Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

hair he sent.”
    She accepted the news in stunned silence.
    In the kitchen, a kettle whistled. She turned and walked out of the room.
    As he locked the door, his gaze lingered on the shiny new dead bolt. How insubstantial even tempered steel seemed, against an opponent who could walk through walls. He followed her into the kitchen and watched her turn off the heat to the squealing kettle. She fumbled with a box of tea bags, gave a startled gasp as they spilled out and scattered across the countertop. Such a minor mishap, yet it seemed to be the crushing blow. All at once she sagged against the counter, hands clenched, white knuckles against white tiles. She was fighting not to cry, not to fall apart before his eyes, and she was losing the battle. He saw her draw in a deep breath. Saw her shoulders knot up, her whole body straining to stifle the sob.
    He could stand to watch this no longer. He went to her, pulled her against him. Held her as she shook in his embrace. All day he had thought about holding her, had longed for it. He had not wanted it to be like this, with her driven by fear into his arms. He wanted to be more than a safe haven, a reliable man to turn to.
    But that was exactly what she needed now. So he wrapped himself around her, shielding her from the terrors of the night.
    “Why is this happening again?” she whispered.
    “I don’t know, Catherine.”
    “It’s Capra—”
    “No. He’s dead.” He cupped her wet face, made her look at him. “Andrew Capra is dead.”
    Staring back at him, she went very still in his arms. “Then why has the Surgeon chosen
me
?”
    “If anyone knows the answer, it’s you.”
    “I
don’t
know.”
    “Maybe not on a conscious level. But you yourself told me you don’t remember everything that happened in Savannah. You don’t remember firing the second shot. You don’t remember who cut your hair, or when. What
else
don’t you remember?”
    She shook her head. Then blinked, startled, at the sound of his beeper.
    Why can’t they leave me alone?
He crossed to the phone on the kitchen wall to answer the page.
    Rizzoli’s voice greeted him with what sounded like an accusation. “You’re at her place.”
    “Good guess.”
    “No, caller ID. It’s midnight. Have you thought about what you’re doing?”
    He said, irritably, “Why did you page me?”
    “Is she listening?”
    He watched Catherine walk out of the kitchen. Without her, the room suddenly seemed empty. Bled of any interest. “No,” he said.
    “I’ve been thinking about the hair clipping. You know, there’s one more explanation for how she got it.”
    “And that would be?”
    “She sent it to herself.”
    “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
    “And I can’t believe it never even crossed your mind.”
    “What would be the motive?”
    “The same motive that makes men walk in off the street and confess to murders they never committed. Look at all the attention she’s getting! Your attention. It’s midnight, and you’re right there, fussing over her. I’m not saying the Surgeon
hasn’t
been stalking her. But this hair thing makes me step back and say
whoa
. It’s time to look at what else might be going on. How did the Surgeon get that hair? Did Capra
give
it to him two years ago? How could he do that when he’s lying dead on her bedroom floor? You saw the inconsistencies between her statement and Capra’s autopsy report. We both know she didn’t tell the whole truth.”
    “That statement was coaxed out of her by Detective Singer.”
    “You think he fed her the story?”
    “Think of the pressure Singer was under. Four murders. Everyone screaming for an arrest. And he had a nice, neat solution: the perp is dead, shot by his intended victim. Catherine closed the case for him, even if he had to put the words in her mouth.” Moore paused. “We need to know what really happened that night in Savannah.”
    “She’s the only one who was there. And she claims she doesn’t remember it all.”
    Moore looked up as Catherine came back into the room. “Not yet.”
     

fourteen
    Y ou’re certain Dr. Cordell’s willing to do this?” asked Alex Polochek.
    “She’s here and waiting for you,” said Moore.
    “You didn’t talk her into this? Because hypnosis won’t work if the subject is resistant. She has to be fully cooperative, or it’ll be a waste of time.”
    A waste of time
was what Rizzoli had already called this session, and her opinion was shared by more than a few