Chapter 4

Maura had so been looking forward to Saturday night. They had been talking about it for weeks—their afternoon of French and Italian cooking. The centerpieces included Jane's mother's famous lasagna for the main dish and Maura's French macarons for dessert, but there were other salads, side dishes, and breads on the menu as well.

Strangely enough, thought Maura as she had surveyed the results of her Thursday-evening shopping trip, neither woman had ever suggested that they invite anyone else to share their planned feast. It was supposed to be just the two of them, cooking together in the afternoon and then dining al fresco on Maura's patio in the cool September air.

But now Maura wondered if Jane was even planning on showing up. After the week they'd had, she wondered if she and Jane would ever be friends again.

It was Jane's first murder case involving a child. She'd seen some awful things in vice, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of a six-year-old boy laid out on Maura's table, his bruised and broken body barely taking up any space on the slab. The medical examiner had waved Jane and Korsak in, and then turned away to make some notes. When she returned her attention to the detectives, the first thing she saw was Jane's stricken face—her normally tan complexion had gone pale, and tears were rapidly filling her eyes.

Maura's face betrayed her concern, and Korsak turned to look at his partner, who was now trying to hide silent tears. With a hand on her shoulder, Korsak said gently, "It's okay, Rizzoli. These cases are always hard. I'll get the report from Dr. Isles—just meet me back upstairs in twenty minutes."

Jane struggled to contain a sob, and then rushed out of the room.

For the next three days, Jane had worked night and day on the case, and Maura had only communicated with her by text and a few brief hallway conversations. Jane seemed to be handling the pressure well though, and she assured Maura that her outburst in the morgue had just been a momentary loss of control.

However, when Jane had come rushing into the morgue on a Thursday morning she seemed anything but in control.

"Maura!" Jane cried, barging through the autopsy suite, knocking instrument trays right and left. When she reached the desk in the back office where the medical examiner was working she thrust a photo in front of Maura's stunned face.

"Look, right there—is that a ring mark? Did a ring make that bruise?" Jane asked excitedly, her voice raw and hoarse.

Maura took the photo out of the detective's hand and peered at it. "A ring? What kind of ring?"

"I don't know what kind of ring, Maura—the round kind! You know, made of metal?" Jane sounded a bit panicked, and she rubbed her forehead. "I think that looks like a ring mark, and one of our suspects wears a big fat ring on his middle left finger. Could that match?"

"I'd have to see the ring, Jane," said Maura after studying the photo again.

"C'mon, Maura! I can't get the ring until you say it looks like a ring mark! Can't you just say it's possible? Even if you're not absolutely sure?"

Maura felt her anxiety level rise. Jane wanted her to lie. Something she would never even consider doing if she and Jane weren't friends.

"I don't know . . ." Maura shook her head, still staring intently at the photo.

"Please," Jane gripped Maura's shoulder, forcing the doctor to look into her pleading eyes, "just this once, can't you make a guess? Can't you do this for me?"

Maura looked away, biting her lip. The image on the photo swam in front of her eyes.

Suddenly, she heard Korsak calling out from the autopsy room. "Rizzoli!"

"In here!" yelled Jane over her shoulder, straightening up and stepping away from Maura.

Korsak came into the office and pointed at the picture. "Well, Dr. Isles, do you see what Rizzoli sees? Could that bruise have been made by a ring?"

Maura sighed. "I really can't tell from the picture. I'll have to look at the body again."

"Okay, let's do that," said Jane quickly, and she turned on her heel to leave the room. Maura and Korsak followed their obviously impatient colleague.

Jane paced while Maura consulted her notes and pulled out the small boy's body from its slot in the wall cooler. "I know the uncle is our guy, Korsak. I can feel it in my gut," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"But if we arrest him without evidence then your gut won't do us any good, Jane," countered Korsak.

"He's right, Jane, you really shouldn't listen to your intestines," interjected Maura as she peered at the body.

Korsak snorted, and Jane reddened. "Oh really, Maura?" she retorted, "Well maybe you should—"

"Rizzoli!" barked Korsak, as Maura looked up and gave Jane a confused look. The detective stopped herself from saying more, gritting her teeth.

Taking a deep breath, Jane spat out one word: "Well?"

Maura looked at Korsak, and then back at the body. Jane turned yet again, and took two paces away from the body and back again. She looked at the medical examiner and mouthed, "please?"

Maura felt her heart sink as she gave the disappointing news. "I see no evidence whatsoever that this bruise was caused by a ring. There are no clean lines, no distinct impressions. I'm sorry, detectives."

Jane's features hardened. Abruptly, she turned and walked out of the room. Korsak thanked the M.E. and followed his partner out.

Since that morning, Maura had received just one text message from Jane: you were right, it wasn't a ring. She heard second-hand from another detective in the squad that the boy's brother had been charged with the murder, but still she heard nothing from Jane.

Maura decided to go ahead and start on the macarons. There was no point in wasting the ingredients. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd made them by herself.

She was almost finished sifting the almond flour and the powdered sugar when there was a knock on the back door.

"Come in!" she shouted, seeing Jane's face peeking through the glass panes beside the door. The detective walked in, closed the door behind her and then leaned back against it.

"Hi, Maura." Jane gave a weak, tired smile.

"Hi, Jane." Maura stood awkwardly behind the counter. Eyes to the floor, she added, "I wasn't sure if you were coming."

"I know, I wasn't sure I was coming either." The detective sighed, her eyes downcast as well.

After a moment, Maura set down the sifter and looked up. "I'm glad you're here, though. Really glad."

That was all it took. In two long strides Jane entered the kitchen and took Maura into her arms.

"I'm so sorry, Maura. I'm so sorry."

Maura tensed at first, but then let herself be gathered into Jane's embrace, breathing in her scent, angling her head just right so their cheeks brushed against each other. Relief washed over her, and she tightened her grip on the detective. She never wanted to let go.

That was the moment she knew.

She had been barreling toward this realization for weeks, knowing that her feelings for Jane were growing stronger and stronger but pushing away what that really meant. Now, in Jane's arms, she gave in.

Heart beating wildly, she pulled back slightly, keeping her hands around Jane's waist but looking into her eyes. She searched Jane's face, and for a brief moment she believed Jane was going to kiss her.

Instead, Jane smiled, but looked away, loosening her grip on the doctor's shoulders. Maura mirrored her smile with a tiny laugh, and then stepped back awkwardly. Jane thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans and rocked on her heels.

"So, do you forgive me?" she asked in a low voice.

"Of course. I know you were just trying to do your job," said Maura without hesitation, "just be more careful the next time your intestines start talking to you."

Jane smirked. "Did you just make a joke, Dr. Isles?"

Maura laughed. "Was it funny?"

"It kind of was!"

"Then it was a joke! Now, come on, we've got a lot of cooking to do." She thrust the sifter at her friend with a smile.

After the big meal and several glasses of wine, Maura could tell that Jane was exhausted. Although it was still early, the doctor suggested that Jane spend the night in her guest bedroom rather than driving home.

Jane looked at her friend sheepishly. "I kind of thought you would offer . . . I packed an overnight bag so I wouldn't have to sleep in my clothes this time. It's out in the car."

A tingle of excitement running through her, Maura beamed, and then fretted nervously as Jane went to get her bag. Was it possible? Did Jane feel for her the way that she felt for Jane? Maura didn't dare hope, but her heart pounded as she busied herself in the kitchen.

Jane disappeared into the guest room, leaving Maura to wonder what the next step was. She heard water running in the bathroom, but when it shut off there was still no sign of Jane. Maura tip-toed to the door of the bedroom, listening intently, but heard nothing. She paced back to the kitchen, and then decided to change into pajamas herself.

When she returned downstairs, Jane's bedroom door was open a crack. Maura took that as a sign. A good one.

"Jane?" Maura called out softly from the hallway.

Jane's muffled voice came through from the other side of the door. "Come in!"

Maura opened the door to find Jane spread out on the far side of the bed, leaning against the headboard. She had changed into shorts and a soft blue tank top. Maura was momentarily stunned by the amount of Jane's skin on display, and the way her dark hair framed her face. Jane's eyes caught her own and seemed to draw her in, and she felt a little more confident.

Taking a tentative step toward the bed, Maura asked, "Do you need anything?"

"Nope," replied Jane, patting the empty space beside her. "Come sit with me."

Maura complied, settling close to her friend—close enough to feel her body heat, and to smell the intoxicating mixture of shampoo, laundry detergent, and a certain spiciness that was just Jane.

The detective turned toward her so Maura did the same, wondering if the electricity she felt in the air could possibly be real.

After a few moments, Jane broke the silence. "I really am sorry for treating you the way I did, Maura." Lowering her voice, she admitted, "I shouldn't have pressured you like that. It's just—I want to be good at this job, you know?"

Maura patted Jane's arm. "I know. You are good at your job—"

"But I really fucked this one up, Maura. I was dead wrong."

"Everyone makes mistakes sometimes," said Maura lightly. "You're only human."

"Not you. You're perfect."

Maura's heart soared as she watched the tiny smile at the corner of Jane's lips. All she could do was giggle.

"Now, we both know that's not true. You're the only detective I've ever really worked well with, don't you know that?"

Jane smiled, her voice lowered to a whisper. "We do work well together, don't we."

Maura nodded, and her eyes shone. Watching Jane, she saw something cross her features—a certain softness, or tenderness. Once again, Maura wondered if Jane was going to kiss her. She waited, every nerve on fire—anticipating Jane's touch, Jane's fingers on her skin, Jane's mouth on hers. With eyes half closed, she waited.

But the touch never came. Instead, she was jarred from her reverie by Jane's voice, returned to its usual timber.

"Maura—are you falling asleep? Don't you want to go back to your own bed?" Jane's voice was sleepy, and she shifted, rolling onto her back and putting an arm across her eyes.

Embarrassed, Maura sat up. She cleared her throat. "Oh, sorry, I guess I'm more tired than I thought." Awkwardly, she climbed off of the bed and headed for the door. Once there, she turned and said, "Goodnight, Jane."

The detective was close to sleep herself and muttered her own goodnight. Wistfully, Maura turned out the light and left the room.

The next morning, after Jane had left, Maura returned to the guest room to strip the bed and wash the sheets. Pulling back the quilt that Jane had spread carefully across the bed, she caught a hint of the detective's unique scent again. She breathed deeply, and then gave in and fell into the bed, wrapping herself in Jane-scented sheets.

When Maura returned to work on Monday morning, she had made up her mind. There was no point in nurturing feelings toward a straight friend—and Jane's awkwardness over the weekend seemed to have proved to Maura that she had gotten her signals crossed. Further overtures would only make her more nervous and awkward, and drive Jane away, so she developed a plan to get over her crush.

As it turned out, she had to come up with an entirely different plan.

Everything changed when she decided to run upstairs to the café for a cup of coffee. Normally, she would have texted Jane an invitation to join her, but this time she went alone. The café was nearly empty, but as soon as Maura gave her order a middle-aged woman entered and queued up behind her. Maura smiled pleasantly and was just about to walk away with her coffee when the woman spoke to her.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, pointing at Maura's badge, "you're Dr. Isles?"

"Yes," replied Maura, puzzled and trying to place the woman.

"Well, I'm Angela Rizzoli, Jane's mother!"

"Oh!" Maura smiled and held out her hand. "It's so nice to meet you! Does Jane know you're here?" Maura looked around, half expecting to see the detective walk in, and feeling her heart constrict at the thought.

"I promised I wouldn't go up to her office—she thinks I embarrass her, can you believe that? So I told her to meet me here. She's late, of course. Like her father, that one. Is she always late for you as well?"

Maura laughed. "Sometimes, but I don't mind, her job—"

"I know, I know," interrupted Angela, "her job keeps her busy. But I'm so glad she's found the time to get to know you! When she first told me about you, she said that she just wanted to get on your good side so it would make her job easier. I convinced her that she needed a friend—a real friend. Anyway, I hope she's treating you all right. You seem like such a nice person, from what Jane's said."

Maura stood in stunned silence. Shaking her head, and trying to figure out what she had just heard, she asked, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Rizzoli—what did you say? Jane was trying to get on my good side?"

"Oh, call me Angela, sweetie! And yes, Jane told me about your struggles with the other detectives. Your social awkwardness and all that. Frankly, I don't blame you. These detectives aren't exactly easy to get along with. Jane certainly isn't." Angela huffed, and took a sip of her coffee. "She figured she could get on your good side though, since you were both women. Catch more flies with honey, you know."

Maura smiled weakly. Realizing that Jane could walk in at any second, she pulled herself together enough to give her excuses.

"Well, it was really nice to meet you, Angela," Maura said, already making a move toward the door, "but I really have to get back to work." With that she disappeared around the corner and retreated to the sanctuary of the morgue.

Maura knocked on Jane's door at precisely 8:00 pm. She had seen the detective leave the precinct just over an hour earlier, so she had had plenty of time to change into a t-shirt and shorts and eat a quick dinner before settling into her couch with a beer and the remote. And get nice and comfortable.

Just the way Maura wanted her.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" said Jane when she opened the door. "Did we have plans?"

Maura stepped inside, and Jane closed the door behind her. "No, I just thought I'd stop by. Is that all right?" Maura's voice was low, and she let her eyes rake over Jane's body.

"Sure, that's fine . . ." Jane squirmed under Maura's gaze. "What, do I have something on me?" She looked down, searching for a stain or a bug, knowing full well nothing was there.

"No," said Maura, "you just look really good in that shirt." Her smile was sultry, and she never took her eyes off the detective.

Maura took a step closer to the jittery Jane, who rapidly backed up and then sidestepped the doctor, heading for the kitchen. "Do you want a beer or something?"

Maura reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her close. "No, Jane, I just want you." Reaching up, she gripped the back of Jane's neck and stood on her toes to lightly brush her lips over Jane's.

"I just want you," she repeated, before kissing the shocked detective in earnest.

Even with all of her resolve, Maura was soon lost in the kiss. Jane's scent was overwhelming, as was the taste of her lips. Somehow, both of her hands tangled in Jane's hair, while Jane's went around her waist and pulled their two bodies tightly together.

She's kissing me back, thought Maura, struggling within herself. She's not supposed to kiss me back.

Then Jane's tongue flicked against her lips and she opened them involuntarily, moaning as Jane tasted her, filling her mouth with hot, sweet wetness and overpowering her senses.

Wrenching her mouth away, she pulled back, breathing heavily. Jane's hands fell away from her hips as she stepped backward. Jane's face was flushed, her lips wet. She stared, open-mouthed, as Maura's features hardened and she remembered why she had come here.

"How does it feel," spat the doctor. "How does it feel, Jane?"

"Maura, I—" Jane blinked, still staring at the woman in front of her. "What was that? What are you—"

"How does it feel to have someone you trust come to your house and use you, Jane? You showed up in my life and pretended to be my friend—for what? So that I would feed you information on cases and you could look good in front of your real friends?"

Jane continued to look confused, and then she buried her face in her hands. Through her fingers, she said in a flat voice, "My mother—you spoke to my mother, didn't you."

"Yes, I did. And she told me your little plan to catch more flies with honey."

Jane came out from behind her hands. "I never said that! Maura, you have to understand, my mother exaggerates—"

"It doesn't matter, Jane! It all makes sense now. I mean, why would anyone be friends with someone like me—the weird, awkward queen of the dead—unless they had an ulterior motive? I don't know who I'm more angry at—you, or myself, for believing your pathetic attempts to make me feel included."

There it was, the look on Jane's beautiful face. Devastation. That's what Maura had come to see.

And having seen it, she turned to go, a sense of emptiness filling her up as her anger drained away.

"I hope you know how it feels, Jane. I hope you actually enjoyed that kiss, because you'll never get another one from me."