Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

keypad. A long shot, he thought. But just maybe . . .
    He pressed redial.
    After three rings, a man answered. “Hello?”
    Gabriel paused, trying to place the voice. Knowing he had heard it before. Then he remembered. “Is this . . . Peter Lukas?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s Gabriel Dean. Would Jane happen to be there?”
    There was a long silence. A strange silence. “No. Why?”
    “Your number’s on our redial. She must have called you.”
    “Oh, that.” Lukas gave a laugh. “She wanted all my notes on the Ballentree story. I told her I’d dig them up.”
    “When was that?”
    “Let me think. It was about an hour ago.”
    “And that was it? She didn’t say anything else?”
    “No. Why?”
    “I’ll keep calling around, then. Thanks.” He hung up and stood staring down at the phone. Thinking about that silence when Lukas had not immediately answered his question.
Something is very wrong.
    “Agent Dean?” said Glasser.
    He turned and looked at her. “What do you know about Peter Lukas?”
     
    The hole was now knee-deep.
    Jane scooped up another spadeful of dirt and heaved it onto the growing mound of soil. Her tears had stopped, to be replaced by sweat. She worked in silence. The only sounds were the scraping of the shovel and the clatter of pebbles. Regina was quiet, too, as though she understood that there was no longer any point of making a fuss. That her fate, like that of her mother’s, had already been decided.
    No it hasn’t. Goddammit, nothing has been decided.
    Jane rammed the spade into stony soil, and though her back ached and her arms were quivering, she felt the heat of rage flood her muscles like the most potent of fuel. You won’t hurt my baby, she thought. I will rip off your head first. She heaved the soil onto the mound, her aches and fatigue unimportant now, her mind focused on what she had to do next. The killer was only a silhouette standing at the edge of the trees. Though she could not see his face, she knew he must be watching her. But she’d been digging for nearly an hour, her efforts stymied by the rocky soil, and his attention would be flagging. What resistance, after all, could an exhausted woman mount against an armed man? She had nothing working in her favor.
    Only surprise. And a mother’s rage.
    His first shot would be rushed. He’d go for the torso first, not the head. No matter what, just keep moving, she thought, keep charging. A bullet takes time to kill, and even a falling body has momentum.
    She bent to scrape up another load of dirt, her spade deep in the hole’s shadow, hidden from the beam of his flashlight. He could not see her muscles tense, or her foot brace itself against the edge of the hole. He did not hear her intake of breath as her hands clamped around the shovel handle. She crouched, limbs coiled tight.
    This is for you, my darling baby. All for you.
    Lifting the spade into the air, she flung the soil at the man’s face. He stumbled backward, grunting in surprise, as she sprang out of the hole. As she charged headfirst, straight at his abdomen.
    They both went down, branches snapping under the weight of their bodies. She lunged for his weapon, her hands closing around his wrist, and suddenly realized he was no longer holding it, that it had been knocked from his grasp when they’d fallen.
    The gun. Find the gun!
    She twisted away and clawed through underbrush, scrabbling for the weapon.
    The blow knocked her sideways. She landed on her back, breathless from the impact. At first she felt no pain, only the numb shock that the battle was so quickly over. Her face began to sting, and then the real pain shrieked its way into her skull. She saw that he was standing above her, his head blotting out the stars. She heard Regina screaming, the final wails of her short life.
Poor baby. You’ll never know how much I loved you.
    “Get in the hole,” he said. “It’s deep enough now.”
    “Not my baby,” she whispered. “She’s so small—”
    “Get in, bitch.”
    His kick thudded into her ribs and she rolled onto her side, unable to scream because it hurt so much just to breathe.
    “Move,” he commanded.
    Slowly she struggled to her knees and crawled to Regina. Felt something warm and wet trickling from her nose. Gathering the baby into her arms, she pressed her lips to soft wisps of hair and rocked back and forth, her blood dripping onto her baby’s head.
Mommy has you. Mommy will never let you go.
    “It’s time,” he