Vanish: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel

past a closet missing its door. As her beam swept past, an ellipse flashed on the closet’s back wall, then vanished. Frowning, she swung the Maglite back.
    There it was again, that bright ellipse, briefly flickering across the back wall.
    She crossed to the closet for a closer look. Saw an opening large enough to poke a finger through. Perfectly round and smooth. Someone had drilled a hole between the closet and the bedroom.
    Beams groaned overhead. Startled, she glanced up as footsteps creaked across the ceiling. Gabriel was in the attic.
    She went back into the hallway. Daylight was rapidly fading, dimming the house to shades of gray. “Hey!” she called. “Where’s the trap door to get up there?”
    “Look in the second bedroom.”
    She saw the ladder and scrambled up the rungs. Poking her head into the space above, she saw the beam of Gabriel’s Maglite slicing through the shadows.
    “Anything up here?” she asked.
    “A dead squirrel.”
    “I mean, anything interesting?”
    “Not a whole lot.”
    She climbed up into the attic and almost banged her head on a low rafter. Gabriel was forced to move at a crouch, long legs crab-walking as he inspected the perimeter, his beam slowly scanning the deepest pockets of shadow.
    “Stay away from this corner over here,” he warned. “The boards are charred. I don’t think the floor is safe.”
    She headed to the opposite end, where a lone window admitted the last gray light of day. This one had no bars; it did not need them. She lifted open the sash and stuck her head out to see a narrow ledge and a bone-shattering drop to the ground. An escape route only for the suicidal. She pushed the window shut, and fell still, her gaze fixed on the trees.
    In the woods, light briefly flickered, like a darting firefly.
    “Gabriel.”
    “Nice. Here’s another dead squirrel.”
    “There’s someone out there.”
    “What?”
    “In the woods.”
    He crossed to her side and stared out at the thickening dusk. “Where?”
    “I saw it just a minute ago.”
    “Maybe it was a passing car.” He turned from the window and muttered, “Damn. My battery’s going.” He gave his flashlight a few hard raps. The beam briefly brightened, then began to fade again.
    She was still staring out the window, at woods that seemed to be closing in on them. Trapping them in this house of ghosts. A chill whispered up her spine. She turned to her husband.
    “I want to leave.”
    “Should have changed batteries before we left home . . .”
    “Now. Please.”
    Suddenly he registered the anxiety in her voice. “What is it?”
    “I don’t think that was a passing car.”
    He turned to the window again and stood very still, his shoulders blotting out what dim light still remained. It was his silence that rattled her, a silence that only magnified the drumming of her heartbeat. “All right,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”
    They climbed down the ladder and retreated into the hall, past the bedroom where blood still lingered in the closet. Moved down the stairs, where sanded wood still whispered of horrors. Already, five women had died in this house, and no one had heard their screams.
    No one would hear ours, either.
    They pushed through the front door, onto the porch.
    And froze, as powerful lights suddenly blinded their eyes. Jane raised her arm against the glare. She heard footsteps crunch on gravel, and through squinting eyes, could just make out three dark figures closing in.
    Gabriel stepped in front of her, a move so swift that she was surprised to suddenly find his shoulders blocking the light.
    “Right where you are,” a voice commanded.
    “Can I see who I’m talking to?” said Gabriel.
    “Identify yourselves.”
    “If you could lower your flashlights first.”
    “Your IDs.”
    “Okay. Okay, I’m going to reach in my pocket,” Gabriel said, his voice calm. Reasonable. “I’m not armed, and neither is my wife.” Slowly he withdrew his wallet and held it out. It was snatched from his hand. “My name is Gabriel Dean. And this is my wife, Jane.”
    “Detective Jane Rizzoli,” she amended. “Boston PD.” She blinked as the flashlight suddenly shifted to her face. Though she could not see any of these men, she felt them scrutinizing her. Felt her temper rise as her fear ebbed away.
    “What’s Boston PD doing here?” the man asked.
    “What are
you
doing here?” she retorted.
    She didn’t expect an answer; she didn’t get one. The man handed back