Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

not want to see that barrel rising toward her head, did not want to watch the hand tighten around the grip. Better that I can’t see the bullet coming, she thought. Better that I look this woman in the eye, that I force her to see the human being she’s about to blow away. She could read no emotions there; they were a doll’s eyes. Blue glass. Olena was now dressed in clothes that she had scrounged from a locker room: scrub pants and a doctor’s lab coat. A killer disguised in healer’s garb.
    “This is true?” Olena asked softly.
    Jane felt her womb tighten, and she bit her lip at the mounting pain of the new contraction. My poor baby, she thought. You will never take your first breath. She felt Dr. Tam reach out and grasp her hand, offering silent comfort.
    “The TV, it tells the truth? You are police?”
    Jane swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered.
    “They said you’re a detective,” Joe cut in. “Are you?”
    Gripped by the contraction, Jane rocked forward, her vision darkening. “Yes,” she groaned. “Yes, goddamm it! I’m with—with the homicide unit . . .”
    Olena glanced down at the hospital ID bracelet that she’d earlier torn from Jane’s wrist. It was still on the floor near the couch. She picked it up and handed it to Joe.
    “Rizzoli, Jane,” he read.
    The worst of the contraction was over now. She released a sharp breath and sank back against the couch, her hospital gown drenched in sweat. Too exhausted to fight back, even to save her own life. How could she fight back?
I cannot even get up off this soft couch without a helping hand.
Defeated, she watched as Joe picked up her medical chart and flipped open the manila cover.
    “Rizzoli, Jane,” he read aloud. “Married, address on Claremont Street. Occupation: Detective, Homicide Unit. Boston PD.” He looked at her with dark eyes so penetrating that she wanted to shrink from them. Unlike Olena, this man was utterly calm and in control. That’s what scared Jane most—that he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. “A homicide detective. And you just
happen
to be here?”
    “Must be my lucky day,” she muttered.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Answer me. How did you just happen to be here?”
    Jane’s chin snapped up. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m having a baby.”
    Dr. Tam said, “I’m her obstetrician. I admitted her this morning.”
    “The timing, that’s what I don’t like,” said Joe. “This is all wrong.”
    Jane flinched as Joe grabbed her hospital gown and yanked it up. For a moment he stared down at Jane’s swollen abdomen, her heavy breasts, now bared for everyone in the room to see. Without a word, he let the gown fall back over Jane’s torso.
    “Are you satisfied, asshole?” Jane blurted, cheeks burning from the humiliation. “What did you expect, a fat suit?” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was a stupid thing to say. First rule of hostage survival:
Never piss off the guy holding the gun.
But by wrenching aside her gown, he had assaulted her, exposed her, and she was now trembling with rage. “You think I
want
to be trapped in here with you two whack jobs?”
    She felt Dr. Tam’s hand tighten around her wrist in a silent plea to shut up. Jane shook off the hand and kept her fury focused on their captors.
    “Yes, I’m a cop. And guess what? You two are royally screwed. You kill me, and you know what happens, don’t you? You know what my buddies do to cop killers?”
    Joe and Olena looked at each other. Were they making a decision? Coming to an agreement about whether she lived or died?
    “A mistake,” said Joe. “That’s all you are, Detective. You’re in the wrong fucking place at the wrong fucking time.”
    You said it, asshole.
    She was startled when Joe suddenly laughed. He paced to the other end of the room, shaking his head. When he turned back to face her, she saw that his weapon was now pointed at the floor. Not at her.
    “So are you a good cop?” he asked.
    “What?”
    “On TV, they said you worked a case with a missing housewife.”
    “A pregnant woman. She was kidnapped.”
    “How did it end?”
    “She’s alive. The perp’s dead.”
    “So you’re good.”
    “I did my job.”
    Another look passed between Olena and Joe.
    He came toward Jane, until he was standing right in front of her. “What if I was to tell you about a crime? What if I told you that justice wasn’t served? That it can never be served?”
    “Why can’t it