The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

I’ve got my family in town. I’m pretty sure my mom will be thrilled to baby-sit. And there’s a daycare a few blocks from here. I’m going to check it out, see how young they’ll take them.”
    “So that’s it, then. You’ve got it all planned.”
    “More or less.”
    “Right down to who’s going to watch our baby.”
    Our baby.
She swallowed, thinking of the life growing inside her, a part of Gabriel himself.
    “There are still details I need to figure out.”
    He was standing perfectly straight, still playing the man in the gray suit. But when he spoke, she heard a note of anger that startled her. “And where do I come in?” he asked. “You’ve made all those plans, and you didn’t mention me once. Not that I’m surprised.”
    She shook her head. “Why do you sound so upset?”
    “It’s the same old act, Jane. The one you can’t stop playing. Rizzoli in charge of her own life. All safe in your suit of armor. Who needs a man? Hell, not
you
.”
    “What am I supposed to say? Please, oh
please
save me? I can’t raise this baby without a man?”
    “No, you probably could do it all on your own. You’d find a way, even if it killed you.”
    “So what do you want me to say?”
    “You do have a choice.”
    “And I’ve made it. I told you, I’m keeping the baby.” She started toward her front steps, wading fiercely through the snow.
    He grasped her arm. “I’m not talking about the baby. I’m talking about us.” Softly, he said: “Choose me, Jane.”
    She turned to face him. “What does that mean?”
    “It means we can do this together. It means you let me past the armor. That’s the only way this can work. You let me hurt you, and I let you hurt me.”
    “Great. And we both end up with scars.”
    “Or we end up trusting each other.”
    “We barely know each other.”
    “We knew each other well enough to make a baby.”
    She felt heat flood her cheeks, and suddenly she could not look at him. She stared down at the snow.
    “I’m not saying we’ll be able to pull it off,” he said. “I’m not even sure how to make this work, with you here, and me in Washington.” He paused. “And let’s be honest. Sometimes, Jane, you can be a real bitch.”
    She laughed. Brushed her hand across her eyes. “I know. Jesus, I know.”
    “But other times . . .” He reached out and touched her face. “Other times . . .”
    Other times, she thought, you see me for who I am.
    And that scares me. No, it terrifies me.
    This may be the bravest thing I will ever do.
    At last she raised her head and looked at him. She took a deep breath.
    And she said, “I think I love you.”

T WENTY -F OUR
     
    T HREE MONTHS LATER .
    Maura sat in the second row of pews in St. Anthony’s church, and the sound of the organ stirred memories from her childhood. She remembered Sunday Mass with her parents, and how hard and unforgiving the church benches had felt, after sitting on them for half an hour. How she had fidgeted, trying to get comfortable, and how her father had swept her up into his lap, the best perch of all, for it came with a pair of protective arms. She would look up at the stained-glass windows, at images that frightened her. Joan of Arc, tied to the stake. Jesus on the cross. Saints, bowed down before their executioners. And blood, so much blood, spilled in the name of faith.
    Today, church did not seem forbidding. The organ music was joyful. Garlands of pink flowers festooned the aisles. She saw children happily bouncing on parents’ knees, children untroubled by images of suffering etched into stained glass.
    The organ began to play Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.”
    Down the aisle came two bridesmaids wearing light gray pantsuits. Maura recognized both of them as Boston PD cops. The pews were filled with cops today. Glancing back, she spotted Barry Frost and Detective Sleeper in the row just behind her, both of them relaxed and happy. Too often, when cops and their families gathered together in church, it was to mourn one of their own. Today, she saw smiles and bright dresses.
    Now Jane appeared, on her father’s arm. For once her dark hair had been tamed into a stylish knot. Her white satin pantsuit, with its oversize jacket, could not quite disguise the swelling abdomen. As she reached Maura’s row of pews, their gazes briefly met, and Maura saw Jane roll her eyes with a look of
can you believe I’m doing this?
Then Jane’s gaze turned toward the altar.
    Toward Gabriel.
    Sometimes,