Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

used to be when I was growing up here. When folks respected property rights. Now anyone thinks they can come hunting on my land. Leave my gates wide open.”
    Jane could read the look that flickered across Martineau’s face:
I’ve heard him say this a thousand times before
.
    “And you never show up in time to do anything, Bobby,” Loftus added.
    “I’m here now, ain’t I?” protested Martineau.
    “You come by my place later, and I’ll show you what they did to my gates. Something has to be done.”
    “Okay.”
    “I mean
today
, Bobby.” Loftus climbed into his pickup truck, and the engine rattled to life. With a gruff wave, he called out, grudgingly, “Sorry again, folks,” and drove away.
    “Who is that guy?” asked Jane.
    Martineau laughed. “Montgomery Loftus. His family used to own like, a gazillion acres around here. Double L Ranch.”
    “He was pretty pissed at us. I thought he was going to blast us with that rifle.”
    “He’s pissed about everything these days. You know how it is with some old folks. Always complaining it ain’t the way it used to be.”
    It never is, thought Jane as she watched Martineau climb back into his vehicle. And it won’t be the same in Boston, either. Not with Maura gone.
    As they drove back to the hotel, Jane stared out the window, thinking about the last conversation she’d had with Maura. It was in the morgue, and they’d been standing at the autopsy table as Maura sliced into a cadaver. She’d talked about her upcoming trip to Wyoming. How she’d never been there, how she looked forward to seeing elk and buffalo and maybe even a wolf or two. They’dtalked about Jane’s mother, and Barry Frost’s divorce, and how life always kept surprising you. You just never know, Maura had said, what lies around the corner.
    No, you never do. You had no idea you’d be coming home from Wyoming in a coffin
.
    They pulled into the hotel parking lot, and Gabriel shut off the engine. For a moment they sat without speaking. There was still so much to do, she thought. Make phone calls. Sign papers. Arrange for the coffin’s transportation. The thought of it all exhausted her. But at least they’d be going home, now. To Regina.
    “I know it’s only noon,” said Gabriel. “But I think we could both use a drink.”
    She nodded. “I second that.” She pushed open her door and stepped out, into the softly falling snow. They held on to each other as they walked across the parking lot, their arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists. How much harder this day would have been without him here, she thought. Poor Maura has lost everything, while I am still blessed with this man. Blessed with a future.
    They stepped into the hotel bar, where the light was so subdued that at first she didn’t spot Brophy sitting in one of the booths. Only as her eyes adjusted to the gloom did she see him.
    He was not alone.
    Seated with him at the table was a man who now rose to his feet, a tall and forbidding figure in black. Anthony Sansone was notoriously reclusive, and so paranoid about his privacy that he seldom ventured out in public. Yet here he was, standing in their hotel bar, his grief in full view.
    “You should have called me, Detective,” said Sansone. “You should have asked for my help.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Jane. “I didn’t think about it.”
    “Maura was my friend, too. If I’d known she was missing, I would have flown back from Italy in a heartbeat.”
    “There’s nothing you could have done. Nothing any of us couldhave done.” She glanced at Brophy, who was stone-faced and silent. These two men had never liked each other, yet here they were, a truce declared between them in Maura’s memory.
    “My jet’s waiting at the airport,” said Sansone. “As soon as they release her body, we can all fly home together.”
    “It should be this afternoon.”
    “Then I’ll let my pilot know.” His sigh was heavy with sadness. “Call me when it’s time to make the transfer. And we’ll bring Maura home.”
    I N THE COMFORTABLE COCOON of Anthony Sansone’s jet, the four passengers were quiet as they flew east, into the night. Perhaps they were all thinking, as Jane was, of their unseen companion who rode below in cargo, boxed in a coffin, stored in the dark and frigid hold. This was the first time Jane had ever flown on a private jet. Were it for any other occasion, she would have taken delight in the soft leather seats, the spacious legroom, the