THIRTY-ONE

The dead were not good company.

Maura sat at her microscope, staring through the eyepiece at sections of lung and liver and pancreas—bits of tissue sliced from a suicide victim’s mortal remains, preserved under glass, and stained a gaudy pink and purple with a hematoxylin-eosin preparation. Except for the occasional clink of the slides, and the faint hiss of the air-conditioning vent, the building was quiet. Yet it was not empty of people; in the cold room downstairs, half a dozen silent visitors lay zipped into their shrouds. Undemanding guests, each with a story to tell, but only to those willing to cut and probe.

The phone rang on her desk; she let the after-hours office recording pick up. Nobody here but the dead. And me.

The story Maura now saw beneath her microscope lens was not a new one. Young organs, healthy tissues. A body designed to live many more years, had the soul been willing, had some inner voice only whispered to the despairing man: Now, wait a minute, heartbreak is temporary. This pain will pass, and you’ll find another girl to love someday.

She finished the last slide and set it in the box. Sat for a moment, her mind not on the slides she had just reviewed, but on another image: a young man with dark hair and green eyes. She had not watched his autopsy; that afternoon, while he had been split open and dissected by Dr. Bristol, she had remained upstairs in her office. But even as she’d dictated reports and flipped through microscope slides late into the evening, she had been thinking about him. Do I really want to know who he is? She still hadn’t decided. Even as she rose from her desk, as she gathered her purse and an armful of files, she was uncertain of her answer.

Again, the phone rang; again, she ignored it.

Walking down the silent hallway, she passed closed doors and deserted offices. She remembered another evening when she had walked out of this empty building, to find the claw mark scratched into her car, and her heart started to beat a little faster.

But he’s gone, now. The Beast is dead.

She stepped out the rear exit, into a night soft with summery warmth. She paused beneath the building’s outside lamp to scan the shadowy parking lot. Drawn by the glow of the light, moths swarmed around the lamp and she heard wings fluttering against the bulb. Then, another sound: the closing of a car door. A silhouette walked toward her, taking on form and features as it moved into the lamp’s glow.

She gave a sigh of relief when she saw it was Ballard. “Were you waiting for me?”

“I saw your car in the lot. I tried calling you.”

“After five, I let the machine pick up.”

“You weren’t answering your cell phone, either.”

“I turned it off. You don’t need to keep checking on me, Rick. I’m fine.”

“Are you, really?”

She sighed as they walked to her car. She looked up at the sky, where stars were washed pale by city lights. “I have to decide what to do about the DNA. Whether I really want to know the truth.”

“Then don’t do it. It doesn’t matter if you are related to them. Amalthea has nothing to do with who you are.”

“That’s what I would have said before.” Before I knew whose bloodlines I might share. Before I knew I might come from a family of monsters.

“Evil isn’t hereditary.”

“Still, it’s not a good feeling, knowing I might have a few mass murderers in my family.”

She unlocked her door and climbed in behind the wheel. Had just thrust her key in the ignition when Ballard leaned into the car.

“Maura,” he said. “Have dinner with me.”

She paused, not looking at him. Just stared at the green glow of the dashboard lights as she considered his invitation.

“Last night,” he said, “you asked me a question. You wondered whether I’d still be interested in you if I’d never loved your sister. I don’t think you believed my answer.”

She turned to look at him. “There’s no way to really know, is there? Because you did love her.”

“So give me the chance to know you. I didn’t just imagine it, up there in the woods. You felt it, I felt it. There was something between us.” He leaned in closer. Said, softly, “It’s only dinner, Maura.”

She thought of the hours she had just spent working in that sterile building, with only the dead to keep her company. Tonight, she thought, I don’t want to be alone. I want to be with the living.

“Chinatown’s right up the street,” she said. “Why don’t we go there?”

He slid into the passenger seat beside her, and they looked at each other for a moment. The glow of the parking lot lamp slanted across his face, casting half of it in shadow. He reached out to touch her cheek. Then his arm came around to pull her closer, but she was already there, leaning into him, ready to meet him halfway. More than halfway. His mouth found hers, and she heard herself sigh. Felt him draw her into the warmth of his arms.

The explosion rocked her.

She flinched as Rick’s window imploded, as glass stung her cheek. She opened her eyes again to stare at him. At what was left of his face, now bloody pulp. Slowly his body slumped toward her. His head landed on her thighs, and the heat of his blood soaked into her lap.

“Rick. Rick!”

A movement outside drew her stunned gaze. She looked up, and from out of the darkness, a figure in black emerged, moving toward her with robotic efficiency.

Coming to kill me.

Drive. Drive.

She shoved at Rick’s body, struggling to move him off the gear-shift, his ruined face oozing blood, turning her hands slippery. She managed to yank the gear into reverse, and hit the gas.

The Lexus lurched backward, out of the stall.

The shooter was somewhere behind her, moving in.

Sobbing with the effort, she pushed Rick’s face off the gear-shift and her fingers sank into bloodied meat. She jammed the gear into drive.

The rear window exploded, and she cringed as glass showered her hair.

She floored the accelerator. The Lexus screeched forward. The shooter had cut off her nearest parking lot exit; there was only one direction she could go now, toward the adjoining parking lot for the Boston University Medical Center. The two lots were separated only by a curb. She drove straight toward that curb, bracing herself for the bump. Felt her chin snap forward, her teeth slam together, as her tires bounced up over the concrete.

Another bullet flew; the windshield disintegrated.

Maura ducked as shattered glass rained onto the dashboard, pelleting her face. The Lexus careened forward, out of control. She glanced up to see the lamppost straight ahead. Unavoidable. She closed her eyes just before the air bag exploded. She was slammed back against her seat.

Slowly she opened her eyes, stunned. Her horn blasted, unceasing. It did not stop, even as she rolled away from the collapsed air bag, even as she shoved open her door and tumbled out, onto the pavement.

She staggered to her feet, ears ringing from the horn’s continuing blare. Managed to duck behind the cover of a nearby parked car. Legs unsteady, she forced herself to keep moving along that row of cars, until she suddenly came to a stop.

A wide expanse of open pavement lay in front of her.

She dropped to her knees behind a tire and peered around the bumper. Felt the blood freeze in her veins as she saw the dark figure stride out of the shadows, relentless as a machine, moving toward the smashed Lexus. It stepped beneath the pool of light cast by the streetlamp.

Maura saw the glint of blond hair, the streak of a ponytail.

The shooter yanked open the passenger door and leaned inside to look at Ballard’s body. Suddenly her head popped up again and she stared, head swiveling, her gaze sweeping the parking lot.

Maura ducked back behind the wheel. Her pulse throbbed in her temples, her breaths were gulps of panic. She looked toward the empty pavement, starkly lit by another streetlamp. Beyond it, across the street, was the bright red EMERGENCY sign for the Medical Center ER. She had only to make it across that open pavement, and then across Albany Street. Already, the blare of her car horn must be attracting the attention of hospital personnel.

So close. Help is so close.

Heart banging, she rocked onto the balls of her feet. Afraid to move, afraid to stay. Slowly she eased forward and peered around the tire.

Black boots were planted right on the other side of the car.

Run.

In an instant she was sprinting straight for that open pavement. No thought of evasive moves, no dodging left and right, just all-out panicked flight. The red EMERGENCY sign glowed ahead of her. I can make it, she thought. I can—

The bullet was like a slam to her shoulder. It sent her pitching forward, sprawling onto blacktop. She tried to rise to her knees, but her left arm collapsed beneath her. What’s wrong with my arm, she thought, why can’t I use my arm? Groaning, she rolled onto her back and saw the glare of the parking-lot lamp shining above her.

The face of Carmen Ballard moved into view.

“I killed you once,” Carmen said. “Now I have to do it all over again.”

“Please. Rick and I—we never—”

“He wasn’t yours to take.” Carmen raised her gun. The barrel was a dark eye, staring at Maura. “Fucking whore.” Her hand tensed, about to squeeze off the killing shot.

Another voice suddenly cut in—a man’s. “Drop the weapon!”

Carmen blinked in surprise. Glanced sideways.

Standing a few yards away was a hospital security guard, his gun trained on Carmen. “Did you hear me, lady?” he barked. “Drop it!”

Carmen’s aim wavered. She glanced down at Maura, then back at the guard, her rage, her hunger for revenge, battling with the reality of the consequences.

“We were never lovers,” said Maura, her voice so weak she wondered if Carmen could hear it through the far-off bleat of the car horn. “Neither were they.”

“Liar.” Carmen’s gaze snapped back to Maura. “You’re just like her. He left me because of her. He left me.”

“That wasn’t Anna’s fault—”

“Yes it was. And now it’s yours.” She kept her focus on Maura, even as tires screeched to a stop. Even as a new voice yelled:

“Officer Ballard! Drop the weapon!”

Rizzoli.

Carmen glanced sideways, a last calculating look as she weighed her choices. Two weapons were now trained on her. She had lost; no matter what she chose, her life was over. As Carmen stared back down at her, Maura could see, in her eyes, the decision she’d made. Maura watched as Carmen’s arms straightened, steadying her aim on Maura, the barrel poised for its final blast. She watched Carmen’s hands tighten around the grip, preparing to squeeze off the killing shot.

The blast shocked Maura. It knocked Carmen sideways; she staggered. Fell.

Maura heard pounding footsteps, a crescendo of sirens. And a familiar voice murmuring,

“Oh, Jesus. Doc!”

She saw Rizzoli’s face hovering above her. Lights pulsed on the street. All around her shadows approached. Ghosts, welcoming her to their world.