Chapter 13
Jane stood in the middle of her old apartment, boxes scattered around the room, the familiar smell of the damp, mildewed walls stirring a mix of emotions she wasn't quite ready to deal with. Frankie, Frost, and Korsak had been helping her gather a few things and move back into her old apartment all afternoon, but now with everything inside, Jane couldn't help but disagree with the situation.
She didn't like being here. She didn't like having to move out of Maura's house. She didn't like having to limit contact with her, per Crowley's orders, so that everything could calm down. It made her sick to her stomach that the one person she needed was the one person who she wasn't allowed to need. The one person who comforted her was the one person not allowed to comfort her. They hadn't spoken in nearly a week.
Frankie wiped his forehead as he placed the last of the boxes down in the living room. He grinned at her. "What do you think? I've done pretty well with the place, huh? Even got real food in the fridge. Not just beer and takeout."
Jane gave him a look. "Okay but is there beer? Because I could really use one now."
Frankie laughed and made his way to the kitchen, grabbing enough bottles for everyone. He returned with four cold ones as Frost and Korsak carried in some smaller items they had left in their cars.
They accepted the cold drinks enthusiastically.
Korsak dropped down on the couch and sighed. "Back in your old digs. Probably feels weird, huh?" He sipped his beer.
Jane shrugged, trying to mask the complicated feelings. It was a place where everything seemed so much simpler. Where she had her nightmares in private. Where she only dreamed of her and Maura's future. She was a different person then. "Yeah, well, it's temporary. But it feels a little too familiar, if you know what I mean."
Frost sipped his beer and nodded toward her. "You hear anything yet about where you'll be transferred?"
"Not yet. The process is taking longer than I thought it would." She paused, staring down at the bottle in her hands. "Probably because of… well, you know, everything with Maura and me. The department's still raw, and not many places are jumping at the chance to to take on the drama of a detective with 'relationship baggage.' Especially when that relationship's with a coworker." She chugged her beer and headed to the kitchen for another round.
Korsak gave her a sympathetic look. "You'd think they'd be smart enough to know it doesn't affect your work. But people love to gossip."
"Yeah, it's not like you haven't solved every big case that's come your way," Frost added, shaking his head in frustration. "It's bullshit that they're making this into something bigger than it needs to be."
Jane nodded, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, well, the press loves a scandal, and me and Maura sleeping together is the kind of juicy story that won't die any time soon."
"How's Maura holding up?" Korsak asked, popping the cap off his second beer.
Jane shook her head. "I wish I knew. Crowley was very serious when he said we shouldn't talk. It's like quitting a habit, cold turkey. It'll drive you insane if you think too much about it."
In an effort to change the subject away from the depressing facts, Frost pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "By the way, I found Anna's address. It's actually not far from here." He handed the paper to Jane.
"Not far? We're practically neighbors." Jane furrowed her brows. "Thanks. I just want to keep tabs on her. Make sure she is okay."
Frost nodded understandably.
"Well, I hate to cut this short but speaking of the Lewis Case, Frost and I do have some digging to do about the other members of this club that was meeting. So far we haven't found anyone who had connection with both of them that realized they were different people. Crazy how people can trick almost everyone in their life." Korsak finished his beer and stood from the couch, Frost following closely.
"If you need an extra brain to pick, you know where to find me." Jane tried to keep the door open to her helping on the case as much as possible. Not only because she was itching to do her job, but because the connection she felt with this case was hard to let go.
Frost smirked. "You know Crowley wouldn't allow it." He winked as the door shut behind them, a small hope that maybe Frost would give her enough to satisfy the itch.
After Frost and Korsak left, the apartment felt quieter, heavier. Jane stayed on the couch for a moment, staring at the scattered boxes around her. The idea of unpacking felt overwhelming—like settling into a reality she wasn't ready to face. Her phone buzzed on the kitchen bar.
Casey: Hey. just checking in. Hope you got moved into the apartment.
Jane: I did. Thanks.
Casey: If you need anything, let me know.
"You want help with any of this?" Frankie asked. Jane whipped around at the sound of his voice, setting her phone down a little too hard on the counter. Frank noticed her sudden tight demeanor. "You okay?"
"Fine." She swallowed the rest of her beer. "I'm not quite ready to tackle all this yet." She motioned to the boxes. "It can wait till tomorrow, right?. It's not like I've got to be at work anytime soon."
Frankie gave her a sympathetic smile. "Fair enough." He hesitated for a second, then clapped his hands together. "Oh! I almost forgot—I got you something."
Jane raised an eyebrow. "What'd you do now?"
Frankie grinned mischievously and headed toward the kitchen. "Hold on, you'll see. But first… you've got to close your eyes and hold out your hand."
Jane groaned, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on, Frankie. I'm not falling for that. You're going to do something gross like you used to when we were kids."
"Just trust me!" he yelled back from the kitchen, his voice filled with that familiar playful tone. "Close your eyes, and I promise, no gross pranks. You'll like this, I swear."
Reluctantly, Jane sighed and closed her eyes, holding out her hand. "This better not be some weird leftover sandwich or something, Frankie."
"Nope," Frankie said, his voice closer now as he returned to the living room. "Just hold still."
She felt something light and cold settle into her hand, like paper. Her curiosity piqued, Jane opened her eyes—and froze.
In her hand were two tickets. Boston Red Sox tickets. Not just any seats, but a few rows behind home plate, the kind of seats they never would have dreamed of getting as kids.
Jane's eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in stunned silence as she stared at the tickets. "Are you serious right now?" She blinked, then looked up at Frankie, a mix of excitement and disbelief flashing across her face. "No way. These are… no way!" Her face lit up.
Frankie grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "Yup. Two tickets to the Sox. I figured you could use a pick-me-up, and you know, it's been a while since we went to a game together. Just like old times."
Jane held the tickets like they would break if she squeezed too hard. "Frankie… this is amazing," Jane said, her voice full of genuine gratitude. "I can't believe you did this."
Frankie smiled. "This Saturday, so don't let your schedule fill up." He joked.
Jane smiled bigger than she had in weeks, maybe even months.
Maura stood in front of her open closet, the cool rim of her wine glass resting against her lips. The hangers clinked softly as she ran her fingers along them, feeling the absence where Jane's clothes had once hung. The gaps were like missing pieces of a puzzle, and every space seemed to breathe a quiet emptiness.
She had lived in this house alone for years before Jane moved in—long enough to know every creak in the floor, every shadow that shifted with the passing of the day. It had been her sanctuary, carefully arranged and meticulously maintained. Maura had prided herself on the order she brought to her life, the way everything was in its right place. Dishes stacked perfectly, shoes aligned neatly by the door, blankets folded just so on the couch.
But Jane had come into that perfectly crafted space and disrupted it in the best possible way. Her presence had brought with it a kind of chaotic warmth, an energy that filled every room. Maura hadn't realized how sterile her life had been until Jane left small traces of herself all over the house—clothes half-folded in drawers, mugs mismatched in the cabinets, a messy pile of shoes by the door. Now, with Jane gone, the silence was suffocating. The house felt too big, too empty, and Maura found herself standing in front of the closet wondering if she could ever go back to the way things were.
It wasn't just the house that had changed—it was her. Maura had always valued control, order, and structure. It was how she made sense of the world, how she protected herself from the unpredictability of life. But Jane had thrown all of that into disarray. And now that she was gone, Maura was left with a nagging sense of displacement, like she no longer fit into the life she had built for herself.
Jane hadn't taken everything—she'd left a few pieces behind. Maybe it was an oversight, or maybe Jane hadn't been ready to fully move on. Maura wasn't sure which possibility troubled her more. She looked at the empty hangers one last time, then made a decision. She couldn't just stand there, trapped by the memories of Jane in every corner of the house. The stillness was unbearable, she needed to move, to do something—anything to keep from sinking into the void that Jane's absence had left behind.
She stepped out of the closet and into the bedroom, scanning the room as if searching for purpose. The bed was perfectly made, untouched since last night. The throw pillows were precisely placed, the sheets smooth. Too perfect. Too controlled. Maura walked over and, in a rare moment of impulse, ripped the blankets back. The disruption felt oddly satisfying. She eyed the chest of drawers in the corner. She pulled the top drawer open, a few socks lay unmatched inside, and an old pair of pajamas folded haphazardly next to them. She pulled them out and tossed them to the floor, then repeated the process in every drawer. Her clothes mixed with Jane's strewn out on her bedroom floor.
Next she went to the bathroom, passing by Jane's empty mess, she reached for her own drawers. She opened one, each organized spot labeled and color coded. She stuck her hand down in the drawer and mixed everything up, pulled bottles out and tossed them on the counter. She pulled every perfectly folded towel from their holder and threw them in a pile in the middle of the floor. She opened the bathtub curtain, leaving the lining half hanging out of the tub. Something that once drove her crazy now felt necessarily for her sanity.
As she walked down the hall, she drug her hands across the wall, turning every frame that had been painstakingly laser leveled to their sides. One fell off behind her and thudded on the carpet. She didn't care.
In the kitchen she found some dishes Jane had attempted to wash, still sitting on the drying rack. She tossed them back into the sink, though careful not to break them, then threw the towel over her shoulder and onto the floor. She threw open the fridge, switched the items in the drawers around and paused a moment, lingering on one take out box that was sitting in the back corner. Of course it was Jane's. Of course she forgot it. Maura moved to grab it, to throw it away, knowing nobody would but Jane would eat it, but she thought better of it and slammed the fridge door shut.
In the living room, she reached for one of the blankets laid across the top of the couch but paused in front of the coffee table. A mug sat there—Jane's favorite, chipped on the side—left behind in the rush of packing. Maura picked it up, running her fingers over the rough edge of the chip. She hesitated, then sat down on the couch, holding the mug in her lap.
She realized she was breathing heavily, the last few moments feeling like a blur of adrenaline. She wanted to pick up her phone and call Jane, tell her to come back, that they'd figure things out. But her reality was different. Her thumb gently rubbed the chipped edge of the cup like a tick she couldn't stop. Each time the edge snagged on her skin, she felt closer to Jane. And as the moments passed and her breathing evened back out she felt a calmness overcome her. Maybe it was the thought of Jane with each swipe of her thumb. Maybe it was knowing that she'd spend the next hour cleaning up her mess.
Casey: How's the bachelorette pad?
Jane: Not too bad. Doesn't quite feel like home anymore though. Not with my brother lurking around.
Casey: Where does a girl go to get some peace and quiet around there?
Jane: Who has time for that when I have all these boxes to unpack.
Casey: I know a coffee shop not far from you. Want to take a break?
Fall was finally setting in to Boston. The smallest chill breezed through Jane's thick curls and she pulled her coat collar up tighter around her neck. The coffee shop was only a few blocks from her apartment and she figured she could use a good walk to help clear her head. She had thought about nothing but Maura and her transfer. Crowley had no update, and there was still no nearby department that had responded to her resume. It had been two weeks and the silence building in her life was starting to take a toll.
Friends was a heavy word for what was happening between her and Casey. Jane didn't have many friends and she absolutely never made friends with people so close to a case she was working. But while she walked, she wondered. Was this a friend? Was this appropriate? Technically she was off the case now. While she didn't like to admit it and she had repeatedly asked Frost to keep her in the loop. From what she could tell, the case was growing cold, and Jane wouldn't allow herself to believe this story had no end. That it had no justice.
The coffee shop was quaint, small, and dimly lit for the evening hours. It fit perfectly into the modern, Boston-like fall decorum. Casey had a knack for finding hole-in-the-wall places around Boston, and Jane was thankful for the solitude. The last thing she needed was to continue to find herself in the news for one scandal or another.
"People like me don't usually get along with the regular crowds." Casey said. "I have a lot of students, a lot of colleagues that don't necessarily agree with my lifestyle."
"I would have thought the literature world would be more progressive these days? Or any day really." Jane said.
Casey smiled thinly. "Literature, yes. Boston University, no. It's quite conservative from the top. No room for scandal." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, poor choice of words."
Jane shrugged. "It's fine." She sighed. "I have to be pretty thick skinned in this line of work."
Casey set her coffee down gently, squinting at Jane meaningfully. "I hope you don't feel like you have to be thick-skinned with me. Or feel like you are at work." She grimaced.
Jane watched her for a moment, determined her sincerity. "Well, this does still feel new I guess. I wouldn't say I meet up for coffee with people that I have interrogated for a possible murder very often."
Casey laughed. Jane felt a tingle up her spine as Casey's face lit up.
"That would be a great premise for a book." Casey pondered. "When a sharp-witted detective befriends a lonely old professor, the line between loyalty and suspicion becomes dangerously blurred."
Jane's eyes widened. "Shit, did you just come up with that?"
Casey smiled. "Not bad for a lonely old professor."
"When the book hits the shelves you'll have to let me know." Jane took a warm sip of her coffee.
Casey reached for her purse. "I have something for you."
Jane shook her head. "Please, no more old and valuable books. I have nightmares about possibly messing up the one you already gave me."
Casey snorted and laid a small stack of typed papers on the table. "No books this time. But I did feel, well, uncomfortable keeping these around."
Jane eyed them and picked up the top stapled packet.
The Hollows of Death
Literature 101 - Dr. Casey Hughes
By: Ava Lewis
Her eyes widened when she looked up at Casey, grabbing for the next ones with the same curiosity.
"I felt like me keeping them might hinder your investigation. Maybe there is something in there to suggest where her mental state was. You would know what to look for better than I. I only see great writing structure and creativity. You see things differently."
"Uh, thank you." Jane said, both hands full of papers as she examined them.
Casey smiled gently, watching the intent that Jane scanned the pages with. The gears grinding in her head, already looking for answers, for clues, that would help solve the case. "You really love this job, don't you?"
Jane paused. Her attention pulled back to Casey. "Yeah. It uh, it's like a puzzle that I just have to figure out. I just have this drive to figure people out."
Casey leaned back comfortably in her chair, seizing an opportunity. "Have you figured anything out about me?"
Jane swallowed hard, placing the papers back in the pile on the edge of the table. She wanted to say yes, and that she was in complete control of this situationship. That they were just friends meeting for coffee and that was kind of weird because she interrogated her only a few weeks ago but… that's not what Jane was thinking at all.
"Yes." Jane half-lied. Casey raised an eyebrow in curiosity and it sent another tingle down Jane's spine. She wanted to hate that tingle.
"Do share, detective."
Jane cleared her throat, buying a half second of time to get her thoughts straight. "Well, when I first met you, I thought something was off about you. One, my partner told me you were a man, so that was the first thing really."
Casey laughed. "I get that a lot actually."
"I didn't trust you." Jane's voice grew serious, and Casey listened intently. "I thought you were hiding something. Maybe you still are."
Casey's smile didn't falter. "What do you think I'm hiding?"
Jane's eyes flickered, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "I don't know… maybe a secret relationship. A marriage you're keeping under wraps. Or maybe this professional, polished version of you is just an act. A character you play for the world, for your students, like the characters you read or teach about. Or maybe… you really do care about them, and you're actually just a good person who's trying to help."
Casey chuckled softly, shaking her head as she leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Or maybe it's all of the above."
"Maybe," Jane said, her tone still playful but with an edge of seriousness. She held Casey's gaze, feeling the unspoken tension between them. She couldn't deny that part of her was still on guard, still wary of trusting Casey completely.
Casey's smile softened, her eyes searching Jane's face for a moment. "And what about you, Jane? What's your secret?"
Jane froze, not expecting the question to be turned back on her. She shifted slightly in her seat, feeling the weight of Casey's eyes on her, waiting for a response. The truth was, Jane wasn't sure how much she wanted to share with this woman.
After a beat, Jane spoke, her voice quieter than before. "My secret? I guess I'm afraid of letting the people around me get hurt. I… can't stand the thought of someone I care about being in danger because of me."
Casey's eyes flickered with something—understanding, maybe empathy. "That's a brave thing to admit," she said softly, "especially considering you still don't fully trust me."
Jane let out a small, dry laugh. "I didn't trust you before," she clarified, meeting Casey's gaze with a level of honesty that surprised even her. "But maybe I do… a little now."
There was a pause, the air between them shifting slightly. Casey smiled again, this time with a warmth that felt more genuine than before. "Progress," she said, lifting her coffee cup in a small toast. "I'll take it."
Jane stood just inside the entrance of the stadium, her eyes wide as they took in the scene before her. She felt like a little kid at a theme park, her heart racing with excitement. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs filled the air, and the distant crack of a bat meeting a ball sent a thrill down her spine. Every nerve ending felt alive, buzzing with anticipation.
She wore her favorite Red Sox jersey, the one she had since she was a teenager, and a worn-out cap that fit her perfectly. It had been years since she'd felt this giddy, but being here, in this park, brought everything back. Baseball had been her escape growing up, the one thing that never changed, no matter how messy life got. Her dad had made sure of that.
She tried bringing Maura here on a date once. She was the only date she'd ever brought to a Sox game that wore heels and Jane was completely mortified. Maura couldn't stop asking questions, was appalled at the amount of food Jane could eat, and the Sox lost. But it was the first time they kissed in public, so Jane logged it as a special memory nonetheless.
"Shit, Frankie, these seats are amazing." She punched his shoulder. He winced in pain. "How did you swing this?"
Frankie rubbed his shoulder where her fist connected. "I won them on the radio." He hissed through the pain. "But I'll remember to bring Tommy next time. He doesn't punch so hard."
But Jane didn't hear him. She was locked into watching the team warm up and scarfing down her favorite hotdog.
"And he doesn't eat so much." Frankie mumbled.
"What?" Jane half turned to him, her mouth half full.
"Nothing." He shook his head and rolled his eyes back to the game.
Jane was the son Frankie Sr. always wished he had. From a young age, she had been drawn to sports, drawn to baseball if it meant keeping her father happy. He always drank too much when the games were on, even more when the Sox lost, but Jane stayed with him night after night. She tasted beer for the first time when she was thirteen and he had gone to the bathroom during a commercial. It was the most horrendous thing she'd ever tasted and it took all she had to swallow it without puking. Looking back, she was sure her father knew, most likely could smell it on her breath, or feel his bottle lighter than when he left, but he never said a word or ratted her out to her mother. Sometimes he was good to her.
"You want another one?" Frankie got up with his empty beer bottle and grabbed Janes as well.
"Yeah sure." She dug into her pocket for some cash but he waved her away and headed up the stairs.
The Sox were up 3-1 in the 6th inning and the home crowd was feeling good. For a moment, Jane forgot she didn't have a job. Forgot that her almost-marriage was on the rocks. Forgot that she had moved in with her brother to try to salvage whatever was left of her almost-marriage and her job. Forgot about the case. For a moment she was human.
Frankie had not returned by the 7th inning stretch, and Jane took the liberty, as everyone else did, to get up and stretch her legs. The stadium was crowded, a must win game for the team, and she could feel the energy around every person there, even the opposing team's fans.
She spotted Frankie leaning up against a railing, a beer in his hand, a girl leaning next to him, Jane's beer in her hand.
"Oh, hey babe, I thought you went to the bathroom. Who is your friend?" Jane cozied up to Frankie and rubbed his back, smiling with her big brown eyes at the blonde blue eyed girl now cowering away from them, leaving Jane's beer behind.
"Jane, what the hell?" He shrugged her off. "No, wait, it's not what you think, she's my sister!" He tried calling after the woman but it was no use. She had disappeared into the sea of the crowd, and a few close groups turned with eyebrows raised in his direction. "Dammit Janie. What's your problem?"
Jane laughed and picked up the abandoned beer bottle. "She was drinking my beer. All of it apparently." She frowned and tossed the almost empty bottle in the trash.
Frankie rolled his eyes. "Good luck getting another one from me." He grumbled. "If i'd have known you were gunna cock-block me, I would have left you at home."
Jane laughed. "Trust me, Ma would not have approved of that one. I saved you from the headache of that conversation." She nudged him. While he didn't like it, she was probably right.
"Detective Rizzoli?"
Jane's shoulders tensed at the sound of her official name. Of all the places she would be recognized, she surely thought it would never be here. Her and Frankie turned, and the familiar face of Casey Hughes stared back at them. Jane's eyes went wide, that tingle down her spine. Casey looked good. And she was in a Sox jersey.
"Casey? What are you doing here?" Jane side eyed Frankie as she left his side. Frankie was too interested in the woman for Jane's liking and the sooner she could get rid of her, the less questions he would ask. She hadn't mentioned she was talking to another woman, as friends.
Casey smiled and approached them. "Uh, the university reserves a box for the staff once a season. The whole English department is here. I came out to get some fresh air and stretch my legs. Clearly I found something much better." Jane noticed the once overlooked look she got from the professor. She winced inside seeing Frankie search for something he couldn't quite pinpoint between them.
Awkwardly she turned to her brother. "Casey, this is Frankie Jr. My brother. Very handsome, very single."
Casey reluctantly pulled her eyes to him and chuckled. "Frankie Jr., nice to meet you." She shook his hand professionally. He did not get the once over look.
"Just Frankie is fine." The words stumbling a little. Jane narrowed her eyes at him.
"Well, it was so great to see you, Casey. Uh, my brother and I have to go get beer and head back to our seats before some moocher tries to take them." She moved to tug on Frankie, but he had different plans.
"We're seated down here behind home. It's not a box, but you're welcome to join us." Frankie insisted. Jane nudged him hard. Enough for Casey to notice and she smirked at both of them.
Casey's eyes widened as an idea popped into her head. "Actually, would you two like to join me up in the box? It's not behind home plate, but there's food and drinks? Free food and drinks." Casey emphasized, eyeing Frankie's beer and winking at him.
"That's awesome!"
"No, it's…" Jane glared at Frankie for his quick acceptance. He shrugged his shoulders.
"Free, Janie." He begged her. "Who are we to turn down such a gracious offer." He smiled at Casey.
Jane sighed. "I… we'd hate to intrude on your space. We should…"
"No intrusion at all." Casey insisted.
Frankie was one step ahead of Jane as they followed Casey to the elevator to take them to the private boxes. Jane's chest felt heavy, as if she was doing something wrong, and she already felt guilty about it.
The guilt eased slightly when they entered the box and was replaced with an anxiousness. It was air conditioned and quiet, with a few scholarly looking people standing around the edges of the small room having quiet conversation. None of them seemed interested in the game at all. None of them looked like they would have anything in common with Jane. This was not her crowd.
Frankie made a beeline to the food, and before Jane could follow, Casey had one arm wrapped around hers.
"Can I introduce you to some of my colleagues? Professor Jordan over here is writing a mystery murder novel, and he'd love to meet a detective."
Jane nodded, feeling Casey's arm tighten around hers.
"Lance!" Casey waved as they approached. "This is my friend, Detective Jane Rizzoli. You may know her as the detective who cracked the Ripper case."
Lance's eyes lit up as he approached, shaking Jane's hand with too much enthusiasm. "Detective Rizzoli! This is a real honor. I've been reading everything about the Ripper case—it's all just brilliant material. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Before she could respond, his first question was through his teeth. "What was it like, what did it feel like to come face to face with a killer like that?"
"Well uh," Jane cleared her throat. "I'm just glad we caught the right guy."
"How fascinating. And, clearly the case took a toll on you. Since you were out on administrative leave for a few months. How does it feel to be back out there, fighting the bad guys?"
Jane was taken aback by the question. Why the hell did he know so much? And he asked it so… nonchalantly. Jane's palms went sweaty as she struggled to wrap her head around the questions. "I, uh…" Her eyes darted at Casey for help. But before Jane could gather herself, an older woman with sharp eyes and a severe expression stepped forward, interrupting.
"Lance, stop harassing the poor girl."
Jane couldn't help but feel a wave of relief as Lance stepped back, slightly chastened. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered. "I just get excited. I meant no disrespect." He half-bowed toward Jane.
The older woman smiled warmly at Jane. "I'm Dr. Christie Cox. I teach Shakespeare. Lovely to meet you, detective."
Jane nodded, grateful for the interruption. "Nice to meet you too, Dr. Cox."
Dr. Cox leaned in conspiratorially. "I'll be honest, Detective Rizzoli, I find today's fascination with violence in literature utterly disturbing. The way students devour these gory details—it's quite scandalizing. They've become desensitized, you know. It's the time, I suppose."
Lance, not quite done, chimed back in. "Well, we have to keep up with the times, Dr. Cox. Readers want realism, and crime fiction is all about capturing the grittiness of the world."
He turned back to Jane. "What's it like being on the force, though? Is it as intense as we imagine? The adrenaline, the danger—"
Jane kept her answer brief, trying to remain polite, steering clear of the very real emotion of it all. "It has its moments. But it's a job, like any other."
Lance's eyes grew big. "Oh, you are so humble." He looked at her like a pitiful puppy who he'd just stepped on its tail. "I need to write a character like you in my book, Christie, where is my notebook?" Lance faded away, much to Jane's relief.
Jane glanced back at Frankie who looked like a zoo animal in such a tightly wound place. He had attempted to strike up a conversation with a young man about his age, but it was clear the conversation was going nowhere. The young man seemed like he'd rather not associate with Frankie's kind.
Casey gave Jane a subtle tug and gently pulled her away from the small group. "Let me introduce you to one more person," Casey said, guiding Jane toward a man standing near the back of the box. Casey's hand drifted down Jane's arm as she tugged her. Any lower and they'd be holding hands. Jane felt her pulse quicken.
"This is George Drumm. George, this is Detective Jane Rizzoli." Casey said, smiling warmly as she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "One of my closest colleagues."
George smiled at Casey, and reluctantly extended his hand to Jane. She could feel the slight tension in his grip "Detective Rizzoli." Her name turned in his mouth in recognition. "From The Ripper Case. Fascinating story. I've been following it from the early stages—your work was incredible. Truly brilliant." His eyes quickly went back to Casey, as if he hadn't really looked at Jane at all.
"Thank you," Jane said, keeping her tone cordial. "But it was a team effort. Couldn't have done it without my squad."
George nodded, amused by Jane's vocabulary. "I'm sure the squad couldn't have done it without your gifts."
Jane furrowed her brows in defense. "What does that mean?" She asked a little too harshly, noticing his brash emphasis.
George held up his hands innocently. "As I said, I followed the case closely. You were the brains behind it all, detective."
Jane didn't believe him for a second. "Well, as I said, it was a group effort." She managed to not quite spit the words through her gritted teeth. But she wanted to smack the smirk right off his lips.
Casey, sensing the tension, attempted to change the subject. "George has been a great mentor of mine," she said, smiling, gently squeezing Jane's forearm for reassurance. "He's a brilliant editor."
George only smiled thinly. "Well, we are an accomplished group here. All of us brilliant in our own ways." Jane could tell he was holding more back, like he wanted to say something to Casey, or perhaps Jane. She felt his pause when his eyes darted down to they're intertwined arms, and Jane could feel him physically reel back.
"It was lovely to meet you, detective. If you'll excuse me." George swallowed the rest of his wine and Jane promptly watched him leave the room without addressing anyone else. A loose cannon ready to fire if she ever saw one.
Casey must have noticed the discomfort in her stiff posture because she leaned in, her voice softer now, more genuine. "I'm sorry for parading you around like that. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. And, George is harmless. He really is a good guy."
Jane looked back at Casey curiously. "Except he is in love with you."
Casey's eyes widened. "What?" Her eyes looking at the door where the man had just exited. "George is very professional, and married I might add." She defended.
Jane pursed her lips. "I've seen people do worse than cheat on their spouses for love, Casey."
Jane watched Casey consider the situation, but the woman shook it out of her head. "George knows perfectly well what my preferences are. I think you are wrong about this one."
Casey gestured toward the bar. "What can I get you to drink, detective? I've paraded you around enough for the night and I didn't even offer my guest a proper drink."
Jane nodded, grateful for the offer. "I'll take a beer if you've got one."
Casey returned with two bottles and handed one to Jane and Casey brought Jane over to the tiered seats so they could watch some of the game. Jane could tell Casey had no idea what was going on, and for a brief moment, Casey reminded her of Maura. Oblivious, asking lots of questions, and looking beautiful in the process.
"So, what does it mean if the Red Sox win tonight?" Casey asked.
"It'll put them up nine games in their division, they'll be able to walk into the playoffs. Even if they lost the rest of their games."
Casey considered. "And we want to make playoffs?"
Jane smirked. Not only for the innocent question, but for the way she referred to them as we. "Yes, we ant to make the playoffs." Jane chuckled.
Casey smiled at Jane's laugh. "Don't laugh at me, sports are clearly not my thing." She leaned into Jane's shoulder and Jane could smell a mixture of the beer on her breath and her warm scented perfume. Jane didn't move away.
"Frankie and I used to come here a lot when we were kids with my dad. Sit up in the nosebleeds because they were the cheapest tickets my dad could find. Good people up there." Jane didn't know why she felt the need to share that story. It just felt comfortable. Casey nodded, acknowledging the statement without pushing for more. But something about the moment made Jane feel like she should continue, as if the memory itself needed to be told.
Jane shifted in her seat, glancing briefly at Casey before turning back to the game. "One time… Frankie got into a fight with a fan from the other team. Some idiot started mouthing off, and Frankie—being Frankie—couldn't let it slide. So, he threw a punch, right in the middle of the bleachers." Jane chuckled, the memory of that day vivid. "We all got kicked out before the sixth inning. My dad was pissed. He made Frankie work all summer to pay him back for the tickets." She shook her head, a faint smile lingering on her lips. "He couldn't even look at the kid without shaking his head for weeks."
Casey wasn't watching the game any more, her attention fully on Jane.
Jane shifted uncomfortably in her seat, finally unable to hold back what had been bothering her. "Why do you always do that?"
Casey looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Do what?"
Jane hesitated, then took a breath. "That. Look at me like that. It feels like you're trying to analyze me. Like you're studying me or trying to figure me out."
Casey's expression softened, and she thought about Jane's words for a moment. She seemed to search for the right way to respond but didn't seem entirely sure how. "I guess... I've just always thought there was more to you than meets the eye. You're not easy to read, Jane, and that makes you… interesting to me."
Jane opened her mouth to press further, to get some clarity on what Casey really meant by "interesting," but before she could say anything, Frankie came bounding down the aisle, excitement plastered all over his face. The two women sprang apart, not realizing how close they had really gotten to each other.
"Jane! You'll never believe this!" he said, breathless. "There's a guy who's taking people on a stadium tour! The whole stadium, the locker room, the press rooms, the workout facilities, everything!"
Casey's colleagues had begun filing out of the box, chatting amongst themselves and preparing to leave. Frankie turned toward Casey, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Are you guys coming? This is gonna be awesome!"
Casey frowned slightly. "Frankie, I believe you actually have to have a ticket for the box to go on the tour."
Frankie's shoulders sank. "Dammit." He mumbled, biting his lip.
"Then that's probably our cue, Frankie." Jane moved to get up from her seat. "Casey, it was very kind of you to invite us up here. We can head back to our seats and let you…"
Before Jane could finish, Casey waved her off. "No, no. Frankie, take my ticket," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling it out. "I am not interested in seeing any of that, and it seems like you'd enjoy it a lot more than me."
Jane immediately shook her head, not wanting to accept yet another gesture from Casey. "You don't have to do that, really. You've done enough today. We can just—"
"I insist," Casey interrupted, her tone light but firm, holding the ticket out to Frankie. Like the ten year old boy Jane always remembered him being, he waited patiently for Jane's approval to take the ticket. "It's no big deal."
When Jane gave him a quick nod, he grinned widely and suddenly hugged Casey, catching her off guard. "You're the best!" he shouted, already heading toward the exit with the ticket in hand.
And just like that, Jane and Casey were alone in the box, the stadium crowd's distant hum filling the quiet between them.
The box was quieter now, the hum of the stadium fading into the background as the tension between Jane and Casey seemed to fill the space. Jane shifted in her seat, trying to focus on the game, but her mind kept wandering back to the strange pull she felt toward Casey. The way she spoke, moved, even just the way she was sitting next to her—it was subtle, but there was something undeniably electric in the air.
Casey leaned back, sipping her beer, her eyes still lingering on Jane. She didn't say much, but the way she looked at Jane felt like a conversation in itself—slow, calculated, almost regal in the way she commanded attention without effort. Her words, when she spoke, were smooth, but there was a playful edge beneath them. "You don't have to worry, Jane. I'm not trying to figure you out like some experiment. It's more… innocent curiosity. You're different from most people I know."
Jane tilted her head, skeptical. "Different how?"
Casey shrugged. "You're straightforward. Honest. You don't let people change you, you command the room when you walk in, people want to know you even though you are kind of a closed book. Most people in my world, they're predictable. Polished, but shallow. But you…" Her eyes traced Jane's face, studying each curve intently.
Jane chuckled, trying to brush it off. "I'm not that complicated, trust me. You're overthinking it."
Casey tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "Am I?" She reached out, brushing a stray piece of hair off Jane's shoulder with a delicate touch. The gesture was casual, almost too casual, but the warmth of her fingers lingered a beat too long. Jane noticed it but said nothing, shifting slightly as the subtle contact sparked something in her.
"You might not see it," Casey continued, her voice soft, "but there's something intriguing about you. It's in the way you hold yourself, the way you think. I like it."
Jane laughed again, but it was more out of nervousness now. "Well, I'm glad I'm keeping you entertained."
Casey's hand lightly brushed Jane's knee as she spoke, just the faintest touch, almost as if it was unintentional. Jane registered it but didn't move away, too wrapped up in the conversation to fully realize what was happening. She found herself leaning a little closer, drawn in by Casey's quiet confidence, her smooth words.
"I think I'd be hard-pressed to find anyone more entertaining," Casey said, her voice low now, almost a whisper. Her fingers drifted again, this time brushing against Jane's arm, a slow, deliberate movement. Jane barely noticed at first, but when she did, her breath hitched slightly. She wasn't sure if it was the warmth of Casey's touch or the way Casey's gaze had softened, but something about the moment felt different.
It felt charged.
Jane tried to play it off, but her voice wavered slightly as she spoke. "You sure you're not overthinking it?"
"Maybe," Casey replied, her tone playful. "Or maybe I'm just seeing something you haven't let anyone else see."
Before Jane could respond, Casey shifted even closer, her face inches from Jane's now. There was a pause, a moment where time seemed to slow, and Jane felt her pulse quicken. Casey's eyes dropped to Jane's lips, and the space between them felt impossibly small. Jane could feel the weight of Casey's presence, the way her hand rested lightly on Jane's thigh now, the pressure increasing ever so slightly.
The world outside the box seemed to fade, the sounds of the game distant and unimportant. Jane's heart raced as she became acutely aware of the closeness between them, the subtle way Casey's body had angled toward hers, the warmth of her breath against Jane's cheek. For a split second, Jane thought she might lean in, might let whatever this was happen.
But as Casey's lips hovered near hers, barely a breath away, Jane's instincts kicked in.
Her mind screamed at her—What are you doing? The realization hit her like a cold wave, and suddenly, the spell was broken.
Jane pulled back, a jolt of panic surging through her. She stood abruptly, almost knocking over her beer in the process. "I—I can't. I have to go," she stammered, her voice shaky as she backed away, avoiding Casey's gaze.
Casey blinked, surprised but composed, her hands dropping back into her lap. "Jane—" she started, but Jane didn't wait for her to finish.
"I'm sorry," Jane muttered, straightening her jersey nervously and bolting for the door. She didn't care about the game anymore, didn't care about anything except putting distance between herself and the confusing storm of feelings that had just overtaken her.
She didn't stop until she was outside the stadium, the cool night air hitting her like a slap to the face. Jane exhaled shakily, her heart still racing as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. She didn't understand why she had gotten so close—why she had almost let herself kiss Casey.
All she knew was that it scared the hell out of her.
Standing outside the stadium, her phone in her hand, the screen glowed with Maura's contact information. Her thumb hovered over the call button, but she couldn't press it. She bent over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath, feeling like she had just sprinted a mile but hadn't moved an inch.
For what felt like hours, she sat in the back of Frankie's truck, lost in her thoughts. The tailgate had become her perch, and by the time Frankie found her, there were six empty beer cans scattered around her feet, and she was finishing off the seventh, trying to drown out the noise in her head.
Frankie walked up, confused, his hands shoved into his pockets. "What the hell happened, Jane?"
She looked up at him, her face a mixture of guilt and exhaustion. "I almost kissed Casey," she muttered, the words slurred slightly from the alcohol but clear enough to stun him.
Frankie stared at her, the confusion clear in his eyes. "What?" He blinked, then pieced it together. "Wait, what? You almost kissed her? She told me you got food poisoning… and…" He spotted the number of beer bottles around her. "Where'd you get the beer?"
"I walked down to the convenience store." She stated matter-of-factly, as if Frankie should have assumed.
Frankie ran a hand over his face, exhaling loudly. "Shit. I didn't see this coming." He paused, clearly trying to figure out what to say. "So, what? You like her or something?"
"I don't know," Jane said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't figure it out. It was just… I got caught up in the moment. She kept looking at me, and then she got closer, and I couldn't stop." She took a shaky breath. "But I can't do this. I can't let this happen. I can't do this to Maur…" She let her head drop and felt the numb drip of a tear down her cheek.
Frankie was silent for a moment, staring at his sister. He hadn't expected any of this, but seeing Jane like this—vulnerable, rattled—it made him realize how much she was struggling with it.
He reached out, helping her down from the tailgate, her legs wobbling a bit from the alcohol. "Alright, come on, let's get you inside the truck. This isn't something we can solve out here."
Jane let him guide her into the cab, slumping into the passenger seat, her mind still spinning. Frankie closed the door behind her and climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling away from the stadium.
The ride home was quiet, neither of them really knowing what to say. Frankie wasn't good at this—handling the messy emotional stuff—but he was her brother, and that meant he would be there, no matter what.
When they finally pulled up to the house, Frankie helped her out of the truck and walked her inside. Jane barely said a word, her body feeling heavy, her thoughts weighed down by confusion and regret.
"You'll feel better in the morning." Frankie said softly, his voice more tender now as he guided her down the hall.
Jane nodded, letting him lead her to the familiar safety of her bedroom. She sank onto the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. Frankie stood there for a moment, not sure if he should say more, but knowing his sister needed space.
"Did they win?" Jane mumbled through her hands.
Frankie chuckled before he shut the door. "Yeah, Janie, the Sox won."
"Maura!" Jane threw the front door to Maura's house open and shuddered in horror. Everything was turned end over end. The couches flipped onto the coffee table, papers spewing out from Maura's office into the living room. Picture frames shattered on the floor. She could feel the crunch of glass and she sprinted upstairs to the bathroom.
The first thing she saw when she went through the half broken door, was the blood on the edge of the counter and the shattered mirror above it. Jane's heart began to panic. She peeled her eyes away from it to find Maura's phone, the screen shattered and lying on the floor near the shower. Jane picked it up, but when the screen didn't light up or respond to her touch she cursed.
"Fuck." She breathed out.
She heard a call from downstairs.
"Jane?"
"Up here, Frost." She shouted down.
Her partner's heavy boots came pounding up the stairs and he stared at the rooms in disbelief.
"What the hell happened, Jane?" His eyes fell to the blood stain.
"He has her, Frost. And if we don't find her…" Her voice cracked, and her hands shook when she held them out toward him as if begging him for some kind of answer.
"We'll find him, Jane. We'll find him, I promise."