Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

and dumped him back in Pinedale.”
    “So he might head back there this time as well.” She looked at Cathy. “How far are we from Doyle Mountain? Where Martineau was shot?”
    “As the crow flies, it’s not far. It’s right on the other side of those hills. A lot farther if you go by road.”
    “So he could hike it.”
    “If he really wanted to.”
    “He just killed a deputy. He’s scared and he’s on the run. He might seek shelter in Kingdom Come.”
    Cathy thought about it, her frown deepening. “If he’s there now …”
    “He’s armed.”
    “He wouldn’t hurt me. He knows me.”
    “I’m just saying, we have to be cautious. We can’t predict what he’ll do next.”
And he has Maura
.
    They had been steadily ascending for nearly an hour, and had seen no other vehicles, no buildings, no evidence at all that anyone resided on this mountain. Only as Cathy slowed to a stop did Jane spot the sign, its post half buried in deep snow.
    PRIVATE ROAD
RESIDENTS ONLY
AREA PATROLLED
    “Makes you feel welcome, doesn’t it?” said Cathy.
    “It also makes me wonder why they’re so afraid of visitors.”
    “Interesting. The chain’s down, and this road’s been plowed as well.”
    They started down the private road, Cathy’s SUV rolling slowly over pavement coated with an inch of recent snow. The pines were thick here, casting the road in claustrophobic gloom, and Jane could see little beyond the evergreen curtain. She stared ahead, muscles tensed, not certain what to expect. A hostile interception by The Gathering? A burst of gunfire from a frightened boy? Suddenly the trees parted and she blinked at the view of open sky, cold and bright.
    Cathy pulled onto an overlook and braked to a stop. Both women stared down in shock at what was once the settlement of Kingdom Come.
    “Dear God,” Cathy whispered. “What happened here?”
    Black ruins dotted the valley. Charred foundations marked where houses had once stood, the two rows forming a strangely orderly record of destruction. Among the ruins, something was moving, something that trotted arrogantly between the burned-out houses, as though this valley now belonged to him and he was merely surveying his domain.
    “Coyote,” said Cathy.
    “This doesn’t look like an accident,” said Jane. “I think someone came in and torched those buildings.” She paused, struck by the obvious. “Julian.”
    “Why would he?”
    “Rage against The Gathering? Revenge for throwing him out?”
    “You’re pretty quick to blame him for everything, aren’t you?” said Cathy.
    “He wouldn’t be the first kid who’s torched a house.”
    “And destroy his only available shelter for miles?” Cathy heaved out an agitated breath and shoved the gearshift back into drive. “Let’s get closer.”
    They started down the valley road, and through intermittent stands of pine, Jane caught other views of the settlement, the destruction more appalling with every new glimpse. By now the sound of their vehicle had filtered down the slope, and the lone coyote fled toward the surrounding woods. As their SUV drew closer, Jane spotted dark lumps scattered across the nearby field of snow, and she realized that they, too, were coyotes. But they were lying motionless.
    “Jesus, it looks like the whole pack was slaughtered,” said Jane.
    “Hunters.”
    “Why?”
    “Coyotes aren’t real popular in ranching country.” Cathy pulled to a stop beside the first burned foundation, and they both stared across the field of dead animals. At the edge of the woods, the lone surviving coyote stood watching them, as though he, too, wanted answers.
    “This is weird,” murmured Jane. “I don’t see blood anywhere. I’m not sure those animals were shot.”
    “Then how’d they die?”
    Jane stepped out of the SUV and almost slipped on ice. Snowmelt from the fire had flash-frozen into a hard glaze that was now dusted with an inch of white powder. Everywhere she looked, she saw scavenger prints on that fine layer of snow. The destruction stunned her. She heard Cathy’s boots crunch away across the ice, but Jane remained beside the vehicle, staring at the jumble of charred wood and metal, here and there spotting a recognizable object in the ruins. A shattered mirror, a scorched doorknob. A ceramic sink, filled with a miniature ice rink of frozen water. An entire village reduced to rubble and ashes.
    The scream was piercing, every echo flying back from the mountains like shards of