The Rizzoli & Isles Series 11-Book Bundle

by Tess Gerritsen

  Once again, he’s managed to startle me with his silent approach. I turn and see him toss wood into the dying fire.

  “You saw the snake?” I ask.

  “No. But Elliot said it hissed at him.” Johnny moves toward us, carrying the ever-present rifle. “Was it yellow-brown? Speckled, with a triangular head?” he asks Elliot.

  “It was a snake, that’s all I know! You think I bothered to ask its name?”

  “Puff adders are common out here in the bush. We’ll probably see more of them.”

  “How poisonous are they?” Richard asks.

  “Left untreated, the venom can be fatal. But if it makes you feel any better, their bites are often dry and carry no venom at all. It probably just crawled into Elliot’s bed to get warm. That’s what reptiles do.” He looks around at us. “That’s why I warned you all to keep your tents zipped up.”

  “It was zipped up,” Elliot says.

  “Then how did it get into your tent?”

  “You know how freaked out I am about malaria. I always zip up to keep the mosquitoes out. I didn’t think a fucking snake could get inside!”

  “It could have gotten in during the day,” I suggest. “While you weren’t in the tent.”

  “I’m telling you, I never leave it unzipped. Even during the day.”

  Without a word, Johnny circles to the other side of Elliot’s tent. Is he searching for the snake? Does he think it’s still lurking somewhere under the canvas, waiting for another chance to invade? Suddenly Johnny drops down where we can’t see him. The silence is unbearable.

  Sylvia calls out in an unsteady voice: “Is the snake still there?”

  Johnny doesn’t answer. He rises to his feet and when I see his expression, my hands turn to ice.

  “What is it?” Sylvia asks. “What is it?”

  “Come see this for yourselves,” he says quietly.

  Almost hidden by scrubby grass, the slit runs along the lower edge of the tent. Not a mere rip, this is a clean, straight cut in the canvas, and the significance is instantly clear to us all.

  Elliot looks around at us in disbelief. “Who did this? Who the hell cut open my tent?”

  “You all have knives,” points out Johnny. “Anyone could have done it.”

  “Not anyone,” says Richard. “We were asleep. You were the one out here all night, keeping watch as you call it.”

  “I left at first light to get firewood.” Johnny looks Richard up and down. “And how long have you been up and dressed?”

  “You see what he’s doing, don’t you?” Richard turns to look at us. “Don’t forget who has control of the gun. Who’s been in charge here, while everything’s gone straight to hell.”

  “Why my tent?” Elliot’s voice has gone shrill, infecting us all with his panic. “Why me?”

  “The men,” says Vivian softly. “He’s taking out the men first. He killed Clarence. Then Isao. And now it’s Elliot …”

  Richard takes a step toward Johnny and the rifle instantly snaps up, its barrel pointed straight at Richard’s chest. “Back away,” Johnny orders.

  “So this is how it’s going to be,” says Richard. “He’ll shoot me first. Then he’ll kill Elliot. And what about the women, Johnny? You may have Millie on your side, but you can’t take the rest of us down. Not if we all fight back.”

  “It’s you,” says Johnny. “You’re the one doing this.”

  Richard takes another step toward him. “I’m the one who’ll stop you.”

  “Richard,” I plead. “Don’t do this.”

  “It’s time to choose sides, Millie.”

  “There are no sides! We have to talk about this. We have to be rational.”

  Richard takes another step toward Johnny. It’s a dare, a contest of nerves. The bush has stripped him of reason, and he’s acting on raw fury now, at Johnny his rival. At me, the traitor. Time slows down and I register every detail with painful clarity. The sweat on Johnny’s brow. The snap of the twig under Richard’s boot as he rocks forward. Johnny’s hand, his muscles twitching taut, preparing to fire.

  And I see Keiko—small, frail Keiko—as she slips silently behind Johnny. I see her raise her arms. I see the rock slam into the back of Johnny’s head.

  HE IS STILL ALIVE.

  Minutes after the blow, his eyes flicker open. The rock sliced open his scalp, and he’s shed an alarming amount of blood, but the look he gives us is clear-eyed and fully aware.

  “You’re making a mistake, all of you,” he says. “You have to listen to me.”

  “No one’s listening to you,” says Richard. His shadow moves across Johnny, and he stands staring down at him. He’s the one with the rifle now, the one in control.

  Groaning, Johnny tries to rise, but it’s a struggle for him just to sit up. “Without me, you’re not going to make it.”

  Richard looks at the others, who stand in a circle around Johnny. “Shall we take a vote?”

  Vivian shakes her head. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Then what are we going to do with him?” says Elliot.

  “Tie him up. That’s what.” Richard nods to the blondes. “Go find some rope.”

  “No. No.” Johnny staggers to his feet. Even though he’s swaying, he’s still too intimidating for anyone to tackle. “Shoot me if you want, Richard. Right here, right now. But I won’t be tied up. I won’t be left helpless. Not out here.”

  “Go on, tie him up!” Richard snaps at the blondes, but they stand frozen. “Elliot, you do it!”

  “Just try it,” Johnny growls.

  Elliot blanches and backs away.

  Turning to Richard, Johnny says: “So you’ve got the gun now, hey? Proved you’re the alpha male. Was that the whole point of the game?”

  “Game?” Elliot shakes his head. “No, we’re all just trying to stay the fuck alive.”

  “Then don’t trust him,” says Johnny.

  Richard’s hands tighten on the rifle. Oh God, he’s going to fire it. He’s going to kill an unarmed man in cold blood. I lunge for the barrel to yank it downward.

  Richard’s slap sends me sprawling. “You want to get us killed, Millie?” he screams. “Is that what you’re trying to do?”

  I touch my throbbing cheek. Never before has he hit me; if this were anywhere else, I’d be on the phone to the police, but out here there’s no escape, no authority to call. When I look around at the others, I see no sympathy in their faces. The blondes, Keiko, Elliot—they all side with Richard.

  “All right,” says Johnny. “You have the firepower, Richard. You can use it anytime. But if you’re going to shoot me, you’ll have to do it in the back.” He turns and starts to walk away.

  “If you come back to camp, I’ll kill you!” yells Richard.

  Johnny calls over his shoulder: “I’d rather take my chances in the bush.”

  “We’ll keep watch! If we see you anywhere near us—”

  “You won’t. I’d as soon trust the animals.” Johnny pauses, looks back at me. “Come with me, Millie. Please, come.”

  I glance back and forth between Richard and Johnny, paralyzed by the choice.

  “No, stay with us,” says Vivian. “There’ll be a plane looking for us any day.”

  “By the time the plane comes back, you’ll be dead,” says Johnny. He holds his hand out to me. “I’ll take care of you, I swear it. I won’t let anything happen. I’m begging you to trust me, Millie.”

  “Don’t be crazy,” says Elliot. “You can’t believe him.”

  I think of everything that’s gone wrong: Clarence and Isao, their flesh ripped from their bones. The truck, suddenly and mysteriously out of commission. The viper in Elliot’s newly slashed tent. I remember what Johnny revealed only a few days ago, about how he’d collected snakes as a boy. Who else but Johnny knows how to catch and handle a pit viper? None of what’s happened has been merely bad luck; no, we were meant to die out here, and only Johnny could execute such a plan.

  He can read the decision in
my eyes, and he reacts with a look of pain, as if I have delivered a mortal blow. For a moment he stands defeated, his shoulders slumped, his face a mask of sorrow. “I would have done anything for you,” he says to me softly. Then, with a shake of his head, he turns and strides away.

  We are all still watching as he vanishes into the bush.

  “DO YOU THINK HE’LL come back?” says Vivian.

  Richard pats the rifle lying beside him, the rifle that’s now never out of his reach. “If he tries, I’ll be ready for him.”

  We’re sitting around the campfire, which Elliot has built into a raging inferno against the darkness. The flames are too high and too hot for comfort, and a foolish waste of firewood, but I understand why he felt compelled to feed it so extravagantly. Those flames hold off the predators that even now are watching us. We’ve spotted no other campfires, so where is Johnny on this black, black night? What tricks does he have to stay alive when teeth and claws are everywhere?

  “We’ll keep watch in pairs,” says Richard. “No one should be out here alone at any time. Elliot and Vivian will take the first watch. Sylvia and I will take the second. That will get us through the night. We keep this up, keep our wits about us, and we’ll be fine until the plane comes looking for us.”

  That he’s left me out of the watch schedule is painfully obvious. I understand why Keiko’s not expected to contribute; after her startling takedown of Johnny, she’s retreated once again into silence. At least she’s eating now, a few spoonfuls of tinned beans and a handful of crackers. But here I am, able-bodied and ready to help, and no one even glances my way.

  “What about me?” I ask. “What should I do?”

  “We’ll handle this, Millie. You don’t need to do a thing.” The tone of his voice allows no protest, certainly not from the woman who once dared to take Johnny’s side. Without a word, I leave the fire and slink into our tent. Tonight I’m back with Richard because Keiko doesn’t want me in her tent anymore. I’m the pariah, the traitor who might stab you while you’re sleeping.

  When Richard crawls in beside me an hour later, I’m still awake.

  “It’s over between us,” I say.

  He doesn’t bother to argue. “Yes. Obviously.”

  “So which one are you going to choose? Sylvia or Vivian?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No, I guess not. Whatever her name, it all boils down to screwing someone new.”

  “What about you and Johnny? Admit it, you were ready to leave me and join him.”

  I turn to Richard, but all I see is his silhouette, framed by the glow of firelight through canvas. “I stayed, didn’t I?”

  “Only because we control the gun.”

  “And that makes you the winner, does it? King of the bush?”

  “I’m fighting for our fucking lives. The others understand that. Why can’t you?”

  My breath comes out in a long, sad sigh. “I do understand, Richard. I know you think you’re doing the right thing. Even if you have no clue what to do next.”

  “Whatever our problems, Millie, we need to stick together now, or we won’t make it. We’ve got the gun and the supplies, and the numbers are on our side. But I can’t predict what Johnny will do. Whether he’ll just escape into the bush, or come back and try to finish us off.” He pauses. “We’re witnesses, after all.”

  “Witnesses to what? We never saw him kill anyone. We can’t prove he did anything wrong.”

  “Then let the police prove it. After we get out of here.”

  We lie silent for a moment. Through the canvas, I hear Elliot and Vivian talking by the fire as they keep watch. I hear the shrill screech of insects, the far-off cackle of hyenas, and I wonder if Johnny’s still alive out there, or if his corpse is even now being ripped apart and devoured.

  Richard’s hand brushes against my hand. Slowly, tentatively, his fingers link with mine. “People move on, Millie. It doesn’t mean these last three years were wasted.”

  “Four years.”

  “We’re not the same people we were when we met. It’s just the way life goes, and we need to be grown up about it. Figure out how to divide our things, how to tell our friends. Do it all without drama.”

  These things are so much easier for him to say. I may have been the first to declare it over between us, but he’s the one who actually did the leaving. I realize now that he’s been in the act of leaving me for a long, long time. It’s Africa that finally brought it to a head, Africa that showed us how unsuited we are to each other.

  I may have loved him once, but now I think I never really liked him. Certainly I don’t like him now, as he talks so matter-of-factly about the terms of our breakup. How I should find a new flat as soon as we get back to London. Would my sister take me in while I search for the right place? And then there’s all the things we’ve acquired together. The cookware can go with me, the CDs and electronics stay with him, fair enough? And what a good thing we have no pets to fight over. What a far cry from the night we huddled on the sofa, planning this trip to Botswana. I’d imagined starry skies and cocktails around the campfire, not these bloodless terms of dissolution.

  I roll onto my side, turning away from him.

  “All right,” he says. “We’ll talk about it later. Like civilized people.”

  “Right,” I mutter. “Civilized.”

  “Now I need to get some sleep. Have to be up in four hours for my watch.”

  Those are the last words he ever says to me.

  I WAKE IN DARKNESS, and for a moment I’m confused about which tent I’m in. Then it all slams into me, with a pain that’s physical. My breakup with Richard. The lonely days ahead. It is so black inside the tent that I can’t tell if he’s lying beside me. I reach out to touch him, but find only emptiness. This is the future; I will have to get used to sleeping alone.

  Twigs snap as someone—or something—walks past my tent.

  I strain to see through the canvas, but it’s so dark that I can’t make out even the faintest glow of the campfire. Who has let the fire burn down? Someone needs to add wood before it dies altogether. I pull on trousers and reach for my boots. After all this talk about staying alert and keeping watch, these useless idiots could not maintain even our most basic safeguard.

  Just as I unzip the tent flap, the first gunshot explodes.

  A woman is screaming. Sylvia? Vivian? I can’t tell which one; all I hear is her panic.

  “He’s got the gun! Oh God, he’s got the—”

  I hunt blindly in the dark for my knapsack, where I keep my torch stashed. My hand closes around the strap just as the second shot explodes.

  I scramble out of the tent, but see only shadows upon shadows. Something moves past the dying coals of the fire. Johnny. He’s here to take revenge.

  A third shot thunders and I dart toward the blackness of the bush, am almost to the perimeter wire when I stumble over something and go down on my knees. I feel warm flesh, long tangled hair. And blood. One of the blondes.

  Instantly I’m back on my feet, fleeing blindly into the night. Hear bells clang as my boot snags the perimeter wire.

  The next bullet comes so close I can hear it whistle past.

  But I’m cloaked in darkness now, a target that Johnny can’t see. Behind me, there are shrieks of terror and one final, thunderous gunshot.

  I have no choice; I plunge alone into the night.

  NINETEEN

  BOSTON

  “ALWAYS TRYING TO PROVE HE’S HOT STUFF. YOU’D THINK HE’D AT least make the effort to show up on time,” said Crowe, scowling at his watch. “Should’ve been here twenty minutes ago.”

  “I’m sure Detective Tam has a good reason for being late,” said Maura. As she laid Jane Doe’s right femur in its correct anatomical position, the stainless-steel table gave an ominous clang. Under the coldly clinical glare of the morgue lights, the bones looked plastic and artificial. Strip away a young woman’s skin and flesh, and this was all that remained: the bony latticework
on which that flesh was mounted. When human skeletons arrived in the morgue they were often incomplete, missing the small bones of the hands and feet, which are so easily carried off by scavengers. But this Jane Doe had been wrapped in a tarp and buried just deep enough to protect her from claws and teeth and beaks. Instead it was insects and microbes that had feasted on flesh and viscera, scouring the bones clean. Maura positioned those bones on her table with the precision of a master strategist preparing for a game of anatomical chess.

  “Everyone assumes he’s some kind of egghead, just because he’s Asian,” Crowe said. “Well, he’s not as smart as he thinks he is.”

  Maura had no desire to engage in this conversation—or indeed, in any conversation with Detective Crowe. When he launched into one of his many rants about the incompetence of others, it was usually lawyers and judges who caught the brunt of it. That he was ragging about his own partner, Tam, made Maura particularly uncomfortable.

  “There’s something sneaky about him, too. You ever noticed? He’s going behind my back about something,” said Crowe. “I caught sight of a document on his laptop yesterday and asked him about it. Just like that, he hits ESCAPE and shuts down the file. Says it’s something he’s digging into on his own. Huh.”

  Maura matched the left fibula to its paired tibia and laid them down side by side like bony railroad tracks.

  “I saw it was a VICAP file on his computer. I didn’t request any VICAP search. What the hell’s he trying to hide from me? What’s his game?”

  Maura didn’t look up from the bones. “That’s hardly illegal, requesting a VICAP search.”

  “Without telling his partner? I’m telling you, he’s sneaky. And it’s distracting him from our case.”

  “Maybe it is about your case.”

  “Then why’s he keeping it under wraps? So he can whip it out at the right moment to impress everyone? Surprise, the genius detective Tam solves the case! Yeah, he’d love to show me up.”

  “That doesn’t seem like something he’d do.”

  “You haven’t figured him out yet, Doc.”

  But I’ve figured you out, thought Maura. Crowe’s rant was a classic example of projection. If anyone was hungry for attention it was Crowe himself, known to his colleagues as Cop Hollywood. Place a TV news crew anywhere in the vicinity, and there he’d be, tanned and camera-ready in his tailored suit. As Maura laid the last bone on the table, Crowe was back on his cell phone, leaving Tam another pissed-off voice mail. How much simpler it was to deal with the silence of the dead. While Jane Doe waited so patiently on the table, Crowe was pacing the room, radiating a toxic cloud of hostility.