martineau, as well as that old crank Montgomery Loftus, who owned the land and greeted the new arrivals with a grudging nod. At least this time, he wasn’t brandishing a rifle.
    “Did you bring the items?” asked Fahey.
    Jane held up a satchel. “We took a number of things out of her house. There are pillowcases and some clothes from her laundry hamper. It should be enough to give them the scent.”
    “We can hold on to these?”
    “Keep them. As long as it takes to find her.”
    “This is the logical place to start.” Fahey handed off the satchel to Deputy Martineau. “If she managed to survive the crash and wandered away, they may be able to pick up her scent down there.”
    Jane and Gabriel moved to the edge of the road and lookeddown at the ravine. The wrecked Suburban was still wedged there, its charred surface now covered with snow. She did not see how anyone could have survived this accident, much less walked away from it. But Maura’s luggage had been in that vehicle, so it was only logical to assume that Maura herself had been riding in the ill-fated SUV when it plunged off the cliff. Jane tried to imagine how that miraculous survival could have happened. Perhaps Maura was thrown from the vehicle early and landed on soft snow, saving her from incineration. Perhaps she’d wandered away from the wreckage, dazed and amnesiac. Jane scanned the rugged terrain and felt