The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

thought Maura, the stars line up, the gods smile, and love gets a fighting chance. Just a chance—that’s all it can really hope for. No guarantees, no certainties. She watched Gabriel take Jane’s hand. Then they turned and stood facing the altar. Today they were united, but surely there’d be other days when angry words would fly, or silence would freeze the household. Days when love would barely stay aloft, like a bird fluttering on one wing. Days when Jane’s quick temper and Gabriel’s cooler nature would send them spinning to their own corners, and they would both question the wisdom of this match.
    Then there would be days like today. Perfect days.
    It was late afternoon when Maura stepped out of St. Anthony’s. The sun was shining, and for the first time she felt a breath of warmth in the air. The first whisper of spring. She drove with her window down, the scents of the city blowing in, heading not toward home, but toward the neighborhood of Jamaica Plain. To the church in the parish of Our Lady of Divine Light.
    Stepping through the massive front door, she found it dim and silent inside, the stained-glass windows catching the day’s last sunlight. She saw only two women, seated together in the front pew, their heads bent in prayer.
    Maura moved quietly to the alcove. There she lit three candles for three women. One for Sister Ursula. One for Sister Camille. And one for a faceless leper whose name she would never know. She did not believe in heaven or hell; she was not even sure she believed in the eternal soul. Yet she stood in that house of worship and lit three flames and took comfort from it, because what she did believe in was the power of remembrance. Only the forgotten are truly dead.
    She emerged from the alcove and saw that Father Brophy was now standing beside the two women, murmuring words of comfort. He looked up. As the last jewel tones of sunlight glowed through the windows, their gazes met. For just a moment in time, they both forgot where they were. Who they were.
    She raised her hand in a farewell salute.
    Then she walked out of his church, and back into her own world.

A LSO BY T ESS G ERRITSEN
     
    The Apprentice
    The Surgeon
    Gravity
    Bloodstream
    Life Support
    Harvest

 
     
    Read on for an exciting preview
of Tess Gerritsen’s next thrilling novel
featuring Maura Isles and Jane Rizzoli
    THE SILENT GIRL

 
     
    ONE
     

SAN FRANCISCO
     
    A LL DAY, I HAVE BEEN WATCHING THE GIRL . She gives no indication that she’s aware of me, although my rental car is within view of the street corner where she and the other teenagers have gathered this afternoon, doing whatever bored kids do to pass the time. She looks younger than the others, but perhaps it’s because she’s Asian and petite at seventeen, just a wisp of a girl. Her black hair is cropped as short as a boy’s, and her blue jeans are ragged and torn. Not a fashion statement, I think, but a result of hard use and life on the streets. She puffs on a cigarette and exhales a cloud of smoke with the nonchalance of a street thug, an attitude that doesn’t match her pale face and delicate Chinese features. She is pretty enough to attract the hungry stares of two men who pass by. The girl notices their gazes and looks straight back at them, unafraid. It’s easy to be fearless when danger is merely an abstract concept. Faced with a real threat, how would this girl react? I wonder. Would she fight or would she crumble? I want to know, but I have yet to see her put to the test.
    As evening falls, the teenagers on the corner begin to disband. First one and then another wanders away. In San Francisco, even summer nights are chilly, and those who remain huddle together in their sweaters and jackets, lighting one another’s cigarettes, savoring the ephemeral heat of the flame. But cold and hunger eventually disperse the last of them, leaving only the girl, who has nowhere to go. She waves to her departing friends, and for a while lingers alone, as though waiting for someone. At last, with a shrug, she leaves the corner and walks in my direction, her hands thrust in her pockets. As she passes my car, she doesn’t even glance at me, but looks straight ahead, her gaze focused and fierce, as if she’s mentally churning over some dilemma. Perhaps she’s thinking about where she’s going to scavenge dinner tonight. Or perhaps it’s something more consequential. Her future. Her survival.
    She’s probably unaware that two men are