The Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Bundle

by Tess Gerritsen

  And the ten horns which thou sawest upon the beast, these shall hate the whore and make her desolate and naked. And shall eat her flesh. And burn her with fire.

  But it was not the words themselves that made Jane’s heart suddenly start to pound. It was the handwriting.

  She rifled through the folder and once again pulled out Margaret Saul’s letter withdrawing her son from the Putnam Academy. She laid the letter next to her notebook. She looked back and forth, between the biblical quote and Margaret Saul’s letter.

  She jumped to her feet and called out. “Gabriel? I’ve got to leave.”

  He came back out of the baby’s room, holding Regina. “She’s not going to appreciate it, you know. Why don’t you give her another hour at the party?”

  “This isn’t about my mom.” Jane went into the living room. He watched, frowning, as she unlocked a drawer, took out her holster, and buckled it on. “It’s about Lily Saul.”

  “What about her?”

  “She lied. She knows exactly where her cousin is hiding.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “I’ve told you everything I know,” said Lily.

  Jane stood in Sansone’s dining room, where the dessert dishes had not yet been cleared from the table. Jeremy quietly placed a cup of coffee in front of Jane, but she didn’t touch it. Nor did she look at any of the other guests seated around the table. Her gaze remained on Lily.

  “Why don’t we go into the other room, Lily, where we can talk in private?”

  “I have nothing else to tell you.”

  “I think you have a great deal to tell me.”

  Edwina Felway said, “Then ask your questions right here, Detective. We’d all like to hear them.”

  Jane looked around the table at Sansone and his guests. The so-called Mephisto Club. Even though Maura claimed not to be part of it, there she was, seated in their circle. These people might think they understood evil, but they couldn’t recognize it, even when it was sitting right here at the same table. Jane’s gaze returned, once again, to Lily Saul, who sat stubbornly in place, refusing to move from her chair. Okay, thought Jane. This is the way you want to play the game? That’s how we’ll play it, with an audience watching.

  Jane opened the file folder she’d brought into the house and slapped the page down in front of Lily, setting off the musical clatter of wineglasses and china. Lily looked at the handwritten letter.

  “Dominic’s mother didn’t write that,” said Jane.

  “What is it?” asked Edwina.

  “It’s a letter withdrawing fifteen-year-old Dominic from the Putnam Academy boarding school in Connecticut. It was supposedly written by his mother, Margaret Saul.”

  “Supposedly?”

  “Margaret Saul didn’t write that letter.” Jane looked at Lily. “You did.”

  Lily gave a laugh. “Do I look old enough to be his mother?”

  Jane placed the notebook on the table now, open to the page with the quote from Revelation. “You wrote that passage for me tonight, Lily. We know it’s your handwriting.” She pointed back to the letter. “So is that.”

  Silence. Lily’s mouth had tightened to two thin lines.

  “That summer, when you were sixteen, your cousin Dominic wanted to vanish,” said Jane. “After the things he did in Purity, maybe he needed to vanish.” Her eyes narrowed on Lily. “And you helped him. You told everyone a convenient cover story: that his mother suddenly came to town to fetch him. That they left the country. But it was a lie, wasn’t it? Margaret Saul never came to get her son. She never showed up at all. Isn’t that right?”

  “I don’t need to answer you,” said Lily. “I know my rights.”

  “Where is he? Where is Dominic?”

  “When you find him, let me know.” Lily shoved back her chair and stood up.

  “What went on between you two that summer?”

  “I’m going to bed.” Lily turned and started out of the dining room.

  “Did he do all your dirty work for you? Is that why you’re protecting him?”

  Lily stopped. Slowly, she turned, and her eyes were as dangerous as radium.

  “When your parents died, you came into a nice little inheritance,” said Jane.

  “I inherited a house that no one will ever buy. And a bank account that paid for my college education, but not much more.”

  “Did you get on with your parents, Lily? Did you have arguments?”

  “If you think I’d ever—”

  “All teenagers do. But maybe your fights went a little further. Maybe you couldn’t wait to get out of that dead little town and get on with your life. Then your cousin moves in for the summer and he gives you ideas, ways to make your escape happen a little easier, a little quicker.”

  “You have no idea what happened!”

  “Then tell me. Tell me why you were the one to find Teddy’s body in the lake, why you were the one who found your mother at the bottom of the stairs.”

  “I’d never hurt them. If I’d known—”

  “Were you lovers? You and Dominic?”

  Lily’s face went white with rage. For one knife-edged moment, Jane thought the woman might actually lunge at her.

  A loud ringing suddenly cut through the silence. Everyone glanced at Sansone.

  “It’s our intruder alert,” he said, and rose to his feet. He crossed to a control panel on the wall. “There’s a breach in the garden window.”

  “Someone’s in the house?” asked Jane.

  Lily said softly, “It’s him.”

  Jeremy came into the dining room. “I just checked, Mr. Sansone. The window’s locked.”

  “Then maybe it’s just a malfunction.” Sansone looked at the others. “I think it’d be best if you all stayed right here for the moment, while I check the system.”

  “No,” said Lily, her gaze darting from doorway to doorway, as though expecting an attacker to suddenly burst through. “I’m not staying. Not in this house.”

  “You’ll be perfectly safe. We’ll protect you.”

  “And who’s going to protect you?” She looked around the room at Maura, Edwina, and Oliver. “Any of you? You don’t even know what you’re dealing with!”

  “Look, everyone just sit tight, okay?” said Jane. “I’ll go outside and take a look around.”

  Sansone said, “I’ll come with you.”

  Jane paused, on the verge of refusing his offer. Then she thought of Eve Kassovitz, dragged bleeding across the icy walkway, her weapon still strapped to her waist. “All right,” she said to him. “Let’s go.”

  They pulled on their coats and stepped outside. Beneath streetlamps, pools of light glistened with ice. It was a frozen world, every surface polished and gleaming like glass. Even if an intruder had walked this way, they’d see no footprints tonight. Her Maglite beam skimmed across pavement hard as diamonds. She and Sansone circled around to the iron gate and stepped through, into the narrow side yard. This was where the killer had brought down Eve Kassovitz. Along this path, he’d dragged her body, the blood from her torn scalp smearing across the granite pavers, freezing in streaks of red.

  Jane’s weapon was already out of her holster, the gun an extension of her own body, magically materializing in her grasp. She moved toward the back garden, her light slashing the shadows, the soles of her shoes skating on ice. Her beam swept across winter-shriveled wisps of ivy. She knew Sansone was right behind her, but he moved so silently she had to pause and glance over her shoulder, just to confirm that he was really there, that he was watching her back.

  She edged toward the corner of the building and swept her Maglite across the enclosed garden, across the courtyard where, only a few weeks ago, Eve had lain, her muscles stiffening, her blood freezing on the cold stones. Jane saw no movement, no hulking shadows, no demon in a black cape.

  “That’s the window?” she asked. She aimed her beam and saw light bounce back in the glass. “The one your system says was breached?”

  “Yes.”

/>   She crossed the courtyard for a closer look. “No screen?”

  “Jeremy takes them down for the winter.”

  “And it’s always kept latched on the inside?”

  “Always. Security is of paramount concern to us.”

  She ran the light along the sill and spotted the telltale gouge in the wood. Fresh.

  “We’ve got a problem here,” she said softly. “Someone tried to force this.”

  He stared at the sill. “That wouldn’t have set off the alarm. The only way to do that is to actually open the window.”

  “But your butler says it’s locked on the inside.”

  “That means…” Sansone stopped. “Jesus.”

  “What?”

  “He got in and relatched it. He’s already inside the house!” Sansone turned and ran back along the side yard, moving so fast his shoes skidded across the walkway. He almost fell but caught himself and kept running. By the time Jane came through the front door, he was already in the dining room, urging everyone to their feet.

  “Please get your coats,” he said. “I need you all to leave the house. Jeremy, I’ll help Oliver down the steps, if you could bring the wheelchair.”

  “What on earth is going on?” asked Edwina.

  “Just do it, okay?” ordered Jane. “Grab your coats and go out the front door.”

  It was Jane’s weapon that caught their attention, the fact it was out of her holster and in her hands, a detail that screamed: This isn’t a game; this is serious.

  Lily was the first to bolt. She darted from the room, leading the rush into the parlor, the scramble for coats. As everyone spilled out the front door and into the cold, Jane was right behind them, already on her phone and calling for backup. She might be armed, but she wasn’t foolhardy; she had no intention of searching that entire house by herself.

  Moments later, the first cruiser appeared, its lights flashing but the siren silent. It skidded to a stop and two patrolmen stepped out.

  “I need a perimeter,” ordered Jane. “No one gets out of that building.”

  “Who’s inside?”

  “We’re about to find out.” She looked up as the headlights of a second cruiser approached. Two more cops arrived on the scene. “You,” she said, and pointed to one of the younger patrolmen. Tonight she wanted fast reflexes and a sharp eye. “Come with me.”

  Jane entered the house first, the patrolman right behind her, his weapon drawn. He gave a quick double-take as they stepped into the parlor, as he surveyed the elegant furniture, the oil painting above the hearth. She knew exactly what he was thinking: This is a rich man’s house.

  She slid open the hidden panel and gave the closet a quick glance just to confirm it was empty. Then they moved on, through the dining room, through the kitchen, and into a massive library. No time to ogle the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. They were on a monster hunt.

  They moved up the staircase, along a curved banister. Eyes gazed down at them from oil portraits. They passed beneath a brooding man, a doe-eyed woman, beneath two cherub-faced girls seated at a harpsichord. At the top of the stairs, they stared down a carpeted hall, past a series of doorways. Jane did not know the layout of this house or what to expect. Even with the patrolman backing her up, even with three other officers stationed right outside the house, her hands were sweating and her heart was pounding its way into her throat. Room by room they moved, sliding open closets, edging through doorways. Four bedrooms, three baths.

  They reached a narrow stairway.

  Jane halted, staring up at an attic door. Oh man, she thought. I don’t want to go up there.

  She grasped the banister and ascended the first step. She heard it creak beneath her weight and knew that anyone upstairs would also hear it, and know she was coming. Behind her, she could hear the patrolman’s breathing accelerate.

  He feels it, too. The malevolence.

  She climbed up the creaking steps to the door. Her hand was slick against the knob. She glanced at her backup and saw him give a quick, tense nod.

  She flung open the door and scrambled through, her flashlight beam sweeping an arc through the darkness, skittering across shadowy forms. She saw the gleam of reflected brass, saw hulking shapes poised to attack.

  Then, behind her, the cop finally found the light switch and he flicked it on. Jane blinked in the sudden glare. In an instant, crouching attackers transformed to furniture and lamps and rolled-up carpets. Here was a treasure trove of stored antiques. Sansone was so damn rich, even his cast-off furniture was probably worth a fortune. She moved through the attic, her pulse slowing, her fears melting into relief. No monsters up here.

  She holstered her gun and stood in the midst of all those treasures, feeling sheepish. The intruder alert must have been a false alarm. Then what gouged the wood in that windowsill?

  The cop’s radio suddenly came to life. “Graffam, what’s your status?”

  “Looks like we’re all clear in here.”

  “Rizzoli there?”

  “Yeah, she’s right here.”

  “We got a situation down here.”

  Jane shot a questioning look at the cop.

  “What’s going on?” he said into the radio.

  “Dr. Isles wants her out here ASAP.”

  “On our way.”

  Jane gave a last glance around the attic, then headed back down the steps, back down the hallway, past bedrooms they had already searched, past the same portraits that had stared at them moments before. Once again her heart was drumming as she stepped out the front door, into a night awash with flashing lights. Two more cruisers had since arrived, and she halted, temporarily blinded by the kaleidoscopic glare.

  “Jane, she ran.”

  She focused on Maura, who stood backlit by the cruisers’ rack lights. “What?”

  “Lily Saul. We were standing over there, on the sidewalk. And when we turned, she was gone.”

  “Shit.” Jane scanned the street, her gaze sweeping across the shadowy forms of cops, across curious onlookers who’d spilled out of their houses into the cold to watch the excitement.

  “It was only a few minutes ago,” said Maura. “She can’t have gone far.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Lily Saul darted down one side street, and then another, weaving ever deeper into the maze of an unfamiliar neighborhood. She did not know Boston, and she had no idea where she was going. She could hear the sirens of cruisers, circling like sharks. The flash of headlights sent her scrambling into an alley. There she crouched behind garbage cans as a patrol car slowly crept up the street. The instant it disappeared around the corner, she was back on her feet and moving in the other direction. She was going downhill now, slipping on cobblestones slick with ice, her backpack slapping against her shoulder blades. She was not dressed for this bitter weather, and already her feet stung from the cold, and her ungloved hands were numb. Her tennis shoes suddenly skated out from beneath her and she landed on her rump. The impact sent a spear of pain straight up her spine. She sat stunned for a few seconds, her skull ringing. When her vision finally cleared, she saw she was at the bottom of the hill. Across the street was a park, ringed with shrubs, bare trees casting their spindly gloom over ice-glazed snow. A glowing symbol caught her eye.

  It was a sign for the subway station.

  She’d just jump on a train and in minutes she could be on her way anywhere in the city. And she’d be warm.

  She clambered to her feet, her tailbone aching from the fall, her scraped palms stinging. She limped across the street, took a few steps along the sidewalk, and halted.

  A police cruiser had just rounded the corner.

  She dashed into the park and ducked behind the bushes. There she waited, her heart banging in her throat, but the cruiser did not pass. Peering through the branches, she saw that it was parked and idling outside the subway station. Damn. Time to change plans.

  She glanced around and spotted the glowing sign of yet another T station on the other side of the park. She
rose to her feet and started across the common, moving beneath the shadow of trees. Ice crusted the snow, and every footstep gave a noisy crack as her shoe broke through the glaze into deep snow beneath. She struggled forward, almost losing a shoe, her lungs heaving now with the effort to make headway. Then, through the roar of her own breathing, she heard another sound behind her, a crunch, a creak. She stopped and turned, and felt her heart freeze.

  The figure stood beneath a tree—faceless, featureless, a black form that seemed more shadow than substance. It’s him.

  With a sob, Lily fled, stumbling through the snow, shoes smashing through the icy crust. Her own breathing, the slamming of her own heart, drowned out any sound of pursuit, but she knew he was right behind her. He’d always been right behind her, every minute, every breath, dogging her steps, whispering her doom. But not this close, never this close! She didn’t look back, didn’t want to see the creature of her nightmares moving in. She just plunged ahead, her shoe lost now, her sock soaked with frigid water.

  Then, all at once, she stumbled out of a drift, onto the sidewalk. The T entrance was straight ahead. She went flying down the steps, almost expecting to hear the swoop of wings and feel the bite of claws in her back. Instead, she felt the warm breath of the subway tunnel on her face and saw commuters filing out toward the stairs.

  No time to fool with money. Jump the turnstile!

  She scrambled over it, and her wet sock slapped down onto the pavement. Two steps, and she skidded to a stop.

  Jane Rizzoli was standing right in front of her.

  Lily spun around, back toward the turnstile she’d just jumped. A cop stood barring her escape.

  Frantically she gazed around the station, looking for the creature that had pursued her, but she saw only startled commuters staring back at her.

  A handcuff closed over her wrist.

  She sat in Jane Rizzoli’s parked car, too exhausted to think of trying to escape. The wet sock felt like a block of ice encasing her foot, and even with the heater running, she could not get warm, could not stop shaking.