Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

through crusted snow, back to the porch and into the house. Maura slid the bolt home and dragged the chair against it. For a moment, they stood panting, saying nothing. In the hearth, a log collapsed into the bed of glowing ashes, and sparks flew up.
    Elaine and Maura suddenly stiffened and looked at each other as they both heard the sound, echoing through the valley. It was the wolves, howling again.

B EFORE THE SUN ROSE THE NEXT DAY, M AURA KNEW THAT A RLO WAS dying. She could hear it in his breathing, in the wet gurgle in his throat, as though he were struggling to draw air through a water-clogged snorkel. His lungs were drowning in fluid.
    She awakened to the sound and turned to look at him. In the firelight, she saw that Elaine was bending over him, gently wiping his face with a washcloth.
    “Today’s the day, Arlo,” Elaine murmured. “They’ll be coming to rescue us, I know it. As soon as it gets light.”
    Arlo inhaled a tortured breath. “Doug …”
    “Yes, I’m sure he’s made it by now. You know how he is.
Never give up, never surrender
. That’s our Doug. You just have to hang on, okay? A few more hours. Look, it’s already starting to get light.”
    “Doug. You.” Arlo took in a ragged breath. “I never had a chance. Did I?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Always knew.” Arlo choked out a sob. “Always knew you’d choose him.”
    “Oh, Arlo. No, it’s not what you’re thinking.”
    “Time to be honest. Please.”
    “Nothing ever happened between Doug and me. I swear it, honey.”
    “But you wanted it to.”
    The silence that followed was an answer more honest than anything Elaine could have said. Maura remained silent and still, an uncomfortable witness to this painful confession. Arlo had to know his time was running out. This would be his last chance to hear the truth.
    “Doesn’t matter.” He sighed. “Not now.”
    “But it
does
matter,” said Elaine.
    “Still love you.” Arlo closed his eyes. “Want you … to know that.”
    Elaine put her hand over her mouth to smother her sob. The first light of dawn lit the window, washing her in its glow as she knelt beside him, racked by grief and guilt. She took in a shuddering breath and straightened. Only then did she notice that Maura was awake and watching them, and she turned away, embarrassed.
    For a moment, the two women did not speak. The only sound was Arlo’s hoarse breathing, in and out, in and out, through rattling clots of phlegm. Even from across the room, Maura could see that his face had changed, his eyes more sunken, his skin now tinged with a sickly green cast. She did not want to look at his leg, but there was enough light now to examine it, and she knew she should. This was her responsibility, a responsibility that she wanted no part of, but she was the doctor. Yet all her medical training had turned out to be useless without modern drugs and clean surgical instruments and the icy determination to do what was necessary: to cut off a screaming man’s leg. Because that was what needed to be done. She knew it even before she exposed the limb, before she smelled the stink of what festered beneath the blanket.
    “Oh God,” Elaine groaned, and stumbled away. Maura heard the front door swing shut as Elaine escaped the fetid room in search of fresh air.
    It has to be done today, thought Maura, staring down at the putrefying leg. But she couldn’t do it alone; she needed Elaine and Grace to hold him down, or she’d never be able to control the bleeding. She glanced at the girl, who was still sound asleep on the sofa. Could she count on Grace? Did Elaine have the fortitude to hold firm despite the screaming and the pitiless rasp of the saw? If they buckled, Maura could end up killing him.
    She pulled on her jacket and gloves and stepped outside. She found Elaine standing on the porch, drawing in deep breaths of cold air, as though to wash the stink of Arlo’s rotting body from her lungs.
    “How long do you think he has?” Elaine asked softly.
    “I don’t want to talk about countdowns, Elaine.”
    “But he’s dying. Isn’t he?”
    “If nothing is done.”
    “You and Doug already
did
something. It didn’t help.”
    “So we have to take the next step.”
    “What?”
    “Amputation.”
    Elaine turned and stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”
    “We’re left with no other choice. We’ve gone through all the antibiotics. If that leg stays on, he’ll die of septic shock.”
    “You were the one