Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

hostages.”
    “And we’re still hoping he does. That’s at least two lives we can save.”
    “If you don’t hold up your end of the bargain—if you don’t send in Peter Lukas—there are four hostages in there you’re
not
going to save.”
    “By then, I hope the entry team will be in.”
    Gabriel stared at him. “Do you
want
a massacre? Because you’re going to get one! You’re giving two paranoid people every reason to think their delusion is real. That you
are
out to kill them. Hell, maybe they’re right!”
    “Now you’re the one who’s sounding paranoid.”
    “I think I’m the only one who’s making sense.” Gabriel turned and walked out of the trailer.
    He heard the negotiator call out after him: “Agent Dean?”
    Gabriel kept walking, toward the police line.
    “Dean!” At last Stillman caught up with him. “I just want you to know, I didn’t agree to any assault plan. You’re right, it’s just asking for bloodshed.”
    “Then why the hell are you allowing it?”
    “As if I can stop it? Or Hayder? This is now Washington’s call. We’re supposed to stand back and let them take it from here.”
    They heard it then—the sudden buzz through the crowd. The throng of reporters tightened, surged forward.
    What is happening?
    They heard a shout, saw the lobby doors swing open, and a tall African-American man in an orderly’s uniform stepped out, escorted by two Tactical Ops officers. He paused, eyes blinking in the glare of dozens of klieg lights, then he was hurried off toward a waiting vehicle. Seconds later, a man in a wheelchair emerged, pushed by a Boston PD cop.
    “They did it,” Stillman murmured. “They released two people.”
    But not Jane. Jane’s still in there. And the assault could start any minute.
    He pushed toward the police line.
    “Dean,” said Stillman, grabbing his arm.
    Gabriel turned to look at him. “This could all end without a single bullet being fired. Let me go in. Let me talk to them.”
    “The feds will never clear it.”
    “Boston PD controls the perimeter. Order your men to let me through.”
    “It could be a death trap.”
    “My wife is in there.” His gaze locked with Stillman’s. “You know I have to do this. You know this is the best chance she’ll have. The best chance
any
of them will have.”
    Stillman released a breath. Wearily he nodded. “Good luck.”
    Gabriel ducked under the police tape. A Boston Tac-Ops officer moved to intercept him.
    “Let him pass,” said Stillman. “He’s going into the building.”
    “Sir?”
    “Agent Dean is our new negotiator.”
    Gabriel gave Stillman a nod of thanks. Then he turned and started walking toward the lobby doors.

NINETEEN
    Mila
    Neither Olena nor I know where we are going.
    We have never walked through these woods, and we don’t know where we will emerge. I wear no stockings, and the cold quickly penetrates my thin shoes. Despite the Mother’s sweater and turtleneck, I am chilled and shivering. The lights of the house have receded behind us, and glancing back, I see only the darkness of woods. On numb feet, I trudge across frozen leaves, keeping my focus on the silhouette of Olena, who walks ahead of me, carrying the tote bag. My breath is like smoke. Ice crackles beneath our shoes. I think of a war movie I once saw in school, of cold and starving German soldiers staggering through the snow to their doom on the Russian front.
Don’t stop. Don’t question. Just keep marching
was what those desperate soldiers must have been thinking. It’s what I’m thinking now as I stumble through the woods.
    Ahead of us, a light suddenly twinkles.
    Olena halts, holding up her arm to make me stop. We stand as still as the trees, watching as the lights move past, and we hear the whoosh of tires on wet pavement. We push through the last tangle of brush, and our feet hit blacktop.
    We have reached a road.
    By now my feet are so senseless from the cold that I am clumsy and floundering as I try to keep up with her. Olena is like a robot, trudging steadily forward. We begin to see houses, but she doesn’t stop. She is the general, and I’m just the dumb foot soldier, following a woman who knows no more than I do.
    “We can’t walk forever,” I tell her.
    “We can’t stay here, either.”
    “Look, that house has its lights on. We could ask for help.”
    “Not now.”
    “How long are we supposed to keep walking? All night, all week?”
    “As long as we need to.”
    “Do you even know where