Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

police?”
    “The Sublette County sheriff. I’m standing in his office right now.” She turned to find that Fahey was right beside her, his eyes full of questions. “Just tell us where you are and we’ll come get you.”
    There was no answer.
    “Maura? Maura?”
    The line had gone dead. She hung up and stared at the number on her call history. “I need an address!” she yelled, and recited the phone number. “It’s a Wyoming area code!”
    “That was
her
?” Fahey asked.
    “She’s alive!” Jane gave a joyous laugh as she dialed the number. It rang and rang unanswered. She disconnected and redialed. Again, there was no answer. She stared at her cell phone, willing it to ring again.
    Fahey went back to his desk and tried calling from his phone. By now everyone in the office was riveted to the conversation, and they watched as he punched in the number. He stood drumming his fingers on the desk and finally hung up.
    “I’m not getting an answer, either,” he said.
    “But she just called me from that number.”
    “What did she say?”
    “She asked me to come get her.”
    “Did she give you any idea where she is? What happened to her?”
    “She never got the chance. We were cut off.” Jane looked down at her silent cell phone, as if it had betrayed her.
    “Got the address!” a deputy called out. “The phone’s listed to a Norma Jacqueline Brindell, up on Doyle Mountain.”
    “Where’s that?” said Jane.
    Fahey said, “That’s a good five miles west of the accident scene. How the hell’d she end up out there?”
    “Show me on the map.”
    They crossed to the county map displayed on the wall, and he tapped a finger on a remote corner. “There’s nothing but a few seasonal cabins. I doubt anyone’s living there this time of year.”
    She looked at the deputy who’d given them the address. “Are you sure about that location?”
    “That’s where the call came from, ma’am.”
    “Keep calling it. See if anyone answers,” said Fahey. He looked at the dispatcher. “Check and see who we’ve got in that area right now.”
    Jane looked at the map again and saw wide expanses with few roads and rugged elevations. How had Maura ended up there, so far from the wrecked Suburban? She scanned the map, her gaze moving back and forth between the accident site and Doyle Mountain. Five miles due west. She pictured snowbound valleys and towering crags. Scenic country, to be sure, but no villages, no restaurants, nothing to attract an East Coast tourist.
    The dispatcher called out: “Deputy Martineau just radioed in. Says he’ll handle the call. He’s heading to Doyle Mountain now.”
    T HE PHONE in the kitchen would not stop ringing.
    “Let me answer it,” said Maura.
    “We have to leave.” The boy was emptying out pantry cabinets and throwing food into his backpack. “I saw a shovel on the back porch. Get it.”
    “That’s my friend trying to reach me.”
    “The police will be coming.”
    “It’s okay, Rat. You can trust her.”
    “But you can’t trust
them.
”
    The phone was ringing again. She turned to answer it, but the boy snatched the cord and wrenched it from the wall. “Do you
want
to die?” he yelled.
    Maura dropped the dead receiver and backed away. In his panic, the boy looked frightening, even dangerous. She glanced at the corddangling from his fist, a fist that was powerful enough to batter a face, to crush a trachea.
    He threw down the cord and took a breath. “If you want to come with me, we need to leave now.”
    “I’m sorry, Rat,” she said quietly. “But I’m not going with you. I’m going to wait here for my friend.”
    What she saw in his eyes wasn’t anger, but sorrow. In silence he strapped on his backpack and took her snowshoes, which she would no longer need. Without a backward look, without even a goodbye, he turned to the door. “Let’s go, Bear,” he said.
    The dog hesitated, glancing back and forth between them, as though trying to understand these crazy humans.
    “Bear.”
    “Wait,” said Maura. “Stay with me. We’ll go back to town together.”
    “I don’t belong in town, ma’am. I never did.”
    “You can’t wander alone out there.”
    “I’m not wandering. I know where I’m going.” Again, he looked at his dog, and this time Bear followed him.
    Maura watched the boy walk out the back door, the dog at his heels. Through the broken kitchen window, she saw them trudge across the snow toward the woods. The wild child and his