“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.
THIRTY-TWO
SEEING IT FROM the other side now. As a patient, not a doctor, the ceiling lights flickering past her as the gurney rolled down the hall, as the nurse in a bouffant cap glanced down, concern in her eyes. The wheels squeaked and the nurse panted a little as she pushed the gurney through double doors, into the operating room. Different lights glared overhead now, harsher, blinding. Like the lights of the autopsy room.
Maura closed her eyes against them. As the OR nurses transferred her to the table, she thought of Anna, lying naked beneath identical lamps, her body carved open, strangers peering down at her. She felt Anna’s spirit hovering above her, watching, just as Maura had once stared down at Anna. My sister, she thought as the pentobarbital slid into her veins, as the lights faded. Are you waiting for me?
But when she awakened, it wasn’t Anna she saw; it was Jane Rizzoli. Slats of daylight glowed through the partially closed blinds, casting bright horizontal bars across Rizzoli’s face as she leaned toward Maura.
“Hey, Doc.”
“Hey,” Maura whispered back.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Not so good. My arm…” Maura winced.
“Looks like it’s time for more drugs.” Rizzoli reached over and pressed the nurse’s call button.
“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
They fell silent as the nurse came in to inject a dose of morphine into the IV. The silence lingered after the nurse had left, and the drug began to work its magic.
Maura said, softly: “Rick…”
“I’m sorry. You do know he’s…”
I know. She blinked back tears. “We never had a chance.”
“She wasn’t about to let you have a chance. That claw mark in your car door-that was all about him. About staying away from her husband. The slashed screens, the dead bird in the mailbox-all the threats Anna blamed on Cassell-I think that was Carmen, trying to scare Anna into leaving town. Into leaving her husband alone.”
“But then Anna came back to Boston.”
Rizzoli nodded. “She came back, because she learned she had a sister.”