Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

can I tell you?”
    “You could start by telling me what the FBI is doing here.”
    “You said you spoke to Agent Barsanti. Didn’t you ask him?”
    “I’ve heard there’s an Agent Dean involved as well. Barsanti wouldn’t tell me a thing about him. Why would the Bureau send two men all the way from Washington, for a crisis that would normally be handled by Boston PD?”
    His question alarmed her. If he already knew about Gabriel, it would not take long for him to learn that Jane was a hostage.
    “I don’t know,” she lied, and found it hard to meet his gaze. He was watching her so intently that she finally had to turn away and sit down on the couch.
    “If there’s something I should know,” he said, “I hope you’d tell me. I’d like to know ahead of time what I’m walking into.”
    “By now, you probably know as much as I do.”
    He sat down in the chair facing her, his gaze so direct she felt like a pinned butterfly. “What do these people want?”
    “What did Barsanti tell you?”
    “He told me about their offer. That they promised to release two hostages. Then I walk in with a TV cameraman, talk to this guy, and two more hostages will be released. That’s the deal. What happens after that is anyone’s guess.”
    This man could save Jane’s life, she thought. If he walked in there, Jane might be one of the two hostages who walks out.
I would do it. But I can’t ask this man to risk his life, even for Jane.
    “It’s not every day a man gets the chance to play hero,” he said. “It
is
an opportunity of sorts. A lot of journalists would jump at it.”
    She laughed. “Very tempting. Book deal, TV movie of the week. Risk your life for a little fame and fortune?”
    “Hey, I’ve got a rusty old Toyota parked out there right now, and a mortgage with twenty-nine years left to go, so fame and fortune doesn’t sound too bad.”
    “If you live long enough to enjoy it.”
    “That’s why I’m talking to you. You were with the shooter. You know what kind of people we’re dealing with. Are they rational? Are they going to keep their side of the bargain? Will they let me walk out of there after the interview’s over?”
    “I can’t predict that.”
    “That’s not a very helpful answer.”
    “I refuse to be responsible for what happens to you. I can’t predict what they’ll do. I don’t even know what they want.”
    He sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
    “Now I have a question for you. I assume you know the answer.”
    “Your question is?”
    “Of all the journalists they could have asked for, why did they choose you?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “You must have had some contact with them before.”
    It was his hesitation that caught her attention. She leaned toward him. “You’ve heard from them.”
    “You have to understand, reporters hear from a lot of crazy people. Every week, I get at least a few bizarre letters or phone calls about secret government conspiracies. If it’s not the evil oil companies, then it’s black helicopters or UN plots. Most of the time I just ignore them. That’s why I didn’t really think much of it. It was just another screwy phone call.”
    “When?”
    “A few days ago. One of my colleagues just reminded me of it, because he was the one who answered the phone. Frankly, when the call came in, I was too busy to pay much attention. It was late, and I was about to hit a deadline, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk to some nutty guy.”
    “The call was from a man?”
    “Yeah. It came into the
Tribune
newsroom. The man asked if I’d looked at the package he sent me. I didn’t know what he was talking about. He said he’d mailed me something a few weeks before, which I never got. So he told me a woman would drop off another package at the front desk that night. That as soon as it arrived, I should go down to the lobby immediately and pick it up, because it was extremely sensitive.”
    “Did you ever get that second package?”
    “No. The guard at the front desk said no woman ever showed up that night. I went home and forgot all about it. Until now.” He paused. “I’m wondering if that was Joe who called me.”
    “Why choose you?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “These people seem to know you.”
    “Maybe they’ve read my column. Maybe they’re fans.” At Maura’s silence, he gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Fat chance, huh?”
    “Have you ever appeared on television?” she asked, thinking: He has the face, the dark