Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

how glad I am to see you!”
    “Can I have your name, please?”
    “I’m Dr. Maura Isles. I believe there’ve been premature rumors of my death.” Her laugh sounded wild, almost unhinged. “Obviously, it’s not true!”
    He peered past her, into the house. “How did you get into this residence? Did someone let you in?”
    She felt her face flush with guilt. “I’m afraid we had to break a window to get in. And there’s some other damage. But I promise, I’ll pay for it.”
    “We?”
    She paused, suddenly afraid that she’d get the boy into trouble. “I didn’t have a choice,” she said. “I needed to get to a telephone. So I broke into the house. I hope that’s not a hanging offense around here.”
    At last he smiled, but something was wrong about that smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s get you back to town,” he said. “You can tell us all about it.”
    Even as she climbed into his backseat, even as he swung the door shut, she was trying to understand what bothered her about this young deputy. The SUV was a sheriff’s department vehicle, and a metal grate isolated her in the backseat, trapping her in a cage meant to hold prisoners.
    As the deputy slid in behind the steering wheel, his radio crackled to life. “Bobby, this is Dispatch,” a woman’s voice said. “You make it up to Doyle Mountain yet?”
    “Ten four, Jan. Just checked out the whole house,” Deputy Martineau answered.
    “You find her there? ’Cause this Boston cop’s on our backs.”
    “Sorry, I didn’t.”
    “Anyone there at all?”
    “Must’ve been a hoax, ’cause no one’s here. Leaving the scene now, ten seventeen.”
    Maura stared through the grate and suddenly met the deputy’s gaze in the rearview mirror. The look he gave her froze her blood.
I saw it in his smile. I knew there was something wrong
.
    “I’m here!” Maura screamed. “Help me! I’m
here!”
    Deputy Martineau had already switched off the radio.
    She reached for the door handle, but there was nothing to grab.
Cop car. No way out
. Frantically she pounded on the windows, shrieking, oblivious to the pain of her fists slamming against the glass. He started the engine. What came next, a drive to a lonely spot and an execution? Her body left to the mercy of scavengers? Panic made her claw at the prisoner grate, but flesh and bone were no match for steel.
    He turned the SUV around in the driveway, and abruptly slammed on the brake. “Shit,” he muttered. “Where did
you
come from?”
    The dog stood in the road, blocking the vehicle.
    Deputy Martineau leaned on his horn. “Get the fuck out of the way!” he yelled.
    Instead of retreating, Bear rose up on his hind legs, planted two paws on the hood, and began barking.
    For a moment the deputy stared at the animal, debating whether to simply hit the accelerator and run over him. “Shit. No point getting blood all over the bumper,” he muttered, and stepped out of the SUV.
    Bear dropped to all fours and inched toward him, growling.
    The deputy raised his weapon and took aim. So intent was he on hitting his target, he didn’t notice the shovel swinging at the back of his head. It slammed into his skull and he staggered against the vehicle, his weapon flying into the snow.
    “Nobody shoots my dog,” said Rat. He yanked open Maura’s door. “Time to go, lady.”
    “Wait, the radio! Let me call for help!”
    “Are you
ever
going to listen to me?”
    As she scrambled out of the SUV, she saw that the deputy was on his knees and had retrieved his weapon. Just as he lifted it, the boy flew at him. The two went sprawling. Rolled over and over in the snow, wrestling for the gun.
    The explosion seemed to freeze time.
    In the sudden silence, even the dog went completely still. Slowly Rat rolled away and staggered to his feet. The front of his jacket was splattered with red. But it was not his blood.
    Maura dropped to her knees beside the deputy. He was still alive, his eyes open and wild with panic, blood fountaining from his neck. She pressed against the wound to stop the arterial gush, but already his blood soaked the snow. Already, the light was fading from his eyes.
    “Get on the radio,” she yelled at the boy. “Call for help.”
    “Didn’t mean to,” the boy whispered. “It went off by itself …”
    Gurgling sounds came from the deputy’s throat. As his last breath fled his body, so, too, did his soul. She watched his eyes darken, saw the muscles in his neck go slack.