Part 1 – 2,584 miles
"Ma'am."
Dr. Maura Isles is startled from the edges of slumber. Loud noises and sudden movements still jar her mercilessly.
"Sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but we need to prepare for landing."
Maura nods to the flight attendant and stirs herself to a fully conscious state. After returning her seat to the upright and locked position, she lifts the half-closed shade and spots the dark blue Pacific in the distance. Another routine conference and possibly more awaited her.
Ordinarily, she looked forward to these exchanges of knowledge despite the redundant PowerPoint presentations and stale, cheap coffee. Tuesday would be her day as the guest panel speaker for the effects of saltwater on human decomposition.
"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain. We are starting our descent into San Diego International Airport. Wheels will be on the ground in approximately ten minutes. Thank you for flying with us, enjoy the beautiful Southern California sunshine and 81 degrees."
Only a few hours ago, Maura left a cold and dreary Boston. The weather matched the mood of the city as the lives of three decorated officers were remembered in an overflowing memorial at The Garden. It was originally planned for a smaller venue but the outpouring of anguish over 'the situation' commanded bigger and better.
And it helped that it was held on a Saturday.
The site of such legendary athletic joy had been carefully converted into a sorrow-filled cauldron for family, friends, and colleagues of the Commonwealth's finest. Cops from every local county, several surrounding states, and a few Canadian provinces, came to pay their respects. High-ranking politicos, celebrity jocks, and ordinary citizens did so as well.
Nearly two weeks had passed since that dreadful day. Dr. Isles was an integral part of the Boston police siege nightmare still making national news. Yet it seemed like minutes ago but also a lifetime ago.
Bodies and blood pooled everywhere. A scene typical for her profession was suddenly anything but. Corrupt cops rampaged through HQ with automatic weapons fire ripping through flesh and soul.
Although physically uninjured, Beantown's chief medical examiner was not fully recovered. Not yet; maybe not ever. The New England regional director of forensic pathology insisted on Maura taking some time off. Actually, more like ordered her to attend this multi-day seminar with another week of vacation tacked on for peace and quiet.
There was absolutely nothing peaceful about Dr. Isles' life for the past few months. Not only did the police shooting do damage but also losing a half-brother she never knew existed until he ended up on her slab. Then, there was the violent discovery of her biological father's connections to the Irish mob.
But the disquiet in her head was due solely to one source: Detective Jane Rizzoli.
Jane started out as her valued coworker. She quickly became Maura's trusted best friend and a dominant force of nature throughout her life. It was only recently that they became covert lovers.
This specific element of their relationship would best be categorized as an eleven-day sex addiction culminating in a torrent of tortured truths and raw emotions just days before the BPD bloodbath bombarded their world.
"Pardon me, Miss?"
Maura beckons to the flight attendant passing by.
"Bourbon, please."
"Ma'am, we're ready to land."
"I only need the bottle."
"Safety regulations prevent me from…"
"When the plane lands and I begin to exit, please hand it to me."
"There are several lounges in..."
"I do not WISH to stop at a lounge!"
The doctor holds up a c-note, smiles, and ceases the conversation. The attendant begrudgingly agrees as Maura grumbles to herself for not taking her father's private jet. She counts the seconds until the plane laggardly pulls into the gate.
Once granted her libation request, she swiftly tucks the miniature brown bottle inside her black Bvlgari bag next to her TSA-approved lip gloss and a folded piece of dark cloth.
She deliberately does not turn on her phone.
Maura races through the terminal to an outside private parking structure. A balding man in a pinstripe suit tilts his head as she approaches.
"Dr. Isles?"
"Thank you for handling my request."
"I always enjoy accommodating a beautiful lady."
He pops open the driver's door of a charcoal and gold Maserati GranCabrio Fendi. She eagerly climbs inside and signs the paperwork.
"I will return it upon my departure."
"No baggage, ma'am?"
"The physical kind has already been sent ahead to the resort."
Maura buckles up and basks in the engine roaring to life. The man leans over the convertible's side and hands her a pair of sunglasses that match the car.
"Is it a California law that car, clothes, and accessories must all be coordinated?"
"Not yet, ma'am... would you like me to put the top up for you?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Might I make a few suggestions on how to handle this particular model? – it can be temperamental at times."
"Handling temperamental models has become my expertise of late."
"Are you sure I can't interest you in another vehicle?"
"Germans are overrated, Brits break down, Japanese are boring, and the Americans have a lot to learn… no, thank you – I prefer a powerful Italian ride."
Before he can reply, Maura throws it in reverse and squeals out of the lot.
Traveling north on the I-5, the doctor gradually pushes past the speed limit. A master of detachment, she swallows her emotions as easily as a glass of Pinot. It allows her to work in a profession most find ghoulish and disturbing.
As she zooms past several nondescript cars and minivans, she spies a patrol officer on a motorcycle tracking an unlucky delivery truck. She immediately drops her speed and avoids detection.
The cop's image instantly flashes Dr. Isles back to the earlier memorial service. Unable to downshift her thoughts to surf and sand, she surrenders to doleful memories. The solemn sights and sounds for the fallen well up from deep inside of her.
Brahms' Horn Trio was played during the procession. The last time she heard it live was in Vienna when she helped her parents celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary. It amazed her how the happiness in her life associated with that particular piece of music was now and forever replaced with utter despair.
For the first time, Maura completely understood the constant fear Frank and Angela Rizzoli felt when their daughter and son went off to work each day. The thought of Jane being one of the oversized portraits ringed with white roses and lush lilies abruptly makes the doctor wretch. She nearly misses her exit.
Finally passing through the five-star resort's elaborate Mediterranean-inspired gates, Maura is able to breathe a little easier. She heads up the cobblestone car path and eventually checks in at the front desk.
Foregoing the usual chitchat with lobby staff and guests, she now finds herself being transported around the grounds by a very exuberant, very blond, very young man in a private golf cart.
"Hey, pretty missy – my name is Billy!"
"Hello, Billy… and thank you for being the first to call me 'miss' today but my name is Dr. Isles."
"Is this your first time here, Dr. Isles?"
"No, but I haven't been back since the remodel."
"The new owners spared no expense."
"It shows."
"So, where are you originally from?"
"Boston."
"Ooh, I heard about that police shooting – that was beyond nasty."
"Indeed, it was."
There is a long pause as Billy regards the black coat under her arm.
"You won't need your heavy wool out here."
"This is becoming very apparent."
"How long will you be staying with us?"
"That remains to be determined."
"Awesome."
As an orange sun begins to set over the reflective ocean, they pull up to a large, reclusive villa on the edge of the golf course. The chauffer-turned-bellboy bustles about with the bags while painstakingly pointing out each feature of the doctor's temporary mini palazzo.
"Can I ask you for a small favor, Doc?"
"Doc-tor Isles and I will not perform an examination on you, nor will I provide you with narcotics."
"No, no! I just want you to go online and fill out a quick survey that says I was cool and all."
"I shall."
Billy's eyes do the standard boob dip before they bounce back up to meet Maura's. He grins. She does not.
"If there's anything you need at any time, I'm your guy!"
"Actually, I need some solitude – thank you for your assistance."
The doctor slips a neatly folded rectangle of cash into his hand and shuts the door.
Now alone in the too large, too quiet villa, Maura closes her eyes and collapses on the plush king bed. Jane's face is unavoidable, even in her own mind. She sighs, opens her eyes, and reaches inside her purse for the bourbon.
It is the usual taste of their sex together.
With a quick twist of an unadorned wrist, she pops the top and traces a drop on her upper lip with her finger tip. It stings ever so slightly. The sting of Jane not being in the bed with her burns even deeper.
The dark cloth next to the lip gloss is now pulled free and is rhythmically coiled and uncoiled around both hands. She reflects back to another time zone, earlier in the day.
"I need to leave before she sees me," Maura mutters to the air as she warily exits through one of the side doors. The memorial has not fully concluded but the main part of the service is over. The doctor justifies the departure with making her flight on time.
The heels of her black leather Giambattista Valli boots clack down the large corridor leading to the outside. The blacker Burberry coat conceals her blackest Dior dress and a solo strand of her mother's Tahitian pearls. This was not an occasion for color of any kind.
Arena staff, security, and miscellaneous crew are scattered about. The doctor almost makes a clean getaway but the voice of Eros' cigarette freezes her feet in their tracks.
"Maura!"
Decked out in dashing dress blues, Detective Rizzoli scrambles to catch up to the doctor. The pain from the still-mending gunshot wound hinders her usual athletic stride but her quarry is never let out of sight.
Dr. Isles sprints ahead and ducks behind a corner. With nowhere to run, she attempts to blend in with some maintenance workers while pretending to look through her purse. Jane slowly walks up to her.
"Trying to hide with janitors, dressed like that, after being spotted by THE DETECTIVE who repeatedly fucks you senseless… REALLY?"
"Please stop using that expression, it's hackneyed."
"I know, right?"
Maura groans and takes off again. Jane follows and calls after her.
"Maybe you could sneak in the Celtics' locker room and pass yourself off as a seven-foot black man."
Now headed across the parking lot, Isles is widening the distance between them.
"Maura... WAIT – please don't make me run after you!"
The request slams into the doctor's raised, reinforced drawbridge. She hesitates for a bit and now feels the presence of Jane directly in back of her. Unwilling to turn around, the smaller woman stares at their two shadows cast by a newly emerged sun.
"Are you ever gonna look me in the eye?"
Unable to resist, the doctor inhales deeply, steels herself, and slowly faces the taller woman. Jane's labored breathing and worried expression instantly transform into a soft smile.
"Hi."
Maura reflects the smile back but is unable to find the words. The detective searches her face for answers and takes a step closer.
"How are you?"
"Fine… and you?"
"Fine and dandy."
There is an uncomfortable silence. The smaller woman can't help but notice the gaunt body before her.
"You've lost at least three kilos."
"GSW to the abdomen… better than any cleanse or vegan crap."
"Once you're off the soft diet, you should regain your weight."
"Ma will make sure of it."
Jane's eyes are planted firmly on Maura's breasts.
"Jesus, did your boobs get even bigger or is it double-D vision?"
Much to Jane's chagrin, Maura uncomfortably closes her coat.
"I have recently overindulged in toffee, scones, and clotted cream."
"Thank you!"
The detective's smoldering stare blazes through the doctor's coat and skin. Maura clears her throat and snaps back to icy professionalism.
"Are you monitoring your stool for hematochezia?"
"Did we just jump from boob talk to poop talk?"
"Your suffered a significant hollow viscus injury."
Rizzoli rolls her eyes and scoffs at Isles' formality defense mechanism.
"I don't care about your medical mumbo jumbo..."
Jane swaggers even closer. She reaches for Maura's hand and gently takes it in hers.
"Frost told me you saved my life."
"We were all very fortunate."
"Then WHY didn't you show up at my hospital room and WHY did you skip town?"
"I made sure that all of the doctors handling your care were the best in their respective fields."
"YOU'RE MY DOCTOR, MAURA, YOU ARE… you're more than that."
"My mother insisted on taking me to our London house, I needed the rest…"
The detective gesticulates wildly and mocks ferociously.
"OOOHHH, THE LONDON HOUSE – PARDON ME, PRINCESS, FOR INTERRUPTING YOUR TEATIME – I HOPE MY GUTS DIDN'T GET IN THE WAY."
Rizzoli grabs her side and winces.
"Ow, ow, ow."
Isles rushes over and checks the detective's dressing.
"Your oblique is in spasm, take a deep breath and release it slowly."
The taller woman reluctantly follows the doctor's orders and allows her to check both entry and exit wounds. The light touch of the smaller woman eases the emotional tension while increasing the physical.
"You need to be home in bed."
"I wholeheartedly agree… come with me."
The doctor's drawbridge is beginning to crack and crumble. The detective growls in her ear.
"I miss hearing you say my name."
The combo of hurt and husk in Rizzoli's voice rattles Isles to the core. With drawbridge demolished, Maura's tears flood the moat and Jane's wingspan holds tight as the sobs shake them both.
They remain wrapped in each other as a passerby assumes the two are overwhelmed with grief befitting the ceremony. The last time the doctor held the detective in her arms, she was also a crying heap but with the warm gush of blood covering her hands.
An avowed atheist until those very seconds on the front steps, Maura ran through the medical protocols while seeking out every god and goddess she could remember. She begged and bargained with any pantheon and prayed for help.
One of them chose to listen.
Now with the days of torment fading behind them, Jane gently strokes Maura's back and caresses her hair.
"You have no idea how much I wanna kiss you right now."
The doctor pulls back, wipes her nose, and looks the detective directly in the eye.
"Then, why don't you?"
The taller woman reacts as if she were scalded by a bucket of hot ash.
"I apologize – I know you can't, that wasn't fair of me to say…"
Before the smaller woman can continue with her sentence, she is led down a convoluted path of parked cars and permanent light poles. A cement structure next to an oversized SUV conveniently provides an alcove of privacy. The detective does a quick survey of the isolated area and then presses the doctor up against the block wall.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Something other than talking."
The colloquy ends and the kissing commences. It is the first time since the day before the shooting and the first time without the tinge of EtOH.
"Jane."
"There's my name… say it again."
"Oh, Jane."
Tongues reunited spark muscle memory for both and they soon find themselves in a position not appropriate for public. Jane gingerly compensates for her sore flank with Maura taking notice.
"Stop, you're physically not up for this."
"Don't tell me what I'm not up for."
"You just got out of the hospital."
"Glad you noticed."
The detective's left hand pushes past the doctor's coat as the kissing continues.
"Please, I don't want to aggravate your condition."
"You've already aggravated my condition by not being here and then suddenly being here with bigger jugs…"
Jane buries her face between the beckoning bosoms while hiking up the hem of Maura's dress.
"Jane, please."
"Please what, Maura? – please stop or please don't stop?"
The smaller woman is unable to offer an audible answer as the taller woman yanks down the barely there black lace. Flesh on flesh contact is made.
"Thought so."
Incapable of lying or protesting, Isles' right thigh seductively slides up and rests cautiously around Rizzoli's hip.
"We shouldn't disrespect the dead."
"I doubt the dead mind – besides, I'm very much alive thanks to you… now, let me return the favor."
The taller woman proceeds without caution and, for the next several minutes, works her way back into the smaller woman's comfort zone. Maura unabashedly revels in Jane's touch. She knows three proximal centimeters with the bullet would have drastically altered this outcome.
"Maura, I need this… I need us."
The doctor can only respond with ragged breaths and hushed whimpers.
As the crowd begins to spill from the exits, their pace quickens due to the danger of being discovered. The smaller woman arches her back and hurries her climax; however, she is reluctant to release the left hand back to its rightful owner. The taller woman understands this and slows her withdrawal.
"Shh, it's okay, babe – it's all better now, I promise."
Maura stifles her moan on Jane's shoulder and steadies her gasps. The two kiss away the beads of perspiration from each other's brow ridge and finally part.
"I… I hope no one saw us, Jane – kissing is one thing but that was…"
"A skeleton in a cop costume hand jobbing an orca balloon?"
Maura's wide eyes and stunned silence speak volumes. Jane sheepishly rubs her forehead.
"That… was meant to stay… in my head… but it managed to escape… my mouth… and land… in your ears… sorry."
Maura continues to say nothing.
"I'm guessing that look on your face isn't another orgasm…"
"No… no, it is not."
"PAINKILLERS – it's the painkillers, they make me say stupid things."
Isles is not buying it. Rizzoli dramatically grabs her injured side.
"Hero cop… bullet wound… ow?"
The doctor concedes a subdued smirk as she adjusts her dress.
"Hey… please don't ever try to hide your beautiful smile from me."
Jane delicately kisses Maura's dimples.
"You know I'll find it."
Maura now kisses all three of Jane's dimples.
"I hope so."
The detective strips her lover's now shin-level lace panties the rest of the way off. She surreptitiously shoves them into the side pocket of her uniform.
"Keeping the DNA evidence, detective?"
"I need to give it a more thorough inspection, doctor."
Maura nuzzles Jane's neck and notices the white collar of Rizzoli's undershirt now bears the stain of Isles' smeared lipstick.
"Mmm, I'm afraid I left another clue behind."
She seductively buttons up the taller woman's formal shirt and tightens the matching tie around the betraying collar. Errant strands of black hair are adoringly smoothed back into place. The smaller woman's attentions are agonizingly arousing to Jane.
"Let's go back to my apartment and finish this properly."
"I can't – I'm going to be late for my flight."
"Wait… WHAT?"
"I'm going to San Diego for awhile."
"IS THIS BECAUSE OF THE ORCA JOKE?"
"There is a medical conference, the director insisted I attend."
Jane holds the back of her head as if shot and steps away in disgust. Maura looks to the ground and braces herself.
"Also…"
The detective whips around.
"ALSO?"
"There is a potential locum tenens position."
"I don't know what locust whatever-the-fuck means!"
"It's Latin for place holder or a temporary job – state budget cuts have radically reduced staffing…"
"Are you sure it's not Latin for 'run and hide,' Maura?"
"Jane, don't."
The detective is no longer able to fight off the tears.
"I don't BELIEVE what I'm hearing."
The doctor is weeping as well.
"Please calm down."
"You just got back from London and now you're leaving… again!"
"It will only be for sixty days."
"TWO MONTHS – TWO FUCKING MONTHS?"
"It will go by quickly."
"YOU HAVE A JOB… HERE – YOU HAVE A LIFE… HERE."
"We both need time to recover."
Rizzoli storms back over to Isles and intentionally cups the side of her face with her left hand. She pointedly trails her thumb over parted lips.
"We were recovering just fine against that wall."
Maura pushes herself away and is now sobbing full throttle.
"We need time to heal… separately."
"I don't understand!"
"This was an adverse event I never anticipated, and now I have made an informed decision to take the most appropriate course of action."
"BULLSHIT, YOU'RE TALKING BULLSHIT."
"YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON."
"NO, I DON'T, EXPLAIN IT TO ME."
"YOU FRIGHTEN ME, JANE – I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE – WHEN YOU SHOT YOURSELF, THE BULLET WENT STRAIGHT THROUGH YOU AND LANDED RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY HEART…"
The doctor emphatically pounds the middle of her own chest.
"AND I DON'T KNOW HOW TO REMOVE IT!"
Maura's face is five shades of crimson as she chokes for breath. Jane runs over and gathers her into a soothing embrace. The detective's voice is a fraction above a crackle.
"I… I didn't know – please let me help you."
They linger for a moment as the main motorcade starts its engines. Jane's brother shouts across the lot.
"Pop is bringing the car around, Janie, let's move – hey, is that Maura?"
"Give us a minute, Frankie!"
The smaller woman breaks the hold and peers into the taller woman's eyes with purpose.
"I really need to leave… and so do you."
Realizing that screaming and groveling and another round of fucking are no longer options, Rizzoli reluctantly lets Isles go.
"Call me when you get there, Maura… please!"
The doctor walks about ten feet away, halts, spins around and runs back over to the detective. She quickly undoes the dark tie, snatches it off the collar, and stuffs it into her purse.
"I'm in love with you, Jane."
The stunning admission catches them both off guard as Maura bolts to her car without looking back.
The sun is now completely set on the west coast. Alone in her dimly lit room, the doctor wipes the tears from her eyes and the memories from her mind while still clutching the detective's tie. She finally turns on her phone.
17 messages from Jane Rizzoli.
She casually deletes all voicemails and texts without retrieving them and then picks a number from her contact list. She calls it and speaks in conversational Marathi.
"Yes, I'm in town for the conference… won't you join me for a drink?"