One Last Breath
Lisa Jackson
STALKING RORY
Ten minutes later she moved her car and parked. It was late afternoon and the sun was slanting down, gilding the fluttering leaves on the maple tree at the edge of the motel’s parking lot. As she climbed out of the car, a soft breeze lifted Rory’s hair off her neck and she breathed deeply before hauling her overnight bag from the back seat. A shiver ran up her back and she straightened quickly, feeling the hairs rise on her nape as she glanced around. That same old sense of being followed had caught her up. Her gaze darted from one shadowed corner to another, her pulse racing.
No one.
She told herself she was being ridiculous, and yet . . .
Certain unseen eyes were following her every movement, she hurried up the stairs as fast as she dared, banging the heavy bag into the rail several times as she struggled to the second level. Twice it felt like it was going to topple her over, but she made it inside her room without incident. At the door to her room, she glanced down at the parking lot, thought she saw someone moving in the shrubbery surrounding the asphalt, but decided the shifting of the shadows was just a stray dog settling into a shady spot.
Nothing sinister.
She let herself inside the room, threw the lock, then made sure the curtains were tightly closed. She took a few steps back from the window and door and waited, pulse pounding, expecting . . . something.
Every nerve in her body was stretched thin.
She heard footsteps outside her doorway, but they didn’t pause and fade . . .
Books by Lisa Jackson
Stand-Alones
SEE HOW SHE DIES
FINAL SCREAM
RUNNING SCARED
WHISPERS
TWICE KISSED
UNSPOKEN
DEEP FREEZE
FATAL BURN
MOST LIKELY TO DIE
WICKED GAME
WICKED LIES
SOMETHING WICKED
WICKED WAYS
SINISTER
WITHOUT MERCY
YOU DON’T WANT TO
KNOW
CLOSE TO HOME
AFTER SHE’S GONE
REVENGE
YOU WILL PAY
OMINOUS
Anthony Paterno/Cahill Family Novels
IF SHE ONLY KNEW
ALMOST DEAD
Rick Bentz/Reuben Montoya Novels
HOT BLOODED
COLD BLOODED
SHIVER
ABSOLUTE FEAR
LOST SOULS
MALICE
DEVIOUS
NEVER DIE ALONE
Pierce Reed/Nikki Gillette Novels
THE NIGHT BEFORE
THE MORNING AFTER
TELL ME
Selena Alvarez/Regan Pescoli Novels
LEFT TO DIE
CHOSEN TO DIE
BORN TO DIE
AFRAID TO DIE
READY TO DIE
DESERVES TO DIE
EXPECTING TO DIE
Books by Nancy Bush
CANDY APPLE RED
ELECTRIC BLUE
ULTRAVIOLET
WICKED GAME
WICKED LIES
SOMETHING WICKED
WICKED WAYS
UNSEEN
BLIND SPOT
HUSH
NOWHERE TO RUN
NOWHERE TO HIDE
NOWHERE SAFE
SINISTER
I’LL FIND YOU
YOU CAN’T ESCAPE
YOU DON’T KNOW ME
THE KILLING GAME
OMINOUS
DANGEROUS BEHAVIOR
NO TURNING BACK
LISA JACKSON
NANCY BUSH
ONE LAST BREATH
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
STALKING RORY
Books by Lisa Jackson
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Lisa Jackson, LLC, and Nancy Bush
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-3613-5
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3614-2
eISBN-10: 1-4201-3614-3
Prologue
It was all he could do not to wring her neck.
“We’re both getting what we want,” he bit out through his teeth, trying to hold on to his anger. “You’re getting what you want. I’m getting what I want.”
She was standing right in front of him, arms crossed, daring him, as she always did. “You’d better be right,” she warned, inching up her chin defiantly. A sliver of light shot through the hotel room window from the sodium-vapor street lamp outside and glimmered in her hate-filled eyes.
He closed the gap between them and laid his hand against her throat.
She stiffened but she didn’t back away, just glared at him. Her lips, so shiny as to appear wet, curled into a sneer. Almost challenging him.
The urge to crush her larynx was so great he trembled with the effort to stop himself and his back teeth gnashed with frustration.
With maddening calm, she said, “You’re not that stupid.”
She was right. He wasn’t that stupid. But it damn near killed him to hold back. Instead of squeezing her windpipe closed, he let his hand move down her chest to her right breast, and caught a new gleam in her eye. Then he shifted up close to her, pushing her to the wall, seeing a slight intake of her breath as he thrust hard against her.
“You’re disgusting,” she muttered, as his mouth came down hard on those sneering lips.
She pushed her hands against his chest and yanked her mouth away, but he ground his hips into her and her breath started coming fast and shallow. Just as he knew it would. This, their game, always played out the same way. “We don’t have time,” she warned on a gasp.
“Oh, yeah, we do.” He’d already found the zipper that ran down her back and was yanking on it.
“My dress!”
“Take it off,” he ordered, but didn’t wait. As she began to protest again, he yanked the gown over her head, mussing her hair, dropping the expensive designer creation to the floor. Then, using his weight, he forced her to the carpet as well. H
er hands reached up, pushing off his suit jacket, working the buttons of his shirt, stripping him as he skimmed the slimming panties down her legs and kicked off his own binding pants.
And then he was on her, forcing himself into her, probing her hot, moist depths, her denials muted as she met each of his thrusts with her own moans and anxious movements, her fingers digging into his butt. He had to admit she was the best piece of ass he’d ever had, and he’d had scores.
In the midst of one hard plunge, she shuddered and gasped, “When the wedding’s over—”
“We’re strangers,” he finished for her.
And then she threw back her head and let out a breathless scream, clinging to him. He came in a long groan of satisfaction.
God, he thought, a bit dazedly. I could be with her forever. Too bad she’s such a soulless bitch.
* * *
Something’s wrong.
In the garden of the hotel, Liam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing down the grassy aisle to the arched arbor with its delicate pergola adorned in pink roses—the spot where his bride would appear. He felt a frisson of expectation and something else—fear?—as he waited to see Rory, glimmering in her wedding dress, waiting expectantly on the arm of her brother.
Never mind that Rory and he were already legally married and this ceremony, created at the behest of his mother, Stella, was really all for show. Still, he was tense. Nervous. And yes, expectant, his heart pounding as he waited to see her in the long white gown and veil, carrying a bridal bouquet . . .
Stupid, he chided himself, she’s your wife and has been for over two months. Get a grip. Yet he tugged at the collar of his shirt, his gaze focused on the break in the greenery, his pulse jumping.
He checked his watch.
Again.
She sure as hell was taking her sweet time. He’d expected to see her five minutes ago, as had the whole group that had gathered for the event. Guests seated in white chairs spread across the expanse of lawn, nervous members of the wedding party, even some of the hotel staff—all seemed to be holding their collective breath.
Come on, Rory.
He heard a couple of tiny coughs. A soft whisper. The wind riffling leaves on overhead branches.
The organist was staring down the petal-strewn walkway, too. Her plump hands were poised over the keyboard, her brow furrowed. Behind rimless glasses her eyes were filled with concern, their expression just visible in the gathering twilight.
The weather hadn’t been favorable, clouds gathering. The hotel, perched high on a cliff over Lake Washington, was already awash in exterior lights, evening rapidly approaching.
The preacher, bald and dressed in black, waited with an open Bible in hand. He caught Liam’s eye, silently signaling his concern.
“What’s the holdup?” his best man whispered as the preacher stepped over to the organist, said something under his breath, and the woman at the keys began playing softly again, the same familiar strains of Pachelbel’s Canon, joyful, lilting music that just screamed “wedding” as the guests filtered in.
“Don’t know.”
“She’d better show up soon.” Standing next to Liam, Derek, his half brother, shifted from one foot to the other, crushing the blades of grass beneath his weight. They were about the same size, Liam slightly taller, both trim, both having inherited their father’s light brown eyes and thick, coffee-dark hair. Derek, older, sported his mother Karen’s wide forehead and single dimple, while Liam’s jaw was a little more square, his eyes deeper set. However, despite being born to different mothers, Geoff Bastian’s sons did look like brothers. “The natives are getting restless,” Derek added, and he wasn’t wrong.
Guests were shifting in their chairs and craning their necks as they cast looks toward the empty arbor.
Derek frowned, surveying the crowd. “You want me to go looking for her?”
“No!” Liam said a little louder than he’d wanted, turning a few heads. He lowered his voice and added, “She’s only a few minutes late.”
“Maybe she wants to make a grand entrance,” Derek said. “Well, I guess she already is.”
“Right.” Liam clenched his teeth, reminding himself to be patient. This, a “proper” and showy wedding, was created at his mother’s insistence and would be over soon.
If and when it ever got started.
The gathering wasn’t large by Bastian wedding standards, but more than a hundred people were waiting on the lawn in neat rows of white chairs, some festooned with bouquets of roses and baby’s breath. Most of the guests were friends of his parents; some were of his own acquaintance. Very few were aligned with his wife, however; just her mother, and stepbrother Aaron, the person she’d chosen to walk her down the aisle.
Liam didn’t much like anyone in her family and the feeling was mutual. Her stepbrothers were definitely interested in the Bastian money, but they still felt more comfortable with Rory’s previous boyfriends, none of whom Liam had ever met. But maybe the monetary interests were less than he thought and that was the holdup? Was Aaron involved in some eleventh-hour, last gasp effort to stop the wedding? Maybe thinking he could wrangle Rory out of her marriage if she didn’t go through with this formal ceremony? He wasn’t the most reliable of guys at the best of times, though he did seem to have Rory’s best interests at heart . . . No, Aaron didn’t have that strength of conviction. Everett, Rory’s elder stepbrother, now there was a guy who would stop the earth spinning on its axis if he thought it might gain him something. He was as wily and determined and full of bad choices as his father . . . who just happened to be doing five to ten in prison and therefore would not be attending his stepdaughter’s wedding.
Liam shifted his stance. He was tense all over. Maybe Rory was the reason for the holdup. She hadn’t been crazy about this big show of a wedding, nor had he, for that matter, but they’d both bent to Stella’s wishes.
Almost of its own accord, his eye found his mother, who was sitting like a frozen mannequin, or maybe like a prisoner in front of a firing squad. Her swept-up blond hair seemed to defy the elements, while other women were swiping away errant strands from the bursts of a crisp and persistent breeze. Stella hadn’t wanted the marriage at all, but since Liam and Rory had sealed the deal two months earlier in front of a judge, she’d had a near breakdown at the news, then had suddenly ramped up and decided to make the wedding the event of the season. Though the Bastians hailed from Portland, Rory’s family lived in the Seattle area. When Stella found she could get a hotel on Lake Washington because some other unhappy couple had called it quits at the last moment, she’d grabbed the venue and leaped in with all the fervor of a new convert, ignoring the grumblings of Liam’s father about cost, time, and work.
So, here they were.
He caught movement near the pergola and witnessed Darlene, Rory’s mother and the matron of honor, peeking out from a space between the hedgerow and slats of the arbor. A concerned look was etched on Darlene’s features, and she bit at her lower lip. As if she, too, was edgy, beginning to worry.
Great.
Liam willed his wife to appear. Come on, come on. His jaw tightened. Rory wouldn’t stand him up, would she? Heaven knew she was as opposed to all the pomp and ceremony as he was, but she’d agreed to this spectacle and they were already married.
She’ll be here. Have a little faith. She won’t run out on you. What would be the point? This is just some wedding-day glitch. It happens all the time. The delay’s probably because of Aaron. Between dope smoking, video games, and the occasional part-time job that invariably fizzled within the month, Rory’s stepbrother wasn’t exactly a rock of responsibility.
Frowning, Liam pulled on the edge of his sleeve and noted the time. Not quite ten minutes had passed since Rory was supposed to have started her short walk from the arbor. Aaron was probably late to pick her up. As usual.
Just hold on. You and Rory will laugh about this later . . .
The minutes ticked by. Liam shifted his
gaze from the decorated arch to the guests seated in two groupings of white chairs on either side of the pink rose-petal path. To his right, visible through a break in the hedge, were the gray-green waters of Lake Washington far below the cliff’s edge. Though rain was pending, it was a beautiful evening. It should be a moment to remember . . .
The sea of expectant faces swam before his vision and he settled his gaze on his father, who was tense and looked almost angry. He could tell Geoff was beginning to wonder if the no-good, no-class, no-nothing girl Liam had brought home was about to stand him up. Unheard of! No one deliberately let down a Bastian.
Liam inwardly sighed. His father was a domineering patriarch and had been all his life. Stella leaned in and said something to Geoff and he brushed her off. Liam could tell he was getting antsy. The last thing he needed was for his father to make a scene.
Where was Rory? She knew what Liam’s family thought of her, but she’d been stalwart in her decision to marry him. Maybe “stalwart” was too strong a word. More like she was as eager as he was to get past this hurdle, start their life together and damn the consequences.
Except she wasn’t here.
The niggling worry dug farther into his brain and he felt himself start to sweat. Rory had not invited Everett Stemple—nor Harold Stemple, Rory’s stepfather, who couldn’t make the wedding for obvious reasons—but Everett hadn’t taken the snub well. You’ll be sorry, he’d told Rory in front of Liam, though Liam had thought it was petty anger at the time, not a serious threat. Could Everett be involved in this delay somehow? Maybe he’d coerced Aaron into some half-baked plan to stop the event, just to be an asshole. That would be just like him.
His mother was staring at him. He could read the set of her jaw, the burn of her gaze. She’d called the Stemples “the underbelly of society,” and she didn’t really differentiate Rory from her stepfamily. Stella was wrong about Rory, but she wasn’t wrong about Harold Stemple. A year and a half earlier Harold had mounted a home invasion on a wealthy Seattle family, trying to steal their jewels, not realizing they were the kind of people who owned stocks and bonds and very little in the way of items that could be pawned. Harold tied them up and then took the husband to an ATM, where he got about three hundred dollars and his picture on the ATM camera. There was talk that Everett was involved, too, but nothing was ever proved. It was a mystery why Darlene stayed married to the man, but Rory had embarrassedly admitted that her mother felt she was somewhat psychic and believed the powers of the universe wanted her to stay in the union.
