My inspiration is usually very short-lived, but here I am with Chapter two. I'm having a fun time writing this, so I hope at least some of you have a nice time reading it! I've gotten far more views than I could have hoped for, so I thank you all.
Disclaimer: Not my characters and all that jazz.
Jane's mind was racing. She knew she had only seconds before the shot radar would go off at the police station and only minutes before the police would arrive.
She looked around to make sure that she had left no trace of herself. She snapped on a pair of gloves—she always carried them in her pocket—and steeled herself before digging her finger into the exit wound and extracting the bullet. The last thing she needed was to be implicated in the murder of a member of one of Maura's rival mobs.
She left the body of the Italian lying in the behind the bush where it fell, surprised at her own lack of remorse.
He tried to kill Maura. That was all the justification she needed.
She unscrewed her license plate, threw her fake one in the back window and cut across the four runways. Just as she pulled onto the main road, she heard the sound of police sirens.
She took a few smaller roads and found the parking garage she was looking for. She parked her car, screwed the old license plate in again and removed the false one.
I'm getting too good at this.
For months now, Jane had been honing her camouflage skills as a private investigator. She would tail wives, husbands, sons, daughters, coworkers, and, once, a neighbor's pesky pet rabbit.
She was riding mostly on her reputation with the clients she got: she spent most of her time drinking and not much time investigating.
Which is why it had been two years since she had deserted her desk in the bullpen. Her friends and colleagues had tried their best to get her into therapy, sober programs and stage their own interventions. All she wanted was to be left alone.
Her ma threatened to move into Jane's apartment. Frankie started tailing her after work to make sure she didn't get into any trouble. She always managed to, anyhow.
Korsak tried giving her a new puppy.
Frost tried dressing up as Maura and comically tried to emulate her, desperate for a smile or laugh from the "old" Jane, the one who had Maura.
Nobody could get near her.
When she was sober enough to take up a case, she would invariably run into people and situations that would remind her of Maura. And then she would start drinking. And then she would start wandering around the more briny side of Boston, asking around about the Irish mob.
That gets you into some trouble. Jane couldn't remember the number of times she had woken up bloodied in an alleyway. Or the number of times she'd left someone in the same state.
She couldn't remember the day of the week or what month it was or when the last time she ate a real meal was. But she could remember to the minute the last time she saw Maura Isles.
She could remember her smell, too. And the way she would smile and the tone of her voice when she was googlemouthing and the confounded look she would give Jane when she was unsure of her sarcasm.
Fuck.
The curve of her ass when she would wear her yoga pants. The "v" of her breasts when she was wearing a date outfit.
It was always Ian or Giovanni or Tommy or Fairfield or that stupid yoga instructor. And her sex-is-good-for-your-health schpeal.
I'd keep you healthy, Maura.
Damn it.
Her hands gripped tighter on the wheel and she drove for the next couple of hours at random, making stops into whatever gas stations and stores struck her fancy to ensure she wasn't being followed.
God, I need a drink.
She parked her car a few blocks away from her favorite bar and breathed a sigh of relief when the familiar smell of dust, smoke and stale alcohol hit her nostrils.
The Patriots game was playing silently on a TV in the corner of the bar, but she was far too focused on getting some relief for the pain that was clawing inside her chest to care much.
The barstool stuck a little on the grimy floor as she pulled it out to sit on it.
"The Patriots are up 14-0. Just scored," the bartender said conversationally to her.
She grunted.
Her eyes met the bartender's as soon as they adjusted to the dim, smoky light.
"Oh, it's you. I'll line 'em up for ya, Rizzoli."
Maura felt safer in D.C.
She was just another body, clogging up the museums, the benches and the streets. She wasn't the former Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, nor was she the daughter of the famous mobster Paddy Doyle. She was just Maura, and barely that.
For a few minutes, she let herself close her eyes and revel in the feeling of the cracked leather under her legs in the taxi. She was sick of riding in armored cars driven by criminals.
She is on a trip to the capitol on another routine case with Jane. The two of them are sitting in a cab, being driven to their hotel room, where they would take a quick rest before pursuing their investigation once more. Jane's knee is lightly touching Maura's, sending warmth all the way up her leg and into her core. She would squeeze Jane's hand firmly in reassurance that they would catch the murderer, but then would conveniently forget to unclasp her grip on the detective's long, capable fingers…
She felt the cab stop and reluctantly opened her eyes. Who was she kidding—she was a criminal now, too.
And she was about to become a murderess.
Once in their hotel room, Sam told Maura the plan that Madden had lain out for them. Maura was to do it quickly and cleanly, a gunshot to the head.
When Sam placed the gun in her hands, all Maura could do is remember the last time she held one, when she had it pointed at her co-workers and her friends. The moment that pivoted her life completely.
No. That wasn't the moment. The vision of Jane's hurt face thundered through her head, which she grasped in a spasm of pain.
"Maura, are you okay?" Sam asked, peering concernedly into her face.
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I, uh. I…it was Jane again," Maura admitted. It had been over two years and it still hurt as acutely as it did the first day.
Sam nodded in understanding, and placed his large hand over her hand that was loosely clutching the gun. "If there were any other way…" he said.
"I know. This is my life now."
A life of crime.
A life without Jane.
Her eyes hardened. She pulled the scalpel out from her breast pocket.
"Would you sharpen this for me? I'm going to make sure Gabriel regrets taking that shot."
She stopped the cab a few blocks away from Gabriel's flat. She looked in the cab's rearview mirror and felt comforted by the sight of Sam and her driver getting out of the cab behind her.
The building was unlocked. It was small, like D.C. buildings tend to be, and smelled like Sunday football: beer and chicken wings. Maura walked up three flights of narrow stairs, the wood groaning every so often under her heels and making her heart race, lest anyone should see her.
She knocked on door 4B, covering the peephole with a gloved hand. She could hear the sound of the Patriots game blaring from the TV inside.
"Annnnd touchdown for the Patriots! What a play! That makes it 14-0 for the Pats here in the first quarter," the TV sounded.
I wonder if Jane is watching.
The door cracked open. "Maura," Gabriel breathed. He opened the door wider, allowing her in. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," Maura said, "But I needed to come here. Can I trust you?"
She tried to mask the hatred she felt. From the look on Gabriel's face, she guessed she didn't do it very well.
"Yes. Look, Maura, I know I shouldn't have been there. I know I shouldn't have taken the shot. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I didn't know he meant anything to you. I-"
Maura held her hand up to stop him. She didn't want to hear his apologies. She needed to channel the rage.
"Sit down, please. I need to tell you all that has happened to me."
Gabriel sat down in one of his two kitchen chairs, and gestured to the other one for Maura. Maura took it, and as soon as Gabriel was settled, she deftly pulled out her gun.
"Now don't move. Don't yell. I'm going to tie you to this chair and you are going to listen to me, you understand?"
Gabriel nodded slowly, but Maura could see his eyes looking around the room for any means of escape. His eyes rested on some point just over her right shoulder, and Maura knew instantly that that was where he kept his gun.
Maura pulled the zipties out of her purse and fastened Gabriel's hands and legs to the chair. She gagged him and then stepped back to admire her work. The sight of him at her mercy sent an unanticipated thrill of pleasure throughout her body. This was the man who shot her father.
And the man who had slept with Jane.
Jealousy coursed through her like an undammed river, washing her afresh with hatred.
"I'm going to kill you. But first, let me tell you why…"
"Jane. Janie! I know I promised I wouldn't come find you, but please, this is important, let me in," Frankie said, pounding on the yellowed door of apartment 1 9. The 0 had fallen off years ago and, like everything else in the building, nobody had bothered to fix it.
Jane sat on the sagging couch on the other side of the door, ignoring the pounding while she felt around in the semidarkness for the bottle opener she always kept close at hand.
"Jane, it's about Maura!" Frankie yelled, banging an open palm against the door. "We think we know where she is."
Maura. Jane shoved aside the empty food containers on the table in front of her and carefully placed her beer on the cleared space.
"Fucker knows how to get me," she muttered under her breath as she stalked to the door and violently opened it.
The air pulled at Frankie's face, ruffling his brown hair and contorting his mouth into an "o" shape. He was shocked.
He had actually gotten his sister to open the door.
"Tell me everything you know."
He tried not to stare at her disheveled appearance as he stepped into her dilapidated room.
"We've heard reports that Maura is back in town," he started.
Jane scowled, frustrated. Nothing she didn't already know.
"We also know that she just took a private plane to D.C. We can't figure out why."
At this, Jane started. That's where she was going! Why would she-
Suddenly it hit her.
"Gabriel. She's going to find Gabriel."
"Of course! Why didn't we think of that? Thanks, Janie! We'll get her, I promise."
He pulled his radio off his belt and depressed the button. "This is Officer Frank Rizzoli. There is reason to believe that Maura Doyle might be headed to Agent Gabriel Dean's place of residence in Washington D.C. Alert the FBI. I'll be at the station in 15."
Her brother had just referred to her best friend as Maura Doyle.
"I'm coming with you," Jane said definitively.