Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

“It’s not like I’m calling for a mutiny.”
    “Maybe you should. Maybe you’d like to make the tough decisions, instead of always leaving it up to me to figure out everything.”
    “I never asked you to take charge.”
    “No, it happens by default. Funny how it always seems to work out this way. I make the hard choices and you stand back and tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
    “Doug, come on.”
    “Isn’t that how it usually goes?” Doug looked at Elaine. “Isn’t it?”
    “Why are you asking her? You know what she’s going to say.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” Elaine said.
    “Whatever you say, Doug,”
Arlo mimicked.
“I’m with you, Doug.”
    “Fuck you, Arlo,” she snapped.
    “It’s Doug you’d rather be fucking!”
    His outburst shocked them all into silence. They stared at one another as the wind swept the slope, pelleting their faces with blowing snow.
    “I’ll steer,” Maura said quietly, and she climbed into the driver’s seat, glad to escape the battle. Whatever history these three friends had together, she was not a part of it. She was merely the accidental observer, witness to a psychodrama that had begun long before she joined them.
    When Doug finally spoke, his voice was quiet and in control. “Arlo, let’s get behind this thing and push. Or we’ll never get out of here.”
    The two men positioned themselves behind the Jeep, Arlo at the right rear bumper, Doug on the left. They were both grimly silent, as if Arlo’s outburst had never happened. But Maura had seen the effect on Elaine’s face, had watched it freeze in a mask of humiliation.
    “Give it some juice, Maura,” Doug called out.
    Maura put the Jeep into first gear and lightly pressed the accelerator. She heard the wheels whine, loose chain links clanging against the chassis. The Jeep inched forward, propelled by sheer muscle power as Doug and Arlo pitted their weight against the vehicle.
    “Keep feeding it gas!” ordered Doug. “We’re moving.”
    The Jeep rocked forward and rocked backward, gravity tugging it once again off the road’s edge.
    “Don’t stop!” yelled Doug. “More gas!”
    Maura caught a glimpse of Arlo’s face in her rearview mirror, bright red from exertion as he strained against the car.
    She goosed the accelerator. Heard the engine roar, the chains banging faster against the wheel well. The Jeep gave a sharp jerk and suddenly there was a different sound. A dull thumping that she felt more than heard, as though the Jeep had hit a log.
    Then came the shrieks.
    “Stop the engine!” Elaine banged on her door. “Oh my God,
stop it!
”
    Maura instantly shut off the motor.
    The shrieks were coming from Grace. Shrill, piercing wails that did not sound human. Maura turned to look at her, but didn’t see why the girl was screaming. Grace stood at the side of the road, hands pressed to the sides of her face. Her eyelids were clenched shut, as though desperately blocking out something terrible.
    Maura shoved open her door and scrambled out of the Jeep.Blood was splattered across the whiteness of snow in shockingly bright red ribbons.
    “Hold him still!” Doug yelled. “Elaine, you’ve got to keep him still!”
    Grace’s shrieks faded to a choked sob.
    Maura ran back to the rear of the Jeep, where the ground was awash in more blood, steaming on the churned-up snow. She could not see the source of it, because Doug and Elaine blocked her view as they knelt near the right rear tire. Only when she leaned over Doug’s shoulder did she see Arlo, lying on his back, his jacket and trousers saturated. Elaine was holding down Arlo’s shoulders as Doug applied pressure to the exposed groin. Maura caught sight of Arlo’s left leg—what remained of it—and she reeled backward, nauseated.
    “I need a tourniquet!” yelled Doug, struggling to keep his blood-slicked palms positioned over the femoral artery.
    Maura quickly unbuckled her belt and yanked it free. Dropping to her knees in the bloody snow, she felt icy slush soak into her pants. Despite Doug’s pressure on the artery, a steady stream of red was seeping into the snow. She slipped her belt under the thigh and blood smeared her jacket sleeve, a startling stripe across white nylon. As she looped the belt, she felt Arlo trembling, his body rapidly sinking into shock. She yanked the tourniquet tight, and the stream of blood slowed to a trickle. Only then, with the bleeding controlled, did Doug release his grip on the