Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel by Tess Gerritsen

Author:Tess Gerritsen [Gerritsen, Tess]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense, Fiction
ISBN: 9780345515483
Google: CXFWZuxyUFQC
Amazon: B0036S4C5C
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2010-06-29T05:00:00+00:00

IN THE COMFORTABLE COCOON of Anthony Sansone’s jet, the four passengers were quiet as they flew east, into the night. Perhaps they were all thinking, as Jane was, of their unseen companion who rode below in cargo, boxed in a coffin, stored in the dark and frigid hold. This was the first time Jane had ever flown on a private jet. Were it for any other occasion, she would have taken delight in the soft leather seats, the spacious legroom, the myriad comforts that supremely wealthy travelers are accustomed to. But she scarcely registered the taste of the perfectly pink roast beef sandwich that the steward had presented to her on a china plate. Although she’d missed both lunch and dinner, she ate without enjoyment, fueling up only because her body needed it.

Daniel Brophy did not eat at all. His sandwich sat untouched as he stared out at the night, his shoulders sagging under the weight of grief. And guilt, too, surely. The guilt of knowing what could have been, had he chosen love above duty, Maura above God. Now the woman he cared about was charred flesh, locked in the hold beneath their feet.

“When we get back to Boston,” said Gabriel, “we have decisions to make.”

Jane looked at her husband and wondered how he managed to stay focused on necessary tasks. In times like these, she was reminded that she’d married a marine.

“Decisions?” she said.

“Funeral arrangements. Notifications. There must be relatives who need to be called.”

“She has no family,” said Brophy. “There’s only her mo—” He stopped, not finishing the word mother. Nor did he say the name they were all thinking: Amalthea Lank. Two years ago, Maura had sought out her birth mother, whose identity had been a mystery to her. The search had eventually brought her to a women’s prison in Framingham. To a woman guilty of unspeakable crimes. Amalthea was not a mother anyone would want to claim, and Maura never spoke of her.

Daniel said again, more firmly: “She has no family.”

She had only us, thought Jane. Her friends. While Jane had a husband and daughter, parents and brothers, Maura had few intimate connections. She had a lover whom she saw only in secret, and friends who did not really know her. It was a truth that Jane now had to acknowledge: I did not really know her.

“What about her ex-husband?” Sansone asked. “I believe he still lives in California.”

“Victor?” Brophy gave a disgusted laugh. “Maura despised him. She wouldn’t want him anywhere near her funeral.”

“Do we know what she did want? What her final wishes were? She wasn’t religious, so I assume she’d want a secular service.”

Jane glanced at Brophy, who had suddenly stiffened. She did not think Sansone’s comment was meant as a barb at the priest, but the air between the two men suddenly felt charged.

Brophy said, tightly: “Even though she fell away from the Church, she still respected it.”

“She was a committed scientist, Father Brophy. The fact that she respected the Church doesn’t mean she believed in it.

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