Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

elevator, and parked her next to another patient. He was a gray-haired man, muttering to himself. Jane noticed the Posey restraint strapping the man’s torso into the chair, and she thought: Jeez, they’re really serious about these wheelchair rules. If you try to get out, they tie you down.
    The old man glared at her. “What the hell’re you looking at, lady?”
    “Nothing,” said Jane.
    “Then stop looking.”
    “Okay.”
    The black orderly standing behind the old man gave a chuckle. “Mr. Bodine talks like that to everyone, ma’am. Don’t let him bother you.”
    Jane shrugged. “I get a lot more abuse at work.”
Oh, and did I mention that bullets are involved?
She stared straight ahead, watching the floor numbers change, carefully avoiding any eye contact with Mr. Bodine.
    “Too many people in this world don’t keep to their own damn business,” the old man said. “Just a bunch of busybodies. Won’t stop staring.”
    “Now Mr. Bodine,” the orderly said, “no one’s staring at you.”
    “
She
was.”
    No wonder they tied you up, you old coot, thought Jane.
    The elevator opened on the ground floor, and the volunteer wheeled out Jane. As they rolled down the hall toward Diagnostic Imaging, she could feel the gazes of passersby. Able-bodied people walking on their own two feet, eyeing the big-bellied invalid with her little plastic hospital bracelet. She wondered: Is this what it’s like for everyone who’s confined to a wheelchair? Always the object of sympathetic glances?
    Behind her, she heard a familiar cranky voice demand: “What the hell you looking at, mister?”
    Oh please, she thought. Don’t let Mr. Bodine be headed to Diagnostic Imaging, too. But she could hear him grumbling behind her as they rolled down the hall and around the corner, into the reception area.
    The volunteer parked Jane in the waiting room and left her there, sitting next to the old man. Don’t look at him, she thought. Don’t even glance in his direction.
    “What, you too stuck up to talk to me?” he said.
    Pretend he’s not there.
    “Huh. So now you’re pretending I’m not even here.”
    She looked up, relieved, as a door opened and a woman technician in a blue scrub suit came into the waiting room. “Jane Rizzoli?”
    “That’s me.”
    “Dr. Tam will be down here in a few minutes. I’ll bring you back to the room now.”
    “What about me?” the old man whined.
    “We’re not quite ready for you, Mr. Bodine,” the woman said, as she swiveled Jane’s wheelchair through the doorway. “You just be patient.”
    “But I gotta piss, goddammit.”
    “Yes, I know, I know.”
    “You don’t know nothing.”
    “Know enough not to waste my breath,” the woman muttered as she pushed Jane’s chair down the hallway.
    “I’m gonna wet your carpet!” he yelled.
    “One of your favorite patients?” Jane asked.
    “Oh, yeah.” The technician sighed. “He’s everyone’s favorite.”
    “You think he really has to pee?”
    “All the time. Got a prostate as big as my fist, and won’t let the surgeons touch it.”
    The woman wheeled Jane into a procedure room and locked the wheelchair in place. “Let me help you onto the table.”
    “I can manage.”
    “Honey, with a belly that big, you could use a hand up.” The woman grasped Jane’s arm and pulled her out of the chair. She stood by as Jane climbed the footstool and settled onto the table. “Now, you just relax here, okay?” she said, rehanging Jane’s IV bottle. “When Dr. Tam comes down, we’ll get started on your sonogram.” The woman walked out, leaving Jane alone in the room. There was nothing to look at but imaging equipment. No windows, no posters on the walls, no magazines. Not even a boring issue of
Golf Digest.
    Jane settled back on the table and stared at the bare ceiling. Placing her hands on her bulging abdomen, she waited for the familiar jab of a tiny foot or elbow, but she felt nothing. Come on, baby, she thought. Talk to me. Tell me you’re going to be okay.
    Cold air wafted from the AC vent, and she shivered in the flimsy gown. She glanced at her watch and found herself gazing, instead, at the plastic band around her wrist. Patient’s name: Rizzoli, Jane. Well, this patient is not particularly patient, she thought. Let’s get on with it, people!
    The skin on her abdomen suddenly prickled, and she felt her womb tighten. The muscles gently squeezed, held for a moment, then eased off. At last, a contraction.
    She