Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

running.”
    “Bye, Mom.”
    Jane went back into the kitchen, where the pan was now overflowing. She set the bottle in hot water, and as the formula warmed, she paced the room with her crying daughter.
    The apartment door buzzed again.
    Oh, Ma. What’d you forget this time?
she wondered, and pressed the lock release.
    By now the bottle was warm. She slipped the nipple into Regina’s mouth, but her daughter simply batted it away, as though in disgust. What do you want, baby? she thought in frustration as she carried her daughter back into the living room. If you could just tell me what you want!
    She opened the door to greet her mother.
    It was not Angela standing there.

THIRTY-FOUR
    Without a word, the girl slipped right past Jane, into the apartment, and locked the door. She scurried across to the windows and yanked the Venetian blinds shut, one after the other in quick succession, as Jane watched in astonishment.
    “What do you think you’re doing?”
    The intruder spun around to face her, and pressed her finger to her lips. She was small, more a child than a woman, her thin frame almost lost in the bulky sweatshirt. The hands that poked out the faded sleeves had bones that looked as delicate as a bird’s, and the bulging tote bag she carried seemed to drag down her frail shoulder. Her red hair was cut in a wildly uneven fringe, as though she herself had wielded the scissors, hacking blindly. Her eyes were pale, an unearthly shade of gray, transparent as glass. It was a hungry, feral face, with jutting cheekbones and a gaze that darted around the room in a search for hidden traps.
    “Mila?” said Jane.
    Again the girl’s finger snapped up to her lips. The look she gave Jane needed no interpretation.
    Be quiet. Be afraid.
    Even Regina seemed to understand. The baby suddenly went still, her eyes wide and alert as she lay quietly in Jane’s arms.
    “You’re safe here,” Jane said.
    “No place is safe.”
    “Let me call my friends. We’ll get you police protection right now.”
    Mila shook her head.
    “I know these men. I work with them.” Jane reached for the telephone.
    The girl shot forward and slammed her hand down on the receiver.
“No police.”
    Jane stared into the girl’s eyes, which were now burning with panic. “Okay,” she murmured, backing away from the phone. “I’m police, too. Why do you trust me?”
    Mila’s gaze dropped to Regina. And Jane thought: This is why she’s risked this visit. She knows I’m a mother. Somehow that makes all the difference.
    “I know why you’re running,” said Jane. “I know about Ashburn.”
    Mila went to the couch and sank onto the cushions. Suddenly she seemed even smaller, wilting by the moment beneath Jane’s gaze. Her shoulders crumpled forward. Her head drooped into her hands, as though she was too exhausted to hold it up any longer. “I am so tired,” she whispered.
    Jane moved closer until she was standing just above the bowed head, looking down at the raggedly cut hair. “You saw the killers. Help us identify them.”
    Mila looked up with hollow, haunted eyes. “I will not live long enough.”
    Jane dropped to a crouch, until their eyes were level. Regina too was staring at Mila, fascinated by this exotic new creature. “Why are you here, Mila? What do you want me to do?”
    Mila reached into the dirty tote bag she had carried in, and rummaged through wadded-up clothes and candy bars and crumpled tissues. She pulled out a videotape and held it out to Jane.
    “What is this?”
    “I am afraid to keep it anymore. I give it to you. You tell them there are no more. This is the last copy.”
    “Where did you get it?”
    “Just
take
it!” She held it at arm’s length, as though it was poisonous, and she wanted to keep it as far away as possible. She breathed a sigh of relief when Jane finally took it from her.
    Jane set Regina in her infant carrier, then crossed to the TV. She slipped the cassette into the VCR, and pressed PLAY on the remote control.
    An image appeared on the screen. She saw a brass bed, a chair, heavy drapes covering a window. Off camera, footsteps creaked closer, and a woman giggled. A door clunked shut, and now a man and woman came into view. The woman had a sleek mane of blond hair, and her low-cut blouse revealed bountiful cleavage. The man was dressed in a polo shirt and khaki slacks.
    “Oh yeah,” the man sighed as the woman unbuttoned her blouse. She wriggled out of her skirt, peeled down her underwear.