Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

I’ll assign Crowe in your place.”
    “
Not
Crowe,” Moore said sharply.
    “Who, then?”
    “Frost.” Moore sighed. “Let Frost be the one.”
    “Okay, Frost. Now go catch a plane. Getting out of town is just what you need to cool things down. You’re probably pissed at me now. But you know I’m only asking you to do the right thing.”
    Moore did know, and it was painful to have a mirror held up to his own behavior. What he saw in that mirror was Saint Thomas the Fallen, brought down by his own desires. And the truth enraged him, because he could not rail against it. He could not deny it. He managed to hold his silence until he walked out of Marquette’s office, but when he saw Rizzoli sitting at her desk he could no longer contain his fury.
    “Congratulations,” he said. “You got your payback. Feels good to draw blood, does it?”
    “Have I?”
    “You told Marquette.”
    “Yeah, well, if I did, I wouldn’t be the first cop to rat on a partner.”
    It was a stinging comeback, and it had its intended effect. In cold silence he turned and walked away.
    Stepping out of the building, he paused in the breezeway, desolate at the thought of not seeing Catherine tonight. Yet Marquette was right; this was how it had to be. How it
should
have been from the start, a careful separation between them, the forces of attraction ignored. But she had been vulnerable, and he, foolishly enough, had been drawn to that. After years of walking the straight and narrow, he now found himself in unfamiliar territory, a disturbing place ruled not by logic but by passion. He was not comfortable in this new world. And he did not know how to find his way out of it.
     
    Catherine sat in her car, collecting the courage to walk into One Schroeder Plaza. All afternoon, through a succession of clinic appointments, she’d mouthed the usual pleasantries as she’d examined patients, consulted colleagues, and tackled the minor annoyances that always arose in the course of her workday. But her smiles had been hollow, and beneath her cordial mask had lurked a rip current of despair. Moore was not returning her calls, and she did not know why. Only one night together, and already something had gone wrong between them.
    At last she stepped out of the car and walked into Boston Police Headquarters.
    Though she had been here once before, for the session with Dr. Polochek, the building still seemed like a forbidding fortress where she did not belong. That impression was reinforced by the uniformed officer who eyed her from behind the reception desk.
    “Can I help you?” he asked. Neither friendly nor unfriendly.
    “I’m looking for Detective Thomas Moore in Homicide.”
    “Let me call upstairs. Your name, please?”
    “Catherine Cordell.”
    As he made the call, she waited in the lobby, feeling overwhelmed by the polished granite, by all the men, both in uniform and in plainclothes, walking past, throwing curious glances her way. This was Moore’s universe, and she was a stranger here, trespassing in a place where hard men stared and guns gleamed in holsters. Suddenly she realized this was a mistake, that she should never have come, and she started toward the exit. Just as she reached the door, a voice called out:
    “Dr. Cordell?”
    She turned and recognized the blond man with the mild and pleasant face who had just stepped off the elevator. It was Detective Frost.
    “Why don’t we go upstairs?” he said.
    “I came to see Moore.”
    “Yes, I know. I came down to get you.” He motioned toward the elevator. “Shall we?”
    On the second floor, he led her up the hallway, into Homicide. She had not been in this area before, and she was surprised by how much it looked like any business office, with its computer terminals and desks grouped into workpods. He led her to a chair and sat her down. His eyes were kind. He could see she was uncomfortable in this alien place, and he tried to put her at ease.
    “A cup of coffee?” he asked.
    “No, thank you.”
    “Is there anything I can get you? A soda? A glass of water?”
    “I’m fine.”
    He sat down as well. “So. What do you need to talk about, Dr. Cordell?”
    “I was hoping to see Detective Moore. I spent the whole morning in surgery, and I thought that he might have tried to reach me.…”
    “Actually …” Frost paused, discomfort plainly in his eyes. “I left a message with your office staff around noontime. From now on, you should call me with any concerns. Not