When Maura woke up the next morning, it took her a moment to realize it. She thought she was in a dream… this is my old bedroom. In Boston. What am I doing here? She sat up, rolling her shoulders, and it came back to her. Jane was already awake and presumably downstairs; her side of the bed was empty. Maura sighed in content, rolling towards the impression Jane's body had made. Lying like this in her old bed, unclothed on sheets that had been mussed by more than sleep, made her feel almost sinful—but not in a bad way. In a delightfully wicked sort of way.

Ultimately she decided she would rather be semi-clothed with Jane than naked alone, so Maura pulled on a robe and went downstairs. There indeed she found Jane sitting on the sofa by the harp, a newspaper in her hand. At the sound of footsteps, Jane looked up and smiled as Maura walked towards her. She folded the paper and Maura walked to the back of the sofa, putting her arms around Jane's shoulders from behind and kissing her on the cheek.

"Morning love," she murmured.

"Good morning, bella." The low timbre of Jane's voice sent a chill down Maura's spine, and she melted into the woman's touch as Jane curved an arm back around Maura's shoulder.

Their lips met in a proper kiss, and Maura couldn't help giggling at the feel of Jane's stage facial hair. "What's this doing here already?" she asked, pulling back and gently running her finger along the mustache.

"I thought I'd better put it on 'cause I went outside," Jane replied as Maura came back around to sit next to her on the sofa. "Your backyard is real beautiful, darlin'. Anyhow, Anne was out there and she asked me what I reckoned we'd be doin' today."

Maura could not help feeling a twinge of annoyance at the Hughes. Her own father would never have considered it decent for her to approach another woman's husband when they were both alone. Of course, it's possible the Hughes didn't realize she was doing it. Last night it had seemed Anne was a little too comfortable staring at Jane. And Jane, as she was wont to be, was completely ignorant of the attitude behind the lilting "Oh?" that Maura finally offered by way of response.

"Yeah, and I said I wasn't so sure, so she gave me the paper," Jane said, flourishing said item. "I didn't tell her I couldn't read so good, of course. But she said it might give us a couple ideas if you ain't already got some."

"Anything catch your eye?" Maura asked, stretching her arms behind her head and purposefully allowing her robe to slip open a bit.

To say it had the intended effect would be a bit of an understatement. Jane let the paper fall to the floor as she pulled Maura into a sitting position on her lap. "Does this bother you?" she asked in a raspy whisper, the kind that burned straight through to Maura's center.

"Does what bother me?" Maura asked a little breathlessly, peeling off Jane's fake hair and laying it on the end table.

Jane had to force her gaze back up to Maura's eyes from her partly exposed chest. "Did you say somethin'?"

A catlike grin spread itself across Maura's face. She enjoyed doing this to Jane, who always seemed so in control and aware of herself. "You were asking if something bothered me."

"Oh. Right." Jane took a shallow breath. "Does it bother ya when I look at ya like this?"

"If it did, do you really think I'd have dressed like I did last night for you?"

Returning Maura's grin, Jane husked, "I s'pose not. That was… that was really somethin', Maura." As if the sight of Maura right now wasn't stimulation enough, Jane could feel herself growing warm at the memory of last night, when they had been positioned on the edge of the bed similar to how they were now—Maura bucking against her, driving herself into Jane…

"Jane?"

"Yes?"

"You can touch me, you know."

Jane flipped them so that Maura was beneath her on the couch. "If I want your permission, I'll ask for it," she growled, slipping a hand inside Maura's robe. She gave Maura a quick soothing glance to assure her that the remark had been made in jest, and Maura smiled her approval before Jane palmed her roughly.

It was only recently that Maura had told Jane how deeply she loved the sensation of Jane's scars on her bare skin, and even then she had only admitted it because Jane had asked her about it. Jane had worried that maybe the feeling was an uncomfortable one, but Maura had been quick to set her straight. Even when Jane's touch was gentle, the scars on her palms added a promise of roughness which left Maura feeling inexplicably exhilarated. She had refrained from sharing this because she feared Jane would be upset that Maura took pleasure in the feeling of something that had brought Jane so much suffering. Contrarily, Jane had been pleased to learn that her fears had been misplaced, and that Maura had found something of value in those scars.

Jane's right hand was at home on Maura's breast, and before her left one could travel south, Maura pulled it up to her mouth. She wrapped her lips around three of Jane's fingers, eliciting a rattling gasp from Jane, who shifted heavily against her. With a soft moan, Maura let her lips move down to Jane's palm, leaving a long kiss on the scar there. Jane grunted in satisfaction, leaning down for a flustered, uncalculated kiss. Maura instantly dropped Jane's hand, lifting both of her own to scrunch Jane's curls.

Even as her newly freed hand went straight between Maura's legs, Jane whispered, "Have I told you recently how much I love you?"

"Mm, not since much earlier this morning," Maura purred, working on the buttons of Jane's shirt.

Then she almost yelped when a loud knock sounded at the front door. Jane had practically leapt off her at the sound, instantly tense. The knocking was harried, cuing the women inside to believe it better get answered. Seeing as she was the one who was actually dressed, Jane grabbed her mustache and hastily reapplied it as she ran to answer the door.

Anne, Mr. and Mrs. Hughes were standing on the porch, the gentleman lowering their grandson Jackson, who had been the one fervently banging the door knocker. "Morning, Mr. Rizzoli!" he chirped.

"And good morning to you all," Jane said, bending over to shake the boy's hand.

"We came to bring you these scones I baked," said Anne, handing Jane a large covered dish. "As a way of welcoming you and Maura to town, for however long you'll be staying."

"Well that was mighty thoughtful of ya! Thank you," Jane said, taking the dish. "Gosh, they sure do smell good!"

"Hey Mr. Rizzoli, do you ride horses?" Jackson asked excitedly.

"The biggest and the wildest."

Jackson tugged anxiously at his grandfather's sleeve. "I bet he could take on Strider!" Before Mr. Hughes could comment on this, Jackson said to Jane, "Papa's got a horse named Strider that won't let anybody ride him—and Papa's so mad about it, he's probably gonna shoot him soon if nobody breaks him!"

Mr. Hughes sighed heavily. "Jackson, Mr. Rizzoli doesn't have time to—"

"Hey, I'd be too happy to take a look at this horse," Jane cut in, and judging by Mr. Hughes' expression, he was not a man accustomed to being interrupted. "I'll just have to check in with Mrs. Rizzoli first to see what all her plans are. If we've got the time, you can bet I'll teach Strider a thing or two."

"We'll leave you to your breakfast, then," Mr. Hughes said brusquely. "Good morning, Mr. Rizzoli."

Jane nodded her farewell as the four of them left the doorstep, and she turned back inside the house with the plate of scones in hand. "Guess you heard who that was?" she asked, returning to the sitting room to see Maura looking a bit peeved.

"Yes," she replied, pretending to read the newspaper.

"Uh-oh. I know that face. You ain't happy about somethin'."

Maura sighed and closed the paper as Jane sat down next to her. "It's just Anne's behavior. I didn't even see her just now, and I could hear it in her voice—she was coming onto you!"

"Well ain't that funny," Jane remarked, folding her arms. "You can't hardly tell when Tommy's tryin' to worm his way into your heart, and yet you can deduce when Anne's showin' more than an appropriate interest in me?"

"That's because nothing about Anne is subtle," Maura tersely responded. "And you'd better tell me those scones are awful."

Frowning, Jane picked up one of the scones and inspected it before taking a bite. It was incredibly delicious, to the point that she could not effectively fake disgust for Maura. She swallowed, savoring it, keenly aware that Maura was watching her through narrowed eyes. "So! See anythin' interesting in the paper?" she asked in an attempt to distract Maura.

It worked, even though Maura had a clear idea of what Jane was doing. She picked up the paper and looked for a small piece she'd been reading as Jane scarfed the rest of the scone. "We've just missed an art exhibit by some new fellow named Dennis Rockman. You would probably like his work; it seems he does a lot of Western pieces."

"Huh. He ever been out there?"

"It says he was brought up in New Jersey …and he's actually on his way out West now."

"Well maybe we'll run into him sometime, then! Never know who you'll meet out in the wild West, do ya?"

Something about the way Jane was grinning and raising her eyebrows gave Maura pause. "You wouldn't ever try roughing up someone just for the sake of it, would you, Jane?"

"Jake would if someone had it comin' to him," Jane had to chuckle. "Aw, I'm just teasin' ya, Maura. All I'm sayin' is that some fancy-pants artist who's been sittin' safe in his studio out here might get a bit more than he bargained for goin' out West."

"Or he could be made of the same stock as my mother," Maura suggested. "And be able to handle it."

Jane reached out for the paper, and Maura handed it over, pointing to the piece on Dennis. Taking one look at the grainy photograph of him, Jane snorted a laugh and said "Yeah, he won't be able to make it." Maura just rolled her eyes and took the paper back, and Jane sobered up a bit. "Say, speakin' of guys who don't know what they're in for, though—who's this Patrick Doyle character Jesse was talkin' about at dinner last night?"

Maura couldn't help shivering. "A monster."

"Monster, huh?"

"Yes. A gruesome murderer and nothing more."

Jane removed her mustache, tucking it back into her shirt pocket. "Y'know, a lot of people thought the same thing of Jake Wyatt."

Maura frowned, putting the paper down and gently touching Jane's arm. "You only ever killed in self-defense. Patrick Doyle acts first and asks questions later. He takes the law into his own hands. Jake worked with the law—Korsak told me how many dangerous men you helped put behind bars. If you heard the stories of what Doyle has done—"

"Stories are just stories sometimes, Maura."

"Jane, you can't go giving every criminal the benefit of the doubt. They're not all like you. Some of them—it's just in their blood. Wickedness is in their blood. Patrick Doyle's a name we've all grown up to fear, and just believe me when I say it's warranted."

"All right, all right," Jane said, holding her hands up in a sign of surrender. "It's warranted. So what's he look like?"

"Jane…"

"What? Jesse said maybe a deputy could help! I should keep an eye out for him!"

"If you want to know what he looks like, you'd have to go by a police station and ask for their latest poster," Maura said. "I haven't seen an illustration of him since I was a child, and I could probably no sooner spot him than I could spot…"

"Some…other person you've never seen before?" Jane helped her.

"Yes. Right. Now Jane, if you wouldn't mind, I'd really love to change the subject."

"Your wish is my command, dearest. What shall we talk about?"

Maura took a breath to steady herself, clasping Jane's hand tightly. "I'd like for us to visit my father today."


The graveyard was small and very well maintained. In fact, Jane was not accustomed to burial grounds being so nicely kept. She might have mistaken it for just another park, were it not for the tombstones scattered throughout. They had been given a ride there by Emily and Jesse Wade, who were driving to that side of town anyway. There were only three other people in the cemetery, one middle-aged couple at the far end and an older gentleman who was walking about, perhaps in search of one elusive tombstone.

Maura had Jane's hand in a vice grip as she walked forward. This was a part of their trip she had been dreading, which was why she wanted to get it done with on the front end. The last time she had come here she had been little more than a blubbering mess on Mrs. Hughes' arm, too close to the trauma to be able to process it clearly. Making it worse was the fact that Garrett had already gone West, leaving her feeling quite alone in her grief. As she walked towards her father's grave with Jane now, she felt almost guilty for not sobbing. She didn't even shed a tear until they were actually standing in front of the tombstone, reading it:

In Memory of Desmond Parker Isles, Beloved Father and Medical Miracle Worker, Died Age 47 on July 1, 1884.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Maura asked softly. "A man dedicates his every waking moment to saving the lives of others, and cannot find a cure for what ails he himself."

"What was it?" Jane murmured.

Maura shrugged. "Something quick. At least he didn't need to suffer." She took a shuddering breath, leaning closer into Jane. "This feels… strange. Not quite how I expected. Seeing his grave, I mean."

"In what way?"

"I …maybe it just hasn't hit me yet, but it doesn't feel real. Oh, it felt real when they first buried him, and even when I came to say goodbye before moving West. But now it's… different."

"I think I know what ya mean," Jane said quietly. "It's cause he ain't really down there. I dunno if I ever told ya this, but I saw my mother before they buried her. I saw her body." Jane's lower lip trembled, but she managed not to cry, even when Maura turned to look at her. "And I remember I just went and burst into tears at the sight of it. Granted I was only a child, but I just couldn't believe that was my mother, that she'd stopped movin' and wouldn't ever take breath again. My Pop grabbed me by the shoulders and he told me, 'Janie, that ain't your mother no more. That's the husk she left behind. Her soul's free, free as a bird.'" She shrugged. "That's how I got through it."

Maura nodded. "You're right. Or, your father was right."

"Yeah. Don't think of him as sick, or broken. Maybe the body he left behind wasn't so pretty at the time, but that ain't him anymore."

With another nod, Maura tightened her hold on Jane's arm, which was weaved through her own. "It's still… it still hurts, though. It means he really is gone. Sometimes, I would pretend to myself that he was still alive. And once or twice, just for a moment, I would legitimately forget—mostly when I had first moved to Arizona. New place, new life, and he was left behind. Now and then something would happen that I wanted to write him about, and then I remembered I couldn't."

Jane was grimacing to hold back tears. She knew how this felt.

"So to make up for it, sometimes I would just try speaking to him. I know the spirits of those who've passed on are above us—or below us, as the case may be—and I know my father is watching me, listening to me, there for me when I need him."

After a long silence, Jane whispered, "Would you mind if I told him something, Maura?"

"Of course not—please, go ahead."

Jane cleared her throat. "Mr. Isles, sir? I wanna thank you for doin' one helluva job with your daughter. There ain't a doubt in my mind that she's just about the most perfect woman who's ever walked on this earth. And from what I hear, she takes after ya quite a bit, so that's a real compliment to you, as well." She was quiet for so long after that, that Maura assumed she was finished, only to be proven wrong and start crying again moments later when Jane resumed. "Sir? Thank you for sendin' her my way. She is the light of my life."

Maura turned and wrapped her other arm around Jane, just needing to be held but also wanting to communicate what Jane's words meant to her. She wondered in fact if she was crying more at Jane's unembarrassed proclamation than she was at the fact that her father's grave was before them. It felt strangely relieving to be standing here with Jane—she could not see or hear her father's reaction to this relationship, and could only imagine what he might be thinking from heaven. Her stomach was not filled with dread or anxiety as it was when she feared he was looking down on her in disapproval. Despite her heavy crying, she actually felt light, somehow.

"I reckon he must be real proud of ya, Maura," Jane said. "You, and the person you've become."

"Are those two separate things?" Maura asked with a weak laugh.

"Fair point," Jane chuckled.

Then suddenly, Maura got serious again: "Jane, I don't know that I'll want to come back to this spot before we leave. And we probably won't be coming out to Boston again after this trip."

"So this is goodbye?" Jane guessed.

"Well…yes and no. It's like you said—his body's here, but his spirit is everywhere. It's just as present in Arizona as it is here. And yet, I can't help feeling like it would be appropriate to say some sort of farewell." Maura sniffed and turned to face the grave again, her hand in Jane's. "Father, I know how much you loved and approved of Garrett. But I just want to throw in my two cents for this person standing next to me right here, right now. I know I am loved, and I'm sorry mother never gave you the chance to know what this feels like."

When it sounded as though Maura was on the verge of tears again, Jane pulled out yet another handkerchief and passed it over to Maura. "You want a minute alone?" she asked. Maura could only nod, and after leaving a long kiss on her forehead, Jane walked away. She had seen Jesse walk up to the front of the cemetery, and she went to meet him. Emily was still shopping, leaving him free to talk to Jane a bit about baseball.

Maura wasn't sure how long she'd been standing at her father's grave or how long she intended to stay there before she realized she was no longer alone. The older gentleman who had been ambling around the cemetery was now just a foot or two away from her, his solemn gaze fixed on her father's grave, hands clasping a hat respectfully behind his back. He was balding and probably about Jane's height, though heavier than her. There was a tired look about his eyes, no doubt aided by the bags under them—he looked as though he had never smiled.

Finally he decided to acknowledge that Maura was staring at him, and he held out his hand for her to shake. "Hello there. Name's Mr. Selsi."

"Sir." She shook his hand, looking curious. "You knew my father?" she asked, nodding at the grave.

"I did. Not very well, but our paths crossed once or twice. I owe him my life, as a matter of fact. He was a good man, your father."

"Yes, he was," Maura agreed. "I mean—thank you, Mr. Selsi." Her eyes had returned to the grave, but she had the slightly unnerving feeling that the man was still looking at her even though their dialogue had ended. She wasn't sure what constituted proper cemetery etiquette, and so took a blind stab at more conversation. "Did you come here to see him?"

He shook his head. "No, I came here to visit my boy," he replied, nodding to the left.

"Oh…oh, sir, I'm so sorry."

His reaction—a stiff nod and would-be casual roll of the shoulders—was a somewhat masculine one Maura had recognized Jane doing whenever she wanted to avoid a sensitive topic. "Thank you, it's all right."

"No one should have to bury a child."

"I agree, Maura."

She stared at him. "How did you know my name?"

He realized too late that she hadn't yet shared this information with him. "Your father mentioned you. I… last saw him not too long ago. He told me how proud he was of having such an intelligent daughter. Maura Isles."

"I see…" Maura looked away again, this time above the tombstone, catching Jane's eye. At first Jane assumed this was an old family friend Maura was talking to, but now she seemed a bit uncomfortable, and Jane walked over to investigate.

"That your husband?" the man asked.

Maura pursed her lips, nervously rotating the ring on her finger. "He's very protective."

"I hope I haven't affronted you," he said, taking a step away. "I just thought I'd come over and pay my respects to your father."

And he walked away, sparing one more glance for his son's grave before heading towards the cemetery gate on a path parallel to the one Jane had just come done. Maura reached out to keep Jane from following him, taking her hand. "He knew my father," she said blankly.

"Did you recognize him?"

"No, I didn't even recognize his name. Selsi…?"

"Selsi? What the hell kinda name is that?"

The question almost went unheard as Maura's gaze returned to her father's tombstone and something slid into place. Isles. "A false one," she mused. Before Jane could inquire further, Maura pointed to the name on the marker. "Selsi is Isles spelled backwards." She passed Jane and walked over to the grave she had seen the man look at before leaving, and as she suspected, it was not for a boy named Selsi. "Colin Doyle."

"Doyle?" Jane asked, coming over.

"He said this was his son," Maura muttered. "Oh, how awful… he's been dead over a year, and was only five years old."

"Wait, Maura. Doyle. D'you think that was Patrick Doyle?"

They were both staring at the cemetery gate, but the stranger was no longer in sight. Maura shivered and reached for Jane's hand again. "I've no idea. I don't know whether he had any children."

"Well let's go find out," Jane said, stepping forward.

But Maura tugged her back, looking at her plaintively. "Please Jane, don't. This isn't our concern. Leave it to the local police."

"Maura, if that guy's half as bad as you said he is, I can't just stand by and let him walk around free," Jane said seriously. "Let me talk to him. This is who I am, this is what I do."

"No, Jane," Maura responded with surprising resilience. "You risk your life enough as it is when you're home. You are not supposed to be working right now, and besides—we shouldn't leap to conclusions! Doyle is a common name, after all. And even if you just wanted to talk to that man, you wouldn't be able to find him now. He got too much of a head start."

Jane sourly looked back to the road past the gate, and had to acknowledge that Maura's last point was a valid one. "Okay, Maura. But if we see him again on this trip, I ain't gonna ask your permission to talk to him."

"Well! Don't do me any favors," Maura scoffed, heading towards the gate.

"Maura, please," Jane said, catching up. "I promise I won't go lookin' for him. I'd just like to know what the hell he was doin' talkin' to ya if that was Patrick Doyle."

"He knew my father. He came over to say so."

"Well, then. Maybe he ain't so bad a man as y'all think."


Their afternoon was spent up at the ranch owned by Rory. He couldn't be bothered himself to show up, but Charlotte figured that was just as well: "I don't think his pride would be able to take it if he saw another man tame his horse."

"Maura, I find your husband fascinating," Emily remarked thoughtfully. She was looking on as her own husband tossed a baseball back and forth with Jackson, all of them waiting for Jane to emerge from the barn with her proper riding gear on. "Oh goodness, not in a scandalous way," she sighed when Charlotte cleared her throat. "Jesse is wonderful, but I find myself wishing he would take a bit more initiative now and then. Jake strikes me as the type who doesn't let anyone walk all over him."

"That's certainly true," Maura chuckled. "For better or for worse. He has his pride, too."

"But not so much that it keeps him from treating you well," Charlotte guessed, and she took Maura's smile for an answer. "That's really a blessing, Maura. You're lucky to have found him."

"Thank you."

Anne spoke next: "Very lucky…"

Maura followed her gaze to the barn door from which Jane had just emerged with chaps, boots, gloves, and hat in place. Although the clothes beneath them all were still a bit dandified, she looked much more like her usual self, which put her at ease a bit. She waved at Maura, then told Jackson to go ahead and open whichever stall Strider was in. The boy eagerly ran off to do so, leaving Jesse to roll his baseball back and forth with Jackson's younger sister, Eleanor (not quite up to snuff on baseball herself).

"You sure you wouldn't rather be over there, with your mother and your aunts?" Jesse asked, nodding at the fence all the women were leaning against. He shook his head as Strider came bolting out into the corral, surrounded by other horses who were dodging to get out of his way.

"I like horses as much as the next fellow, but they're for transportation or sport," he said, and Jane was amused by his attempt to sound grown-up. "You wouldn't see me fawning over 'em like that."

He chalked it up to inscrutable feminine proclivity, ignorant of the fact that the women were fixated on Jane, not the horses. Maura might have been a bit worried for Jane's safety with such a wild horse if it wasn't for the fact that Rory had apparently wounded little more than his pride in his attempts to tame it. Jane wouldn't have a problem.

"So he's not a lawyer or doctor type," Emily said. "I suppose you fit that bill nicely enough, Maura."

"Like I said, he makes up for it in other ways," Maura sighed, and none of the Hughes girls missed the far-off dreamy look in her eyes.

As they watched Jane for a few moments, they were each lost in their trains of thought. Emily was thinking about what a disappointment it had been to discover her husband seemed to be the only man in the entire world who did not look good on a horse. Anne was enraptured, visualizing scenarios of Jake Rizzoli chasing down criminals on horseback, and how dashing a deputy he would be. I almost wish I were an outlaw, if I could be guaranteed that he would be the one to arrest me!

Charlotte was thinking of how Jake had reassured Maura before they reached the ranch that he wouldn't do anything reckless with this horse. It hadn't been a matter of condescending to Maura's perceived womanly nerves (or lack thereof), but merely a quiet exchange. Maybe Maura wasn't so financially secure, but she didn't seem to mind that idea so much. That was smart of her.

"Well, well! What are we all looking at?"

Mrs. Hughes had arrived, jarring her daughters out of their thoughts. "Oh—Jake's taming that horse Rory's been having trouble with," Charlotte explained.

"I see! And he seems to be doing rather well, wouldn't you say?"

They all nodded. Jane had already successfully mounted the animal, and was now putting it through its paces around the corral. Charlotte could hardly believe this was the same horse. Mrs. Hughes continued, putting her hand on Maura's arm. "My dear, I hope you don't mind, but I told your mother we were all meeting up here for a picnic and I invited her to come."

From Maura's expression, you might have guessed that Mrs. Hughes had just announced her intention to live on Jupiter. "I'm sorry?"

"Why didn't you tell us your mother was in town?"

"I…I…"

"I assume you planned it that way—I ran into her at the bakery. She and Mr. Hughes ought to be here in any minute." She frowned upon realizing that Maura now seemed to be holding onto the corral fence for balance, the color draining slowly from her face. "Maura, are you all right? Didn't you know she was here?"

"No," Maura said weakly. "I didn't."