Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

pause, not because she was unsure of the answer. She knew she was not happy. Yes, there were moments of bliss when she’d hear Daniel’s car in the driveway or his knock onher door. But there were also the nights when she sat alone at her kitchen table, drinking too many glasses of wine. Nursing too many resentments.
    “I don’t know,” she finally said.
    “I’ve never regretted anything.”
    “Even your marriage?”
    “Even my disaster of a marriage. I believe that every experience, every wrong decision, teaches us something. That’s why we shouldn’t be afraid to make mistakes. I jump into things with both feet, and sometimes it gets me into hot water. But in the end, everything has a way of working out.”
    “So you just trust in the universe?”
    “I do. And I sleep very well at night. No doubts, no closet full of anxieties. Life’s too short for that. We should just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
    The waiter came to clear away the dishes. While she had finished only half her meal, Doug had cleaned his plate, devouring his lamb chops the way he seemed to devour life itself, with joyous abandon. He ordered cheesecake and coffee for dessert; Maura asked only for chamomile tea. When it all arrived, he slid the cheesecake halfway between them.
    “Go on,” he said. “I know you want some.”
    Laughing, she picked up her fork and took a generous bite. “You’re a bad influence.”
    “If we were all well behaved, how boring would life be? Besides, cheesecake is only a minor sin.”
    “I’ll have to repent when I get home.”
    “When are you headed back?”
    “Not till Sunday afternoon. I thought I’d stay an extra day and take in some of the scenery. Jackson Hole’s pretty spectacular.”
    “Are you touring around on your own?”
    “Unless some gorgeous man volunteers to show me around.”
    He took a bite of cheesecake and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.“I don’t know about coming up with a gorgeous man,” he said. “But I could offer you an alternative. My daughter, Grace, is here with me. She’s out tonight at the movies with two of my friends from San Diego. We were planning to drive to a cross-country ski lodge on Saturday and spend the night. We’d be back Sunday morning. There’s room for you in the Suburban. And I’m sure there’s room at the lodge, too, if you’d like to join us.”
    She shook her head. “I’d be a fifth wheel.”
    “Not at all. They’d love you. And I think you’d like them, too. Arlo’s one of my best friends. By day, he’s a boring accountant. But by night …” Doug’s voice dropped to a sinister growl. “He turns into a celebrity known as the Mysterious Mr. Chops.”
    “Who?”
    “Just one of the most popular food and wine bloggers on the Web. He’s eaten at every Michelin-starred restaurant in America, and he’s working his way through Europe. I just call him Jaws.”
    Maura laughed. “He sounds like fun. And the other friend?”
    “Elaine. The gal he’s been dating for years. She does something with interior design, I don’t know what. I think you two would hit it off. Plus, you’d get to meet Grace.”
    She took another bite of cheesecake and took her time chewing. Considering.
    “Hey, it’s not like I’m proposing marriage,” he teased. “It’s just an overnight road trip, properly chaperoned by my thirteen-year-old daughter.” He leaned in closer, his blue eyes focused intently. “Come on. My wild and crazy ideas almost always end up being fun.”
    “Almost always?”
    “There’s that unpredictability factor, that chance that something completely unexpected—something amazing—could happen. That’s what makes life an adventure. Sometimes you just have to jump in and trust in the universe.”
    At that moment, staring into his eyes, she felt that Doug Comley saw her the way few people did. That he was looking past her defensivearmor to see the woman inside. A woman who’d always been afraid of where her heart might take her.
    She looked down at the dessert plate. The cheesecake was gone; she didn’t remember having finished it. “Let me give it some thought,” she said.
    “Of course.” He laughed. “You wouldn’t be Maura Isles if you didn’t.”
    T HAT NIGHT, back in her hotel room, she called Daniel.
    By his tone of voice, she knew that he was not alone. He was polite but impersonal, as though speaking to any parishioner. In the background she could hear voices discussing the price of heating fuel, the