_Chapter 3_

Practically throwing two boxes onto her desk, Jane made quick work of retrieving the other two from next to the elevator.

"Hey," Frankie greeted her, "Need a hand with those?"

"Actually yeah, I do." Jane answered, hastily shoving them into his hands.

"Rizzoli!" The curt reprimand of Lieutenant Cavanaugh stopped her before she could make her escape.

"Shit," she hissed to herself, "Yes Lieutenant?" she asked ignorantly.

"Sergeant Korsak just informed me of the case matter." He stepped closer. "Stefano Gevalia?" he hissed as not to be overheard. "If the press gets a whiff of this, you'll have the entire East coast in a frenzy. Unless you have conclusive evidence that this is him, you better take those back downstairs.

There was a pause.

"Do you, Rizzoli?" He raised his voice.

She challenged him, unwilling to admit the answer; their eyes engaged in a battle for dominance. Cavanaugh turned on his heel.

Exasperated, Jane threw her head back, displacing the urge of chucking the closest object across the room.

The black phone on her hip vibrated. Pulling it free, she clicked open the text from Maura.

"We do now."


Bursting through the doors of the autopsy room, Jane quickly approached to the doctor, Frankie following close behind.

"What do you have?" Jane asked, coming to stand next to the table.

"I found a white substance coating the internal nares.

"Cocaine," Jane said.

Maura pursed her lips, "I haven't gotten tox back yet."

"Yes, yes of course, what else?"

"He experienced massive blood lost, I'd say about two and a third liters, at the least.

"C.O.D. blood lost then."

Maura shook a gloved finger at her.

"His lungs were saturated with blood, indicating he was still alive after the extraction of the tongue. A torture and mutilation method ancient Romans utilized, it even dates back to ancient Greek mythology-"

"Later that same day.

Maura scowled.

"I'm sorry, Maura, it's just. Please continue."

"It probably took three or four minutes of him gasping for breath before he died of asphyxiation."

Jane bit her lip in an atypical fashion. The look on Dr. Isles face turned, her eyes mirroring that of the young detective's from earlier in the day.

"I found this in his stomach," she said gravely, holding out a small evidence bag.

A crude image of a scythe embossed on an unpolished metallic coin confirmed Jane's worst fear.

The hazel pools reflected the internal terror like that of the midnight irises. Maura swallowed back the rising fear.

"Thanks, Maura," Jane said morosely. "Come on, Frankie."

Jane grabbed her phone from her belt as the two raven-haired Rizzoli's made their exit.

"It's him, isn't it?" Frankie asked.

"Yeah," Jane answered, her voice barely above a whisper.


Maura watched, crestfallen, as the two made their way down the hall, her even temperament struggling behind unexpected tears in her eyes. Even after all the traumatic hardships she and Jane had experienced, the immanent turmoil and terror of this dangerous pursuit left the doctor fearing for Jane's life more than ever before.

Sniffling, Maura ripped her gloves away fervently to wipe at the now, streaming moisture.


"Korsak," the Sergeant's voice sounded in the phone.

"It's him," Jane said.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed to himself. "We'll look for the usual."

"Ok," Jane said. "Frankie and I are going to go through the files to see if we can figure out his next victim."

"What was on the coin?"

Jane looked down at the key piece of evidence in her hand, flipping it.

"A scythe and on the opposite side a strange pattern of sorts, I'll send you a picture." Jane flipped her phone and snapped a picture of the coin. A tone sounded on Korsak's phone. He opened the picture mail. Frustrated, Korsak shook his head and clenched his jaw. Frost's phone beeped and opened to the image.

"It means the next killing is random."

"Thanks Korsak, I'll call you if we find anything else." She hung up and looked to her brother.

"You have no idea how serious this is," she said contemptuously.

"Hey, give me some credit. I know what's going on," the officer said, pressing the up arrow.

"Do you now?" Jane chastened.

"Hey, I'm on your side."

Jane pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. The elevator dinged and opened.

"We have to inform Lieutenant Cavanaugh, then search through countless files for any connections, maybe it's a symbolic reference to his next victim, maybe past."

"Jane," Frankie extended his hand out and softly grasped her upper arm, his eyes beseeching.

"I wanna help. Okay?" Jane smiled despite the misery. She nodded her head.

The doors opened, revealing Lieutenant Cavanaugh, a tense apprehension knitted on his brow.

"Glad I didn't wear myself out taking down those boxes," Jane quipped.

"Damnit Rizzoli, this is no time for jokes."

"It wasn't a joke," she snarled, walking past the flushed man. Cavanaugh shot Frankie a look. His nostrils flared before he puffed and hurried back to his office to begin the string of statutory phone calls no man ever wanted to make.


The sun dipped low in the western sky, casting a warm amber hue through the office. The warmth, however, was short lived, the atmosphere laden with unspoken consternation for every passing minute. More boxes from the basement cluttered the homicide unit's office. Stacks of files littered three desks while another dry erase board created a barricading wall. Jane sat Indian style on the floor, files encircling her in a daunting manner. Frankie sat at her desk, flipping through a teal folder, photographs and evidence in a pile next to him. His cheeks puffed as he let out a large exhale.

Jane knew with every minute, every second, they were losing precious time. She felt utterly helpless. For the past seven hours, they had managed to read only a third of the files, scan over a few random pieces of evidence, and neglect lunch, in hopes of finding some sort of lead.

It was unlike Jane to stumble upon a path only to discover a dead end, to be trapped within the office while the floodwaters came rushing in.

A navy pump came to stand within her peripheral. The smell of Chinese and the familiar floral scent of an expensive perfume- masking the subtle stench of decomposition- pervaded Jane's senses.

Looking up swiftly, the brunette's tired eyes fell upon an angelic figure, illuminated by the evening rays. The soft waves of seraphic honey-blonde tresses shimmered against the benevolent pools of liquid hazel, which resembled that of temperate butterscotch. A gentle smile graced the doctor's pink lips, the luminescent white ruffled blouse adding to her hierarchical ambience.

The tensely furrowed, ebony eyebrows of the detective softened with relief as gratitude washed over her. The constricting mat that smothered Jane's lungs vanished and for the first time that day she felt as though she could breathe; air rushing to fill her lungs, lifting her from the uncomfortable solid ground. Everything stilled as the radiant figure extended her pale hand in an offertory gesture, presenting a plastic container of sustenance.

"Thanks," Jane uttered in lieu of kissing the feet before her.

Maura smiled again before floating over to Frankie and handing him a container.

"Hunger causes hyperactivity in the hypothalamus, triggering insulin to store glucose; the body becomes lethargic, fatigued, muscles twitch and weaken, and mental functioning becomes impaired- recent studies indicate up to 43%." Deftly the doctor removed her navy pumps, exposing the oxblood coated toes, and lowered herself to the floor, touching the edge of Jane's paper circle.

"The hippocampus and temporal lobe lose the ability to encode or decode incoming information, or retrieve stored portions." Her toned legs extended as she pressed her back against the desk. She rolled her ankles, then pointed and flexed her feet. Sighing contently, she looked to the officer then to the detective, her own container resting in her lap.

"Thanks, Dr. Isles," Frankie said enthusiastically before diving into his chicken chow mein.

"You're welcome," she said, and then looked to the detective. Their eyes locked, twinkling, unable to fight the reciprocal magnetism. Two genuine smiles mirrored each other, dimpled and apple cheeked.

They ate in a comfortable, warm silence.

By 11:18 that evening, the three remained engross with the countless reports and files, desperately searching for anything. Frost and Korsak having added to the stacks of interviews, bank statements, newspaper articles, and medical records.

Frankie rubbed his face, the stubble of his five o'clock shadow slightly rough against his tired hands. He paused before throwing the file onto the desk.

"Janie, I'm sorry." He rubbed his eyes. Jane gave him a small half-turned smile.

"Don't be," her voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Go on home," she looked at Maura, "both of you."

"No, I'd like to stay," Maura insisted softly. Frankie stood and stretched while approaching footsteps in the hall grew louder.

"You better not be setting up camp, Rizzoli," Lieutenant Cavanaugh said in a hushed yet stern tone.

"Actually Lieutenant," Maura began. She stood slowly due to her stiff legs, or perhaps due to the form-fitting, chic pencil skirt that hugged her hips and outer thighs. "We were just calling it a night." Maura smiled down and outstretched her hand to pull Jane from the waters in which the brunette had found herself. Jane's slender fingers slid into the opened palm- velvet against silk- and the nimble fingers grasped her securely as Jane rose effortlessly to her feet.

Cavanaugh nodded, stepped to the elevator, and clicked the down arrow.

"Are you going to be alright?" Frankie asked.

"Yeah," Jane smiled assuredly, trying to convince both Frankie and herself.

"Goodnight, sis." He pulled her into a quick hug before trotting to the elevator, joining Cavanaugh for the trip down.

Jane sighed heavily, turning away, and stretched her neck, her eyes closing as she centered herself. Maura slowly approached.

"Jane," her voice thick with compassion.

Dr. Maura Isles knew Detective Jane Rizzoli. The detective would flash her big brown eyes in a feigned honesty. She would lie and say she was going home, that she'd get some sleep and tackle this feat tomorrow, that she was fine. She would use her persuasive, soothing husk to convince the doctor not to fret and that everything would be okay.

Maura's hand came to rest against the warmth of Jane's back.

"I have a cold six pack."

"You better have two," Jane spoke, turning to meet the closeness of the blonde.

"I might." The hazel twinkled.