Author's note: updates every day or every two days (up to you), reviews more than appreciated!

Chapter one – Departure

The journey of her coffee from her mouth to her throat slowed down as her attention got caught by the flyer that Lieutenant Cavanaugh had just slid under her nose. Her curiosity piqued, Jane squinted her eyes at it as an impressive amount of scenarios rushed to her mind without making the slightest sense. A dozen of bungalows – lost among palm trees and transparent waters – illustrated a text praising a well-known resort located in Punta Cana, in the Dominican Republic.

"Have we been relocated?" Jane's lips curled up in a smirk as her dark eyes locked with her boss' ones and she waited for an explanation to her presence in his office and furthermore to the leaflet that – for whatever reason – she didn't dare to touch.

Cavanaugh smiled back then made an apologetic face. "To an extent... You're officially on a three-week vacation to the Caribbean. Ocean waterfront deluxe room with all the amenities you can expect from a five-star stay in a place like this one. Your flight takes off tomorrow at 5.50 am. I know it's a bit early but it's the shortest one and within six hours you'll be walking barefoot on the club resort private beach. Or whatever you feel like doing."

With calm, the brunette put down her coffee cup on the lieutenant's desk and crossed her arms on her chest as she settled further in her seat. Obviously, Cavanaugh still had to make a few things clear. "Come on, spill it."

Her legendary impatience was already starting to show. Her boss certainly didn't send his men to exotic islands just for the sake of it. She might not have had Korsak's career, she still had more experience than a rookie.

"Lisa Montgomery. Thirty-eight years old, art dealer. Although her transactions don't seem to only focus on old – or even contemporary – paintings."

Jane frowned and cast a glance at the snapshot of a woman her boss held out to her. She shrugged. "I am not working for the drug unit."

And might God spare her a comeback among Martinez's team. The less they worked together, the better. It was not that he was a bad detective but his methods often brushed limits she herself had a hard time dealing with.

"Except she's a suspect in the Tyler case. I need you to keep her under surveillance. She happened to have booked a vacation to Punta Cana so you can now go and pack. I need daily reports about her comings and goings; whom she interacts with... The classic surveillance scheme."

Skimming through the flyer that she had finally dared to pick up from the desk, Jane wrinkled her nose at her boss' words then shook her head. Benedict Tyler – a Bostonian philanthropist – had been found dead a week earlier at his Brookline mansion. Except she wasn't on the case. Or at least not until now.

"If she's a suspect then why not interrogate her?"

Her question seemed to embarrass Cavanaugh. All of a sudden, the lieutenant began to move nervously on his seat as his eyes averted her own gaze.

After long seconds of some sort of cat and mouse game, he cleared his throat and sighed loudly. "It's more complicated. We think she might be off to the Dominican Republic for some deal. Not just of cocaine, though. She could be there to order a new murder of another philanthropist. I haven't decided anything regarding this case. I am simply responding to the governor's request. He wants you on it."

Jane looked up; dumbstruck. It was the first time that the governor showed the slightest interest in her. He had been present a couple of times when she had been decorated for her job but they had never really shared much; not enough for her to think that she could stand so high in his esteem. Cavanaugh didn't miss her confusion.

"A woman seemed a better option anyway. It's only a surveillance job. If something happens there then she will be arrested once coming back here, right at Logan International. Be friendly with her, test the water... You are a lucky one, you know. Everybody doesn't get the chance to go to Punta Cana for free."

A whirl of questions had loudly crept into her head – making her feel dizzy – but Cavanaugh was answering all of them of his neutral voice as he kept on enumerating the points of her mission without giving her the chance to actually say the slightest thing herself.

"Safe your journey, Rizzoli."

Speechless – uncertain if she had been dreaming all along – Jane stood up and walked slowly to the door; an impressive stack of papers in hand. The Tyler case had surely been studied in its mere detail. Her thin fingers – shaking – grabbed the knob but just as she was about to turn it and open the door, the lieutenant's last remark stopped her immediately.

"By the way, the resort is for a lesbian clientele only at this time of the year. You're going with Dr. Isles. She may come in handy for DNA collecting. You're going as undercover, a freshly married couple on their honeymoon. For further information, you'll find the details in your departure file."

The words hit the air clearly yet for long seconds Jane wondered if she hadn't imagined the whole thing. Still – staring blankly at the door in front of her – she blinked a few times before finally coming back to reality. Even Cavanaugh got surprised by her high-pitched tone of voice as she managed to articulate a strangled "excuse me?".

…

"Did you know that the name Punta Cana refers to the cane palms in the region and literally means "Tip of the White Cane Palms"?" Travel guide in hand, Maura turned on her seat and grinned at Jane who was sitting next to her on the plane. At least she had got the window.

Not that it would spare her six hours of lecture about the Dominican Republic from her over-enthusiastic friend.

Of all partners she could have left with, the brunette had to recognize that she was glad Maura had turned to be the one. Since the day they had unexpectedly met at the Division One Cafe, both women had barely spent a few days far from each other and truth to be told, Jane had no idea how she would have managed to remain almost a whole month without seeing the scientist. Yet Cavanaugh's choice was questionable to say the least.

The honey blonde's inability to lie would certainly not help in a case that required them to go as undercover and pretend they had just tied the knot. At the thought, Jane looked down at her left hand and observed the ring. A white gold one that matched the one Maura wore herself now.

"Does that mean we're on for a rum trip?"

But before the medical examiner had a chance to lose herself in a recap of the alcohol history, Jane bent over and grabbed her MP3 out of her bag. They had just left Boston and it was still early. Too early to engage in whatever conversation Maura had in mind.

Cutting herself from the rest of the world, the Italian turned the device on and closed her eyes; leaned her head back against the pillow settled in her nape. But the sound of bongos instead of the usual electric guitar she had the habit to listen to made her jump of surprise. Her right earphone fell on her shoulder until she realized Maura had actually taken it off, eager to make a statement.

"Bachata. It is a Latino genre of music that originated in the Dominican Republic in the early parts of the 20th century with the African descendants in the country and spread to other parts of the continent. It became very popular in the countryside and popular neighborhood of the island. Its subjects are often romantic, especially prevalent are tales of heartbreak and sadness. The original term used to name the genre amargue – bitterness, bitter music – until the rather ambiguous term bachata became popular. I changed your MP3 playlist last night so you could enjoy a bit of Punta Cana during the flight. And revise your Spanish at the same time."

But Maura's enthusiasm froze before melting into uncertainty as Jane remained silent; a mock of confusion on her face. When had the scientist found time to create new playlists and why was her MP3 at her place exactly?

"You speak Spanish, don't you?" The scientist made a face, in the grip of obvious doubts.

Jane counted until five in her head then nodded. "Sí, señorita." Putting back the earphone on, she repressed a sigh and leaned against the window; closed her eyes. A smile played on her lips. Only Maura could have done that.

Obviously.