The Apprentice: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel by Tess Gerritsen Page A

glanced in the man’s direction. “Him? Says he’s FBI.”
    “What?”
    “Flashed his badge and tried to talk his way past me. I told him he’d have to clear it with you first. Didn’t seem too happy about that.”
    “What’s a fibbie doing here?”
    “You got me.”
    She stood watching the man for a moment, disturbed by the arrival of a federal agent. As lead investigator, she wanted no blurring of the lines of authority, and this man, with his military bearing and businessman’s suit, already looked as though he owned the scene. She walked toward him, but he did not acknowledge her presence until she was standing right beside him.
    “Excuse me,” she said. “I understand you’re FBI?”
    He snapped his cell phone shut and turned to face her. She saw strong, clean-cut features and a coolly impervious gaze.
    “I’m Detective Jane Rizzoli, the lead on this case,” she said. “May I see your I.D.?”
    He reached into his jacket and pulled out the badge. As she studied it, she could feel him watching her, sizing her up. She resented his silent appraisal, resented the way he put her on guard, as though he was the one in control.
    “Agent Gabriel Dean,” she said, handing back the badge.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “May I ask what the FBI’s doing here?”
    “I wasn’t aware we were on opposing teams.”
    “Did I say we were?”
    “You’re giving me the distinct feeling I shouldn’t be here.”
    “The FBI doesn’t usually turn up at our crime scenes. I’m just curious what brings you to this one.”
    “We received an advisory from Newton P.D. about the Yeager homicide.” It was an incomplete answer; he was leaving out too much, forcing her to fish. Withholding information was a form of power, and she understood the game he was playing.
    “I imagine you guys get a lot of routine advisories,” she said.
    “Yes, we do.”
    “Every homicide, isn’t that right?”
    “We’re notified.”
    “Is there something about this one that’s special?”
    He simply gazed at her with that impenetrable expression. “I think the victims would say so.”
    Her anger was working its way like a splinter to the surface. “This body was found only a few hours ago,” she said. “Are these advisories now instantaneous?”
    There was a faint twitch of a smile on his lips. “We’re not entirely out of the loop, Detective. We’d appreciate it if you kept us apprised of your progress. Autopsy reports. Trace evidence. Copies of all witness statements—”
    “That’s a lot of paperwork.”
    “I realize that.”
    “And you want it all?”
    “Yes.”
    “Any particular reason?”
    “A murder and abduction shouldn’t interest us? We’d like to follow this case.”
    As imposing as he was, she didn’t hesitate to challenge him by stepping closer. “When do you plan to start calling the shots?”
    “It remains your case. I’m only here to assist.”
    “Even if I don’t see the need for it?”
    His gaze shifted to the two attendants who’d emerged from the woods and were now loading the stretcher with the remains into the M.E.’s van. “Does it really matter who works the case?” he asked quietly. “As long as this unsub is caught?”
    They watched the van drive away, carrying the already desecrated corpse to further indignities beneath the bright lights of the autopsy suite. Gabriel Dean’s response had reminded her, with punishing clarity, just how unimportant were matters of jurisdiction. Gail Yeager did not care who took credit for the capture of her killer. All she demanded was justice, whoever might deliver it. Justice was what Rizzoli owed her.
    But she’d known the frustration of watching her own hard work claimed by her colleagues. More than once, she had seen men step forward and arrogantly assume command of cases she herself had painstakingly built from scratch. She would not allow it to happen here.
    She said, “I appreciate the Bureau’s offer of help. But at the moment, I think we’ve got