Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

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 cost of repairing the roof, the drop-off in donations. It was a church budget meeting.
    “How is it out there?” he asked. Pleasant and neutral.
    “A lot colder than Boston. There’s already snow on the ground.”
    “It hasn’t stopped raining here.”
    “I’ll be landing Sunday night. Can you still pick me up at the airport?”
    “I’ll be there.”
    “And afterward? We can have a late supper at my house, if you’d like to stay the night.”
    A pause. “I’m not sure I can. Let me think about it.”
    It was almost the same answer she’d given Doug earlier that evening. And she remembered what he’d said.
Sometimes you just have to jump in and trust in the universe
.
    “Can I call you back Saturday?” he said. “I’ll know my schedule then.”
    “Okay. But if you can’t reach me, don’t worry. I may be out of cell phone range.”
    “Talk to you then.”
    There was no parting
I love you
, just a quiet goodbye and the conversation was over. The only intimacies they ever shared were behind closed doors. Every encounter was planned in advance, andafterward repeatedly analyzed.
Too much thinking
, Doug would have said. All that thinking hadn’t brought her happiness.
    She picked up the hotel phone and dialed the operator. “Can you connect me to the room of Douglas Comley, please?” she said.
    It took four rings for him to answer. “Hello?”
    “It’s me,” she said. “Does the invitation still stand?”

T HE ADVENTURE STARTED OFF WELL ENOUGH .
    Friday night, the fellow travelers met for drinks. When Maura walked into the hotel cocktail lounge, she found Doug and his party already seated at a table, waiting for her. Arlo Zielinski looked like someone who had eaten his way through the Michelin guidebook—chubby and balding, a man with a hearty appetite and just as hearty a laugh.
    “The more the merrier, I always say!