The Apprentice

“Watch this,” said Arlen.

Slowly the man turned. His gaze lifted to the camera.

Rizzoli leaned forward, her throat dry, her eyes riveted on the face of Warren Hoyt. Even as she stared at him, he seemed to be staring directly at her. He walked toward the camera, and she saw he had something tucked under his left arm. A bundle of some kind. He kept walking until he was standing directly beneath the lens.

“Here’s the weird part,” said Arlen.

Still staring into the camera, Hoyt raised his right hand, palm facing forward, as though he were about to swear in court to tell the truth. With his left hand, he pointed to his open palm. And he smiled.

“What the hell’s that all about?” said Canady.

Rizzoli didn’t answer. In silence she watched as Hoyt turned, walked to the exit, and vanished out the door.

“Play it again,” she said softly.

“You have any idea what that hand thing was all about?”

“Play it again.”

Canady scowled and hit REWIND, then PLAY.

Once again, Hoyt walked to the door. Turned. Walked back to the camera, his gaze focused on those who were now watching.

She sat with every muscle tensed, her heart racing, as she waited for his next gesture. The one she already understood.

He raised his palm. “Pause it,” she said. “Right here!” Canady hit pause.

On the screen, Hoyt stood frozen with a smile on his face, his left index finger pointing to the open palm of his right hand. The image left her stu

It was Arlen who finally broke the silence. “What does it mean? Do you know?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

“Well, what?” snapped Canady.

She opened her hands, which had been closed into fists on her lap. On both her palms were the scars left from Hoyt’s attack a year ago, thick knots that had healed over the two holes torn by his scalpels. Arlen and Canady stared at her scars.

“Hoyt did that to you?” said Arlen.

She nodded. “That’s what it means. That’s why he raised his hand.” She looked at the TV, where Hoyt was still smiling, his palm open to the camera. “It’s a little joke, just between us. His way of saying hello. The Surgeon is talking to me.”

“You must have pissed him off big-time,” said Canady. He waved the remote at the screen. “Look at that. It’s like he’s saying, ‘Up yours.’ ”

“Or ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ ” Arlen said quietly. His words chilled her. Yes, I know I’ll be seeing you. I just don’t know when or where.

Canady pressed play, and the tape continued. They watched Hoyt lower his hand, and he turned once again toward the exit. As he walked away, Rizzoli focused on the bundle wedged under his arm. “Stop it again,” she said.

Canady hit PAUSE.

She leaned forward and touched the screen. “What is this thing he’s carrying? It looks like a rolled-up towel.”

“It is,” said Canady. “Why would he walk out with that?”

“It’s not the towel. It’s what he has inside it.” She frowned, thinking about what she had just seen upstairs in the O.R. Remembered the empty tray next to the table.

She looked at Arlen. “Instruments,” she said. “He took surgical instruments.”

Arlen nodded. “There’s a laparotomy set missing from the room.”

“Laparotomy? What’s that?”

“It’s medical-speak for cutting open the abdomen,” said Canady.

On-screen, Hoyt had walked out the exit and they saw only an empty hallway, a closed door. Canady shut off the TV and turned to her. “Looks like your boy’s anxious to go back to work.”

The chirp of her cell phone made her flinch. She could feel her heart hammering as she reached for her phone. The two men were watching her, so she stood and turned to the window before answering the call.

It was Gabriel Dean. “You’re aware the forensic anthropologist is meeting us at three o’clock?” he said.

She looked at her watch. “I’ll be there on time.” Barely.

“Where are you?”

“Look, I’ll be there, okay?” She hung up. Staring out the window, she drew in a deep breath. I can’t keep up, she thought. The monsters are stretching me too thin…

“Detective Rizzoli?” said Canady.

She turned to him. “I’m sorry. I have to get back to the city. You’ll call me the instant you hear anything about Hoyt?”

He nodded. Smiled. “We don’t think it’ll take long.”

The last person she felt like speaking to was Dean, but as she drove into the M.E.‘s parking lot she saw him stepping out of his car. She quickly pulled into a space and turned off her engine, thinking that if she just waited a few minutes, he would walk into the building first, and she could avoid any u

She stepped out into the wilting heat and walked toward him, at the pace of one with no time to waste.

“You never came back to the meeting this morning,” he said.

“Marquette called me into his office.”

“He told me about it.”

She stopped and looked at him. “Told you what?”

“That one of your old perps is out.”

“That’s right.”

“And that’s shaken you up.”

“Marquette told you that, too?”

“No. But since you didn’t come back to the meeting, I assumed you were upset.”

“Other matters required my attention.” She started to walk toward the building.

“You are the lead on this case, Detective Rizzoli,” he called after her.

She stopped, turned to look at him. “Why do you feel the need to remind me?”

Slowly he walked toward her, until he was close enough to be intimidating. Perhaps that was his intention. They now stood face-to-face, and although she would never give ground, she couldn’t help flushing under his gaze. It was not just his physical superiority that made her feel threatened; it was her sudden realization that he was a desirable man-an utterly perverse reaction, in light of her anger. She tried to suppress the attraction, but it had already planted its claws and she could not shake it off.

“This case is going to require your full attention,” he said. “Look, I do understand you’re upset about Warren Hoyt’s escape. It’s enough to rattle any cop. Enough to knock you off balance-”

“You hardly know me. Don’t try to be my shrink.”

“I just wonder if you’re feeling focused enough to head up this investigation. Or if you have other issues that will interfere.”

She managed to hold her temper. To ask, quite calmly: “Do you know how many people Hoyt killed this morning? Three, Agent Dean. A man and two women. He slashed their throats, and he walked away, just like that. The way he always manages to do.” She raised her hands, and he stared at her scars. “These are the souvenirs he gave me last year, just before he was about to cut my throat.” She dropped her hands and laughed. “So yeah, you’re absolutely right. I do have issues with him.”

“You also have a job to do. Right here.”

“I’m doing it.”

“You’re distracted by Hoyt. You’re letting him get in the way.”

“The only issue that keeps getting in my way is you. I don’t even know what you’re doing here.”

“Interagency cooperation. Isn’t that the party line?”

“I’m the only one cooperating. What are you giving me in return?”

“What is it you expect?”

“You could start by telling me why the Bureau’s involved. It’s never stepped in on any of my cases before. What makes the Yeagers different? What do you know about them that I don’t?”

“I know as much about them as you do,” he said.

Was it the truth? She didn’t know. She couldn’t read this man. Now sexual attraction had added to her confusion, scrambling any and all messages between them.

He looked at his watch. “It’s after three. They’re waiting for us.”

He started toward the building, but she didn’t immediately follow him. For a moment she stood alone in the parking lot, shaken by her reaction to Dean. At last she took a breath and walked into the morgue, bracing herself for another visit with the dead.