Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

alone with Jane Doe, and as they stared at each other, every detail of the woman’s face stood out with terrible clarity. The tangled black hair, the wild-eyed gaze. The inexorable tightening of the tendons in her arm as she slowly squeezed the grip.
    Dear god, she’s going to pull the trigger.
    “Please,” whispered Maura. “I only want to help you.”
    The sound of running footsteps made the woman’s attention jerk sideways. The door flew open and a nurse stared, openmouthed, at the carnage in the room.
    Suddenly Jane Doe sprang out of the bed. It happened so fast that Maura had no time to react. She snapped rigid as the woman grabbed her arm, as the gun barrel bit into her neck. Heart slamming against her ribs, Maura let herself be shoved to the door, cold steel pressed against her flesh. The nurse backed away, too terrified to say a word. Maura was forced out of the room, into the hallway. Where was security? Was anyone calling for help? They kept moving, toward the nurses’ station, the woman’s sweating body pressed close, her panicked breaths roaring in Maura’s ear.
    “Watch out! Get out of the way, she’s got a gun!” Maura heard, and she glimpsed the group of interns she’d seen only moments earlier. Not so cocky now in their white coats, they were backing off, wide-eyed. So many witnesses; so many useless people.
    Someone help me, goddammit!
    Jane Doe and her hostage now moved into full view of the nurses’ station, and the stunned women behind the counter watched their progress, silent as a group of wax figurines. The phone rang, unanswered.
    The elevator was straight ahead.
    The woman punched the down button. The door slid open, and the woman gave Maura a shove into the elevator, stepped in behind her, and pressed ONE.
    Four floors.
Will I still be alive when that door opens again?
    The woman backed away to the opposite wall. Maura stared back, unflinching.
Force her to see who I am. Make her look me in the eye when she pulls the trigger.
The elevator was chilly, and Jane Doe was naked under the flimsy hospital gown, but sweat glistened on her face, and her hands trembled around the grip.
    “Why are you doing this?” Maura asked. “I never hurt you! Last night, I tried to help you. I’m the one who
saved
you.”
    The woman said nothing. Uttered not a word, not a sound. All Maura heard was her breaths, harsh and rapid with fear.
    The elevator bell rang, and the woman’s gaze shot to the door. Frantically Maura tried to remember the layout of the hospital lobby. She recalled an information kiosk near the front door, staffed by a silver-haired volunteer. A gift shop. A bank of telephones.
    The door opened. The woman grabbed Maura’s arm and shoved her out of the elevator first. Once again, the gun was at Maura’s jugular. Her throat was dry as ash as she emerged into the lobby. She glanced left, then right, but saw no people, no witnesses. Then she spotted the lone security guard, cowering behind the information kiosk. One look at his white hair, and Maura’s heart sank. This was no rescuer; he was just a scared old guy in a uniform. A guy who was just as likely to shoot the hostage.
    Outside, a siren howled, like an approaching banshee.
    Maura’s head was snapped back as the woman grabbed her hair, yanking her so close she could feel hot breath against the back of her neck, could smell the woman’s sharp scent of fear. They moved toward the lobby exit, and Maura caught a panicked glimpse of the elderly guard, quaking behind the desk. Saw silver balloons bobbing in the gift shop window, and a telephone receiver, dangling by its cord. Then she was forced out the door, straight into the heat of afternoon.
    A Boston PD cruiser screeched to a stop at the curb, and two cops scrambled out, weapons drawn. They froze, their gazes on Maura, who now stood blocking their line of fire.
    Another siren screamed closer.
    The woman’s breaths were now desperate gasps as she confronted her rapidly narrowing options. No way forward; she yanked Maura backward, dragging her once again into the building, retreating into the lobby.
    “Please,” Maura whispered as she was tugged toward the hallway. “There’s no way out! Just put it down. Put the gun down, and we’ll meet them together, okay? We’ll walk over to them, and they won’t hurt you . . .”
    She saw the two cops edge forward step by step, matching their quarry’s pace the whole way. Maura still blocked their line of fire, and they could