Chapter One
The night air was cold, and silent- just the way James Bell liked it. He stepped out of his black 1966 Ford Mustang, glancing over it with pride before turning his sights towards the old warehouse looming above him. Scratching his beard, his eyes searched the windows for any sign of movement before he stepped over to the door. Pulling a key from his pocket, he inserted it into the lock before pulling away the chain.
The crunch of gravel filled his ears and he glanced back at the tall, muscular form heaving himself from the passengers seat. McAlister was a mean looking man, his face a patchwork of scars and he had a distinctly Celtic look about him. As Bell pulled open the door and entered, McAlister took a moment to scan the area for witnesses before moving into the dark void.
The building was empty, no work to be done tonight and it afforded the two the privacy they needed. They made their way around the empty vans, and tall columns of boxes towards the back of the warehouse. Two halogen lightbulbs lit the office, casting an eerie light through the sleeping warehouse. As they approached, Bell glanced over at McAlister.
"You sure about this, Mac?" he asked, scratching at his beard anxiously.
"I think the girls got grit," he replied, his gravelly voice low and indefinite. Sensing that the conversation was over, Bell turned away from the older man and set his eyes on the open door of the office. As they drew near, they could see the slumped form of a woman at the desk. Her head was bowed, and her hand unmoving on the surface. Bell noticed that her left hand was bandaged.
Entering the room, he pulled out his Glock 23 and placed it gently on the table before sliding into the chair opposite her. McAlister who always preferred to stand look out, stood in the doorway his eyes cast back the way they came.
"Well, well, well, well, well… Mac, I thought you told me this ones got fight!" Bell chuckled eying the sad sight before them. McAlister grunted, his eyes not leaving the dark interior of the warehouse. The bearded man took a moment to study the woman, who had not moved once since they had arrived.
She was thin, but far from weak. He long dark curls cascade down over her face as she sat with her head bowed. Her posture told him that she was defeated… broken, and he knew they had an opportunity here. He just needed her to agree.
"She always this talkative? Mac, who is this broad again?" he barked over his shoulder mockingly.
"Jane Rizolli, decorated Homicide Detective and self-proclaimed 'badass cop'," the older man muttered dryly, his eyes on the slumped form before them.
"Don't."
"What was that Detective, I couldn't quite hear you over your pathetic display of self-pity," the bearded man spat harshly. The woman visibly flinched and the man sneered at her, pleased to have finally gotten a rise out of her. Dark eyes rose steadily from the table, before settling coldly on the man before her.
"I don't pity myself," she spat back, venom in her eyes. Her fists clenched, and the muscles in her jaw tightened.
"And it's ex-Detective."
Bell smiled, meeting her eyes.
"Yes, it is."
Barry Frost had never heard a more wretched sound than the cry that ripped from Angela Rizzolis throat. He moved quickly down the hall, and he knew this was going to be bad. The past two hours has been a living hell and he wasn't sure how much more he could take. But he was here for Jane, he reminded himself strengthening his resolve.
As he neared the ICU, his heart broke upon seeing Angela and Tommy huddled together standing in one of the doorways.
"Ma, stop. Jane… Jane is hurt-" Tommy muttered weakly, his eyes not quite meeting his mothers.
"My baby is in a coma possibly brain dead and you want me to comfort his sister who put him there? I can't even look at her!" Angela cried, her red tear tracked face twisted into agonising rage. Frost took a step forward, his eyes steeling to her harsh words. He glanced at Tommys bowed head, trying to gage his reaction before steeling his gaze at the Rizzoli matriarch.
"This wasn't Janes fault, ma'am," he stated calmly, his voice betraying none of the indignation he felt on behalf of his partner. He watched as her shaking hands flew into the air violently.
"Horseshit! He shouldn't have been there! He should never been a cop! He should have been safe- been a plumber like his Pa! He would have been… how could she! She was his big sister! She was meant to PROTECT HIM!"
Frost watched as the distraught woman slammed her palms into the door frame, her eyes wide and fierce and her face contorted with grief. As she stood in the doorway, her chest heaving with emotion she turned a shaking finger to the officer and shook her head slowly. There was a wild look in the grief stricken mother that Frost had never experienced before.
"You tell her…" she hissed, her voice horse and dangerous.
"You tell her, she did this-"
"Ma!" Tommy cried out as he finally stepped forward, his eyes wide.
"YOU TELL HER! Frankies blood is on her hands. And I will never forgive her if he dies," Angela hissed, her eyes burning into the detectives. He searched her face, before opening his mouth to defend his partner when a movement over Angelas shoulder caught his eye. His whole body seemed to sink as he registered his partners' profile.
Jane seemed to have frozen to the spot, just behind her mother and brother. The cut on her neck was still bare, bleeding and her arm was a patchwork of colour, held at an odd angle and most likely broken but Frost wasn't focused on any of that. Her face, covered in hers and Frankies blood was blank but it was her eyes. Frost did not have the words to describe the anguish the consumed his partners eyes and it terrified him. He brushed passed Angela, taking three steps towards Jane before she threw out a hand to halt him.
"Jane, wait-" he pleaded, wanting desperately to reverse the damage caused by the careless words of a grieving mother. Jane didn't wait for her mother to turn around, her eyes snapped shut and her head dropped.
"I'm sorry," she said simply, her voice husky and raw with emotion.
Without another word, Jane turned and walked away. Frost glanced over his shoulder to see Tommys pale face, and Angelas sobbing, shaking form. His eyes met Tommys and they were pleading- find her. With a nod of his head, Frost took off down the hall of the hospital.
Maura held the knife firmly in her hand, inserting it just below the clavicle before running it down the chest, over the stomach and down passed the belly button. Holding the edge of the soft tissue, she gently coaxed the flesh back over the ribs using the scalpel to scrap it back as she went. She paused and noted that one of the ribs had signs of a previous fracture that had been incorrectly set. A closer examination revealed that the corresponding ribs on the opposing side also had similar fractures. With a slight frown, Maura wrote this down in her notes and took a moment to study the mans face.
Suddenly, the silence of the lab was broken by the sound of Mauras ringtone and she sighed, glad for the interruption. Stripping off her gloves and her face mask, she pulled out her phone, tapped the screen and gently held it to her ear.
"Doctor Isles," she answered quickly, her eyes on the clock on the wall. It was nearly twelve, and knowing the Rizzolis affinity with food it was probably Frankie asking her to lunch. However, the wheezing voice that greeted her was not in fact his, but the unusually dejected Barry Frost.
"I… Maura…" Alarm bells went off in Mauras head and her eyes snapped to the door of the morgue, fully alert.
"Detective Frost?" she asked uncertainly, her mind racing with the possibilities of what could have caused the tone in the officers usually jovial demeanour.
"Have… is Jane there?" he asked hesitantly.
"Why would Jane be here? Barry, has something happened?" she mumbled, feeling dread creep up her spine. She heard the detective let out a quiet sign, before a car door slammed shut.
"Maura, it shouldn't be me… just… I need to find her-" he started to say, but she cut him off as panic started to take over.
"Don't you dare cut me out! Tell me what has happened to Jane!" Maura demanded, her free hand gripping the edge of the autopsy table.
"It's Frankie… he was shot. He was shot by a fellow officer."
A/N: Whatcha think? It's kinda dark but it's got direction... eeyeah... First timer here, I'll try and keep writing if it's any good. Okay, peace babes!