Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

deputy. Do you consider that justifiable force?”
    “Objection,” said Aguilar. “Dr. Isles isn’t the one on trial here.”
    Whaley barreled ahead with the next question, his gaze fixed on Maura. “What happened out there in Wyoming, Dr. Isles? While you were fighting for your life, was there an epiphany? A sudden realization that cops are the enemy?”
    “Objection!”
    “Or have cops always been the enemy? Members of your own family seem to think so.”
    The gavel banged down. “Mr. Whaley, you will approach the bench
now.
”
    Maura sat stunned as both attorneys huddled with the judge. So it had come to this, the dredging up of her family. Every cop in Boston probably knew about her mother, Amalthea, now serving a life sentence in a women’s prison in Framingham. The monster who gave birth to me, she thought. Everyone who looks at me must wonder if the same evil has seeped into my blood as well. She saw that the defendant, Officer Graff, was staring at her. Their gazes locked, and a smile curled his lips.
Welcome to the consequences
, she read in his eyes.
This is what happens when you betray the thin blue line
.
    “The court will take a recess,” the judge announced. “We’ll resume at two this afternoon.”
    As the jury filed out, Maura sagged back against the chair and didn’t notice that Aguilar was standing beside her.
    “That was dirty pool,” said Aguilar. “It should never have been allowed.”
    “He made it all about me,” said Maura.
    “Yeah, well, that’s all he has. Because the autopsy photos are pretty damn convincing.” Aguilar looked hard at her. “Is there anything else I should know about you, Dr. Isles?”
    “Other than the fact that my mother’s a convicted murderer and I torture kittens for fun?”
    “I’m not laughing.”
    “You said it earlier. I’m not the one on trial.”
    “No, but they’ll try to make it about you. Whether you hate cops. Whether you have a hidden agenda. We could lose this case if that jury thinks you’re not on the level. So tell me if there’s anything else they might bring up. Any secrets that you haven’t mentioned to me.”
    Maura considered the private embarrassments that she guarded. The illicit affair that she’d just ended. Her family’s history of violence. “Everyone has secrets,” she said. “Mine aren’t relevant.”
    “Let’s hope not,” said Aguilar.



 
    Rizzoli & Isles, In Their Own Words…
    JANE RIZZOLI
Detective, homicide unit, Boston Police Department
    I’m just a girl from Boston who hunts monsters for a living. Yeah, I know I’m not supposed to call ’em that, but that’s what some of them are. Monsters. If you saw what they’ve done, the lives they’ve ruined, you’d want to take them down, too.
    I’ve wanted to be a cop since a police officer came to my school for career day. I saw how the other kids looked up to him, and I knew that was the job for me. I wanted the gun, the badge.
    Most of all, I wanted the respect.
    Felt like I didn’t get a lot of that when I was growing up. My mom’s a housewife and my dad’s a plumber–we’re blue collar all the way. I had an okay childhood, but I have to admit we were a noisy household. Lots of yelling.
    After my training at Boston PD academy, I worked my way up from beat patrolman to detective (vice and narcotics) and finally ended up where I am now: the homicide unit. It’s a boy’s club. I get it.
    Still, it gets old, having to prove myself again and again. I hate whiners, so you’ll never hear me complain. Whining doesn’t get you anywhere, not with the guys in my unit. Not with guys anywhere, for that matter.
    My philosophy for success? Make every perp hunt personal. Get angry, never give up, and for god’s sake, wear flats to a scene. You’ll never catch anyone if you’re wearing high heels.
    DR. MAURA ISLES
Forensic pathologist, Medical Examiner’s office, Commonwealth of Massachusetts
    I want to believe that there is a scientific explanation for everything that happens. It isn’t fate that sends a bicyclist flying over the handlebars to her death; it’s because her front tire hit a frost heave and kinetic energy took over. Fate has nothing to do with it. Death is not a mystical process; it is organic. I find that comforting.
    I knew, from an early age, that I was something of an odd duck. I was the child who hid out in her room for hours, reading, the child who dissected her dead pet mouse. I was the scholar, the accomplished