Last to Die: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

the way she used to be. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy. You tell her that. Tell her it’ll be just like old times.”
    Jane looked down at her watch. “It’s dinnertime. I’ve gotta go.”
    “You promise you’ll do this for your old dad?”
    “Yeah, I promise.” She slid out of the booth, glad to escape the dusty cushions. “Take care of yourself.”
    He smiled at her, the first smile she’d seen since she’d arrived, and a hint of Frank Rizzoli’s old cockiness returned. Dad, reclaiming his territory. “I will. Now that I know everything’s gonna be okay.”
    I wouldn’t count on it, she thought as she walked out of the Arabian Nights. She dreaded the conversation with Angela, dreaded hermother’s reaction. Yelling would probably be involved. No matter what her mother decided, someone was going to get hurt. Either Korsak or her dad. And Jane had just gotten accustomed to the thought of Korsak joining the family. He was a big man with a big heart, and he loved Angela, of that there was no doubt.
Who will you choose, Mom?
    The looming conversation plagued her all the way home, darkening her mood through dinner, through Regina’s bath time, through their evening rituals of the storybook and five bedtime kisses. When she finally closed Regina’s bedroom door and walked to the kitchen to call Angela, it felt like a march to Death Row. She picked up the phone, hung up again, and sank with a sigh into a kitchen chair.
    “You do know you’re being manipulated,” said Gabriel. He closed the dishwasher and started the wash cycle. “You don’t have to do this, Jane.”
    “I promised Dad I’d call her.”
    “He’s perfectly capable of calling Angela himself. It’s wrong to put you in the middle of this. Their marriage is their problem.”
    She groaned and put her head in her hands. “Which makes it my problem.”
    “I’ll just say it. Your dad’s a coward. He screwed up big time, and now he wants you to fix things.”
    “What if I’m the only one who can?”
    Gabriel sat down, joining her at the kitchen table. “By talking your mother into taking him back?”
    “I don’t know what’s best.”
    “Your mom’s going to have to choose.”
    She lifted her head and looked at him. “What do you think she should do?”
    He considered the question as the dishwasher swished and hummed in the background. “I think she seems pretty happy right now.”
    “So you’d vote for Korsak.”
    “He’s a decent man, Jane. He’s kind to her. He won’t hurt her.”
    “But he’s not my dad.”
    “And that’s why you shouldn’t get involved. You’re being forced to choose sides, and that’s wrong for your father to do. Look what he’s putting you through.”
    After a moment, she sat up straight. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have to do this. I’m going to tell him to call her himself.”
    “Don’t feel guilty about it. If your mom wants your advice, she’ll ask you.”
    “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell him. Now what the hell’s his new phone number?” She reached into her purse and dug out her cell phone to check the contacts list. Only then did she notice the message on her screen: ONE NEW VOICE MAIL . It was the call that had come in while she was talking to her father.
    She played the message and heard Maura’s voice:
    … two children here, a girl named Claire Ward and a boy, Will Yablonski. Jane, their stories are like Teddy Clock’s. Real parents killed two years ago. Foster parents killed just last month. I don’t know if this is related, but it’s damn weird, don’t you think?
    Jane replayed the recording twice, then dialed the number that Maura had called from.
    After six rings, a woman answered: “Evensong School. This is Dr. Welliver.”
    “I’m Detective Jane Rizzoli, Boston PD. I’m trying to reach Dr. Maura Isles.”
    “I’m afraid she’s gone for an evening canoe on the lake.”
    “I’ll try her cell phone.”
    “We don’t have a cell signal out here. That’s why she used our landline.”
    “Then have her call me back when she can. Thank you.” Jane hung up and stared at her phone for a moment, all thoughts of her parents temporarily forgotten. Instead she thought of Teddy Clock. The unluckiest boy in the world, Moore called him. But now sheknew of two others just like him. Three unlucky children. Maybe there were more she didn’t know about, foster children in other cities, being hunted even now.
    “I have to go out,” she said.
    “What’s