Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

observer and forced to stand idly by, she felt the chill gnaw deep into her bones. Cathy, standing beside her, seemed not to care at all about the weather. The woman was utterly still, her face heedlessly exposed to the wind. Jane heard the rising pitch in the voices around her, could feel the tension in the air, and she knew that action was imminent.
    Pasternak came striding back from the huddle of command officers. He was carrying a two-way radio. “We’re ready to move, as soon as they pull the gate down.” He handed Jane the radio. “Youstay with Cathy. We’ll need her advice once we get in there, and you’re her escort. So keep her safe.”
    As Jane clipped it to her belt, an alert came over the speaker.
    “We have activity inside the compound. Looks like two men approaching.”
    Through the falling snow, Jane saw the figures walking closer, identically dressed in long black coats. They moved without hesitation, striding directly toward the lawmen. To Jane’s surprise, one of the men produced a set of keys and unlocked the gate.
    The law enforcement team leader stepped forward. “I’m Lieutenant MacAfee, Idaho State Police. We have a warrant to search the compound.”
    “There’s no need for a warrant,” the man with the keys answered. “You are welcome to enter. All of you.” He swung the gate wide open.
    MacAfee glanced at the other officers, clearly taken aback by the welcome.
    The greeter beckoned the visitors forward. “We’ve gathered in the assembly hall, where there’s room for everyone. We ask only that you keep your weapons holstered, for the safety of our women and children.” He opened his arms wide, as though inviting in the whole world. “Please join us. You’ll see that we have nothing to hide.”
    “They knew,” Cathy muttered. “Goddamn it, they
knew
we were coming. They’re prepared for this.”
    “How did they get word of it?” Jane asked.
    “He can buy anything. Eyes, ears. A cop here, a politician there.” She looked at Jane. “You see what the problem is? You see why he’ll never have to face justice?”
    “No man’s untouchable, Cathy.”
    “
He
is. He always has been.” Cathy’s gaze returned to the open gate. The law enforcement team had already walked into the compound, their figures fading beyond the falling snow. Over the radio, Jane listened in on the chatter. Heard calm voices, matter-of-fact responses.
    “First building checked and clear …”
    “All clear in number three.”
    Cathy shook her head. “He’ll outsmart them this time as well,” she said. “They don’t know what to look for. They can’t see what’s right in front of their goddamn eyes.”
    “No weapons. All clear …”
    Cathy stared at the distant figures, now receding to little more than ghostly shapes. Without a word, she, too, walked through the open gate.
    Jane followed her.
    They moved between rows of buildings that stood silent and dark, following in the boot prints of the police team. Ahead, Jane saw candlelight glowing warmly in the assembly hall windows, and she heard music, the sound of many voices raised in song. It was a sweet and ethereal hymn that soared heavenward on notes sung by children. The scent of wood smoke, the promise of warmth and fellowship, beckoned them toward the building.
    They stepped through the door, into the assembly hall.
    Inside, a multitude of candles lit the soaring space. A congregation of hundreds filled gleaming wood pews. On one side of the aisle sat the women and girls in a sea of pastel dresses. On the other side were the men and boys, clad in white shirts and dark trousers. A dozen law enforcement officers had gathered at the rear of the hall, where they stood looking about uneasily, uncertain how to proceed in what was clearly a house of worship.
    The hymn came to an end, and the final, thrilling notes faded. In the silence, a dark-haired man emerged onto the stage and calmly surveyed his congregation. He wore no priestly robes, no embroidered shawl, no ornaments that set him apart as different or special. Instead he stood before them garbed in the same clothes as his followers, but the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the elbows, as though in preparation for a day’s labors. He needed no costume, no eye-catching glitter to hold the crowd’s attention. His gaze alone, so intense it seemed radioactive, riveted every pair of eyes in the hall.
    So this is Jeremiah Goode, thought Jane. Though his hair was shot