Die Again

New York Times bestselling author Tess Gerritsen earned international acclaim for her first novel of suspense, Harvest. She introduced detective Jane Rizzoli in The Surgeon (2001) and Dr. Maura Isles in The Apprentice (2002) and has gone on to write numerous other titles in the celebrated Rizzoli & Isles series, including The Mephisto Club, The Keepsake, Ice Cold, The Silent Girl, Last to Die, and Die Again. Her latest novel is the standalone thriller Playing with Fire. A physician, Tess Gerritsen lives in Maine.

Advance praise for Die Again

"With Die Again, Tess Gerritsen proves that she is still at the top of her game. I love this fantastically gripping story and can't wait for more."-Karin Slaughter

"Tess Gerritsen always delivers, and this is Gerritsen at her dark, addictive best. What gives Die Again its peculiar charge is the idea, never far from the surface, that we humans are predatory animals like any other. Perhaps we should not be so surprised to find hunters among us."-William Landay

"Animal instinct turns savage-and man is an animal. A Rizzoli and Isles thriller is a guaranteed great read, but this time out Gerritsen really brings on the scary!"-Sandra Brown

"Tess Gerritsen once again proves her masterful dominance in stories delving into the criminal mind and forensic sciences. Die Again left me breathless as Rizzoli and Isles investigate a horrific murder, one with ties to an unsolved massacre in years past. Here is a story both harrowing and as intellectually sharp as a dagger's edge. I dare you to try to stop reading this once you've started."-James Rollins

"Harrowing! Seamlessly melding the gritty streets of Boston with the golden plains of Africa, Tess Gerritsen sets up a cunning predator who's spent years perfecting his game. Now enter Rizzoli and Isles, two of Boston's best determined to catch one of the world's worst in a battle of wits where only the strong can survive. This is Tess Gerritsen at her finest!"-Lisa Gardner

TWO
Boston
It was the mailman who called it in. Eleven fifteen a.m., shaky voice on a cell phone: I'm on Sanborn Avenue, West Roxbury, 02132. The dog-I saw the dog in the window . . . And that's how it came to the attention of Boston PD. A cascade of events that started with an alert mail carrier, one in an army of foot soldiers deployed six days a week in neighborhoods across America. They are the eyes of the nation, sometimes the only eyes that notice which elderly widow has not collected her mail, which old bachelor doesn't answer his doorbell, and which porch has a yellowing pile of newspapers.
The first clue that something was amiss inside the large house on Sanborn Avenue, zip code 02132, was the overstuffed mailbox, something that US postal carrier Luis Muniz first noticed on day number two. Two days' worth of uncollected mail wasn't necessarily a cause for alarm. People go away for the weekend. People forget to request a hold on home delivery.
But on day number three, Muniz started to worry.
On day number four, when Muniz opened the mailbox and found it still jam-packed with catalogs and magazines and bills, he knew he had to take action.
"So he knocks on the front door," said Patrolman Gary Root. "Nobody answers. He figures he'll check with the next-door neighbor, see if she knows what's going on. Then he looks in the window and spots the dog."
"That dog over there?" asked Detective Jane Rizzoli, pointing to a friendly-looking golden retriever who was now tied to the mailbox.
"Yeah, that's him. The tag on his collar says his name's Bruno. I took him outta the house, before he could do any more . . ." Patrolman Root swallowed. "Damage."
"And the mail carrier? Where's he?"
"Took the rest of the day off. Probably getting a stiff drink somewhere. I got his contact info, but he probably can't tell you much more than what I just told you. He never went inside the house, just called nine one one. I was first on the scene, found the front door unlocked. Walked in and . . ." He shook his head. "Wish I hadn't."
"You talk to anyone else?"
"The nice lady next door. She came out when she saw the cruisers parked out here, wanted to know what was going on. All I told her was that her neighbor was dead."
Jane turned and faced the house where Bruno the friendly retriever had been trapped. It was an older two-story, single-family home with a porch, a two-car garage, and mature trees in front. The garage door was closed, and a black Ford Explorer, registered to the homeowner, was parked in the driveway. This morning, there would have been nothing to distinguish the residence from the other well-kept houses on Sanborn Avenue, nothing that would catch a cop's eye and make him think: Wait a minute, there's something wrong here. But now there were two patrol cars parked at the curb, rack lights flashing, which made it obvious to anyone passing by that yes, something was very wrong here. Something that Jane and her partner, Barry Frost, were about to confront. Across the street, a gathering crowd of neighbors stood gaping at the house. Had any of them noticed the occupant hadn't been seen in a few days, hadn't walked his dog or picked up his mail? Now they were probably telling one another: Yeah, I knew something wasn't right. Everyone's brilliant in retrospect.
"You want to walk us through the house?" Frost asked Patrolman Root.
"You know what?" said Root. "I'd rather not. I finally got the smell outta my nose, and I don't care for another whiff of it."
Frost swallowed. "Uh . . . that bad?"
"I was in there maybe thirty seconds, tops. My partner didn't last even that long. It's not like there's anything in there I need to point out to you. You can't miss it." He looked at the golden retriever, who responded with a playful bark. "Poor pup, trapped in there with nothing to eat. I know he had no choice, but still . . ."
Jane glanced at Frost, who was staring at the house li