Free The Sinner: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel by Tess Gerritsen Page B

the scent of him stirred warm recollections, of nights they had slept beneath crisp sheets, legs twined around each other. Of long, slow kisses, and the taste of fresh lemons and vodka. Two years of marriage leave indelible memories, both good and bad, and at that moment, with his hand on her arm, it was the good memories that dominated.
    “I’ll wait for your call,” he said. Already presuming he had won.
    Does he think it’s so easy? she wondered as she drove out of the parking lot and headed toward Jamaica Plain. One smile, one touch, and all is forgiven?
    Her tires suddenly skittered across the ice-crusted road, and she gripped the wheel, her attention instantly focused on regaining control of the car. She had been so agitated, she hadn’t realized how fast she was going. The Lexus fishtailed, tires spinning, searching for purchase. Only when she had steered it back into a straight line did she allow herself to breathe again. To be angry again.
    First you break my heart. Then you almost get me killed.
    An irrational thought, but there it was. Victor inspired irrational thoughts.
    By the time she pulled up across the street from Graystones Abbey, she felt wrung out by the drive. She sat for a moment in the car, wrestling her emotions under control.
Control
was the word she lived by. Once she stepped out of the car, she was a public person, visible to law enforcement and to the press. They expected her to appear calm and logical, and so she would. Much of the job was simply looking the part.
    She stepped out, and this time she crossed the road with confidence, her boots gripping the road. Police cars lined the street, and two TV news crews sat in their vans, waiting for some breaking development. Already, the wintry light was fading into evening.
    She rang the gate bell, and a nun appeared, black habit emerging from the shadows. The nun recognized Maura and admitted her without a word of conversation passing between them.
    Inside the courtyard, dozens of footprints had churned the snow. It was a different place than on the morning Maura first walked in. Today, all semblance of tranquility was disrupted by the search now under way. Lights shone in all the windows, and she could hear men’s voices echoing from archways. Stepping into the entrance hall, she smelled the scent of tomato sauce and cheese, unpleasant odors that conjured up memories of the bland and leathery lasagna that had been served so often in the cafeteria of the hospital where she’d trained as a medical student.
    She glanced into the dining room and saw the sisters seated at the rectory table, silently eating their evening meal. She saw tremulous hands lift unsteady forks to toothless mouths, and saw milk dribble down wrinkled chins. For most of their lives, these women had lived behind walls, growing old in seclusion. Did any of them harbor regrets about what they had missed, what lives they might otherwise have lived, had they simply walked out the gate and never returned?
    Continuing down the hall, she heard men’s voices, foreign and startling in that house of women. Two cops waved at her in recognition.
    “Hey, Doc.”
    “Have you found anything?” she asked.
    “Not yet. We’re calling it quits for the night.”
    “Where’s Rizzoli?”
    “Upstairs. The dormitory.”
    Climbing the stairway, Maura saw two more members of the search party on their way down—police cadets, who looked scarcely old enough to be out of high school. A young man, his face still spotty with acne, and a woman, wearing that aloof mask that so many female cops seemed to adopt as a matter of self-preservation. They both dropped their gazes in respect when they recognized Maura. It made her feel old, watching these youngsters deferentially step aside to let her pass. Was she so intimidating that they didn’t see the woman beneath, with her bundle of insecurities? She had perfected the act of invincibility, and she played the part even now. She dipped her head in