The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

that.”
    “You used to think it was funny.”
    “Now I think it’s ominous. When the press starts calling you a saint, you know they’re just waiting for the chance to knock you off the pedestal.”
    “I’ve noticed you and One Earth have been popping up quite a bit in the news.”
    He sighed. “Unfortunately.”
    “Why unfortunately?”
    “It’s been a bad year for international charities. So many new conflicts, so many refugees on the move now. That’s the only reason we’re in the news. Because we’re the ones who have to step in. We’re just lucky we got a huge grant this year.”
    “A result of all that good press?”
    He shrugged. “Every so often, some big corporation develops a conscience and decides to write a check.”
    “I’m sure the tax deduction doesn’t hurt them, either.”
    “But that money goes so fast. All it takes is some new maniac launching a war, and suddenly we’re dealing with a million more refugees. A hundred thousand more kids dying of typhoid or cholera. That’s what keeps me up at night, Maura. Thinking about the kids.” He took a sip of coffee, then put it down, as though he could no longer stomach its taste.
    She watched him sitting so quietly, and noticed the new threads of gray in his tawny hair. He might be getting older, she thought, but he’d lost none of his idealism. It was that very idealism that had first drawn her to him—and what had eventually driven them apart. She could not compete with the world’s needs for Victor’s attention, and she never should have tried. His affair with the French nurse had not, in the end, been surprising. It was his act of defiance, his way of asserting his independence from her.
    They were silent, their gazes not meeting, two people who had once loved each other, and now could think of nothing to say. She heard him rise to his feet, and watched as he stood at the sink to rinse out his cup.
    “So how is Dominique these days?” she asked.
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    “Does she still work for One Earth?”
    “No. She left. It wasn’t comfortable for either one of us, after . . .” He shrugged.
    “You two don’t keep in touch?”
    “She wasn’t important to me, Maura. You know that.”
    “Funny. But she became very important to me.”
    He turned to face her. “Do you think you’ll ever get over being angry about her?”
    “It’s been three years. I suppose I should.”
    “That doesn’t answer the question.”
    She looked down. “You had an affair. I needed to be angry. It was the only way.”
    “The only way?”
    “That I could leave you. That I could get over you.”
    He walked toward her. Placed his hands on her shoulders, his touch warm and intimate. “I don’t want you to get over me,” he said. “Even if it means you hate me. At least you’d feel
something
. That’s what bothered me the most, that you could just walk away. That you seemed so cold about it all.”
    It’s the only way I know how to cope, she thought, as his arms slipped around her. As his breath warmed her hair. She had learned long ago how to box up all those messy emotions. They were so poorly matched, the two of them. Exuberant Victor, married to the Queen of the Dead. Why did they ever think it would work?
    Because I wanted his heat, his passion. I wanted what I myself can never be.
    The ringing telephone made Victor’s hands go still on her shoulders. He stepped away, and left her longing for his warmth. She rose and went to the kitchen phone. One glance at the caller I.D., and she knew that this call would send her back into the night, into the snow. As she spoke to the detective and jotted down directions, she saw Victor give a resigned shake of his head. Tonight, she was the one called to duty, and he was the one left behind.
    She hung up. “I’m sorry, I have to leave.”
    “The Grim Reaper calls?”
    “A death scene in Roxbury. They’re waiting for me.”
    He followed her down the hallway, toward the front door. “Would you like me to come with you?”
    “Why?”
    “To keep you company.”
    “Believe me, there’s plenty of company at a death scene.”
    He glanced out the living room window, at the thickly falling snow. “It’s not a good night to be driving.”
    “For either of us.” She bent down to pull on boots. She was glad he couldn’t see her face as she said, “There’s no need for you to drive back to the hotel. Why don’t you just stay here?”
    “Spend the night, you mean?”
    “It