Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

flesh.
    Someone gave a startled gasp behind her, and she turned to see Maura’s secretary, Louise, standing in the doorway. Louise seldom ventured into the autopsy room, and Jane was surprised to see her here, and so late in the day. The woman was wearing her winter coat, and her windblown gray hair sparkled with melting snowflakes.
    “You probably don’t want to come any closer, Louise,” said Bristol.
    But it was too late. Louise had already glimpsed the corpse and she stood frozen, too horrified to take another step into the room. “Dr.—Dr. Bristol—”
    “What is it?”
    “You asked about her dentist. The one Dr. Isles went to. I suddenly remembered that she’d asked me to make an appointment for her, so I went back over the calendar. It was about six months ago.”
    “You found her dentist’s name?”
    “Even better.” Louise held out a brown envelope. “I have her X-rays. When I explained to him why we needed them, he told me I should drive right over and pick them up.”
    Bristol crossed the room in a few swift steps and snatched the envelope from Louise’s hand. Yoshima was already pulling down the skull X-rays from the light box, the unwieldy films twanging as he hastily yanked them from the clips to make room.
    Bristol pulled the dental films from the envelope. These were not morgue panograms, but small bitewing X-rays that lookeddwarfed by Bristol’s meaty hands. As he clipped them onto the box, Jane spotted the patient’s name on the label.
    ISLES, MAURA .
    “These films were all taken within the last three years,” Bristol noted. “And we’ve got plenty here for ID purposes. Gold crowns on the lower left and right molars. An old root canal here …”
    “I did panograms on this body,” said Yoshima. He shuffled through the X-rays he’d taken of the burned cadaver. “Here.” He slid the films onto the box, right beside Maura’s bitewing X-rays.
    Everyone crowded closer. For a moment no one said a word as gazes flicked back and forth between the sets of films.
    Then Bristol said: “I think it’s pretty clear.” He turned to Jane. “The body on that table isn’t Maura’s.”
    The breath whooshed out of Jane’s lungs. Yoshima sagged against a countertop, as though suddenly too weak to support himself.
    “If this body is Elaine Salinger’s,” said Gabriel, “then we’re still left with the same question we had before. Where’s Maura?”
    Jane took out her cell phone and dialed.
    After three rings, a voice answered: “Detective Queenan.”
    “Maura Isles is still missing,” she said. “We’re coming back to Wyoming.”

M AURA AWAKENED TO THE CRACKLE OF BURNING WOOD . F IRELIGHT danced across her closed eyelids, and she smelled the sweetness of molasses and bacon, the scent of pork and beans bubbling over the campfire. Although she lay perfectly still, her captor sensed that she was no longer asleep. His boots scraped closer, and his shadow blocked out the firelight as he bent over her.
    “Better eat,” he grunted, and shoved a spoonful of beans in her direction.
    She turned away, nauseated by the smell. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
    “Trying to keep you alive.”
    “There’s a man, in the village. He needs to be in the hospital. You have to let me help him.”
    “You can’t.”
    “Untie me.
Please.
”
    “You’ll just run away.” He gave up trying to force the food onher and slipped the spoon in his own mouth instead. She looked at the face staring down at her. Backlit by the fire, his features were invisible. All she saw was the outline of his head, frighteningly enormous in the fur-lined hood. Somewhere in the shadows a dog whined and claws scratched. The animal moved closer and she smelled his hot breath, felt the lick of a tongue across her face. He was a huge dog, his silhouette shaggy and wolf-like, and although he seemed friendly, she recoiled from his attentions.
    “Bear likes you. Doesn’t like most people.”
    “Maybe he’s telling you I’m okay,” she said. “And you should let me go.”
    “Too soon.” He turned and moved closer to the fire. Scooping up beans from the pot, he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth with feral hunger. Veiled in smoke, he looked like some primitive creature squatting in the light of an ancient campfire.
    “What do you mean, it’s too soon?” she asked.
    He just kept eating, noisily slurping from the spoon, his concentration completely focused on filling his belly. He was an animal,