The Apprentice: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

Cordell?”
    “That’s who we’re talking about, isn’t it? The victim you never killed, Catherine Cordell.”
    “Oh. I think of her, too. But she’s not the one I’m talking about.”
    “Who are you talking about?”
    “The other one.” He stared at the camera with a look of such intensity that Rizzoli could feel its heat. “The policewoman.”
    “You mean the one who found you? That’s the woman you fantasize about?”
    “Yes. Her name is Jane Rizzoli.”

eighteen
    D ean stood up and pressed STOP on the VCR. The screen went blank. Warren Hoyt’s last words seemed to hang like a perpetual echo in the silence. In his fantasies, she had been stripped of her clothing and her dignity, reduced to naked body parts. Neck and breasts and belly. She wondered if that was how Dean now saw her, if the erotic visions that Hoyt had conjured were now imprinted in Dean’s mind as well.
    He turned to look at her. She had never found his face easy to read, but in that instant the anger in his eyes was unmistakable.
    “You understand, don’t you?” he said. “You were meant to see this tape. He laid a path of bread crumbs for you to follow. The envelope with O’Donnell’s return address led to O’Donnell herself. To his letters, to this videotape. He knew you’d see it all, eventually.”
    She stared at the blank TV. “He’s talking to me.”
    “Exactly. He’s using O’Donnell as his medium. When Hoyt talks to her, in this interview, he’s really talking to you. Telling you his fantasies. Using them to scare you, humiliate you. Listen to what he says.” Dean rewound the tape.
    Once again, Hoyt’s face appeared on the screen. “It keeps me up at night. Thoughts of what might have been. The pleasure I was denied. All my life I’ve been meticulous about finishing what I start. So this disturbs me. I think about it all the time. . . .”
    Dean pressed STOP and looked at her. “How does that make you feel? Knowing you’re always on his mind?”
    “You know damn well how it makes me feel.”
    “So does he. That’s why he wanted you to hear it.” Dean pressed FAST FORWARD and then PLAY .
    Hoyt’s eyes were eerily focused on the audience he couldn’t see. “I think about taking off her clothes. About how firm her breasts are. And her belly. A nice, flat belly . . .”
    Again Dean hit STOP. His gaze made her flush.
    “Don’t tell me,” she said. “You want to know how that makes me
feel.
”
    “Exposed?”
    “Yes.”
    “Vulnerable.”
    “Yes.”
    “Violated.”
    She swallowed and looked away. Said, softly: “Yes.”
    “All the things he wants you to feel. You told me he’s attracted to damaged women. To women who’ve been violated. And that’s precisely the way he’s making you feel now. With mere words on a videotape. Just like a victim.”
    Her gaze shot back to his. “No,” she said. “
Not
a victim. Do you want to know what I’m really feeling right now?”
    “What?”
    “I’m ready to tear that son of a bitch into shreds.” It was an answer launched on pure bravado, the words punched into the air. It took him aback, and he just frowned at her for a moment. Did he see how hard she was working to keep up the front? Had he heard the false note in her voice?
    She forged ahead, not giving him the chance to see past her bluff. “You’re saying he knew, even then, that I’d eventually see this? That the tape was meant for me.”
    “Didn’t it sound that way to you?”
    “It sounded like any sicko’s fantasy.”
    “Not just any sicko. And not just any victim. He’s talking about you, Jane. Talking about what he’d like to do to
you.
”
    Alarms crackled through her nerve endings. Dean was turning it personal again, aiming it like an arrow straight at her. Did he enjoy seeing her squirm? Did this serve any purpose except to heighten her fears?
    “At the time this was recorded, he already had his escape planned,” said Dean. “Remember, he was the one who contacted O’Donnell. He knew she’d talk to him. She couldn’t resist the offer. She was an open microphone, recording everything he said, everything he wanted people to hear. You, in particular. Then he set loose a logical sequence of events, leading right to this moment, with you watching that videotape.”
    “Is anyone that brilliant?”
    “Isn’t Warren Hoyt?” he asked. It was another arrow launched to pierce her defenses. To drive home the obvious.
    “He’s spent a year behind bars. He had a year to