The Apprentice: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

clothing manufacturers are screwing around with the sizes, that’s all. Coupla years from now, maybe I’d end up wearing clown pants. Bozo pants. And a ton of Ex-Lax and water pills wouldn’t help me pass my physical.”
    “You actually did that? Took pills to pass the physical?”
    “I’m not saying one way or the other. I’m just telling you that this thing with my heart, it was a long time coming. It’s not like I didn’t know it could happen. But now that it
has
happened, it pisses me off.” He let out an angry snort. Looked up at the monitor again, where his heartbeat was blipping faster across the screen. “Now I got the ticker all stirred up.”
    They sat for a moment, watching the EKG, waiting for his heart to slow down. She had never paid much attention to the heart beating in her own chest. As she watched the pattern traced by Korsak’s, she became aware of her own pulse. She had always taken her heartbeat for granted, and she wondered what it would be like, to hang on every beat, fearful that the next might not come. That the throb of life in her chest would suddenly go still.
    She looked at Korsak, who lay with gaze still glued to the monitor, and she thought: He’s more than angry; he’s terrified.
    Suddenly he sat up straight, his hand flying to his chest, his eyes wide in panic. “Call the nurse! Call the nurse!”
    “What? What is it?”
    “Don’t you hear that alarm? It’s my heart—”
    “Korsak, it’s just my pager.”
    “What?”
    She unclipped the pager from her belt and turned off the beeping. Held it up for him to see the digital readout of the phone number. “See? It’s not your heart.”
    He sank back on the pillows. “Jesus. Get that thing outta here. Could’ve given me a coronary.”
    “Can I use this phone?”
    He was lying with his hand still pressed to his chest, his whole body flaccid with relief. “Yeah, yeah. I don’t care.”
    She picked up the receiver and dialed.
    A familiar smoky voice answered: “Medical examiner’s office, Dr. Isles.”
    “Rizzoli.”
    “Detective Frost and I are sitting here looking at a set of dental X rays on my computer. We’ve been going down that list that NCIC sent us of missing women in the New England area. This file was e-mailed to me from the Maine State Police.”
    “What was the case?”
    “It’s a murder-abduction from June second of this year. The murder victim was Kenneth Waite, age thirty-six. The abductee was his wife Marla Jean, age thirty-four. It’s Marla Jean’s X rays I’m looking at.”
    “We’ve found Rickets Lady?”
    “It’s a match,” Isles answered. “Your girl’s now got a name: Marla Jean Waite. They’re faxing the records to us now.”
    “Wait. Did you say this murder-abduction was in Maine?”
    “A town called Blue Hill. Frost says he’s been there. It’s about a five-hour drive.”
    “Our unsub’s got a bigger hunting territory than we thought.”
    “Here, Frost wants to talk to you.”
    Frost’s cheery voice came on the line. “Hey, you ever had a lobster roll?”
    “What?”
    “We can get lobster rolls on the way. There’s this great lunch shack up on Lincolnville Beach. We leave here by eight tomorrow, we can get there in time for lunch. My car or yours?”
    “We can take mine.” She paused. And couldn’t stop herself from adding: “Dean will probably want to ride with us.”
    There was a pause. “Okay,” Frost finally said, without enthusiasm. “If you think so.”
    “I’ll give him a call.”
    As she disconnected, she could feel Korsak’s gaze on her.
    “So Mr. FBI’s part of the team now,” he said.
    She ignored him and punched in Dean’s cell phone number.
    “When did that happen?”
    “He’s just another resource.”
    “That’s not what you thought about him before.”
    “We’ve had a chance to work together since then.”
    “Don’t tell me. You’ve seen another
side
to him.”
    She waved Korsak into silence as the call went through. But Dean did not answer. Instead, a recorded message came on the line: “Subscriber is not available at this time.”
    She hung up and looked at Korsak. “Is there a problem?” “You’re the one looks like she has a problem.
    You get a fresh lead, and you can’t
wait
to call your new fibbie pal. What’s going on?”
    “Nothing’s going on.”
    “Doesn’t look that way to me.”
    Heat flooded her face. She was not being honest with him, and they both knew it. Even as she’d dialed Dean’s cell