Read Online Last Breath by Mariah Stewart - Free Book Online Page B

John had left for him on the counter. “I don’t expect we’re talking about anything the art guys can’t handle, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in seeing Daria again.”
    â€œFine. Take a drive, check it out, give me a call. With any luck, you’ll be able to turn the case over to NSAF within forty-eight hours and you’ll still have time to take the lady to dinner.”
    â€œThat’s what I’m thinking.” Connor grinned. “I mean, how complicated can it be to figure out if a few old statues or pieces of pottery or whatever have been stolen?”

    Connor finished his meal just as the sun drifted behind the trees. He sat alone on the patio that surrounded his pool, at a table with four chairs. He tried to remember whether there’d ever been four people sitting at this table at the same time, and couldn’t remember that there had been. The most people who’d visited had been a whopping three: his cousins Mia, Andrew, and Belinda. Which would have made four at the table, if they’d been sitting outside. Which in December, they had not been.
    He settled back to finish off the beer he’d had with dinner and watch the sun set. When it was almost dark, he took the chairs into the garage where he stored them, and since sudden thunderstorms darkened many an afternoon this time of the year, he folded the table’s umbrella. He watched the fireflies dance across the pool, and thought about seeing Daria again.
    He’d been truthful with John when he’d said he’d only met Daria McGowan one time. What he hadn’t told John was that after that one meeting, he’d dreamed about this woman over and over. This, he smiled to himself, after months of dodging the efforts of their mutual friend, Magda, to introduce them. It wasn’t that he’d been avoiding her. It was simply that life was such these days that he’d rarely had the time to say more than hello to any woman who might have caught his eye. Which was just fine with him. Connor had an agenda, and he hadn’t penciled in
find woman.
Maybe someday, but not now. Then again, maybe never. Life was too complicated.
    He’d seen Daria from his balcony once before the night they’d actually met. She’d looked pretty and fragile and he’d been intrigued. He’d been on his way to the courtyard to meet her when he was called from the Villa to attend a meeting, and had returned after midnight. By the next morning, she had gone. His loss, Magda reminded him at every subsequent visit.
    Then, last November, he’d arrived in Essaouira on a Wednesday morning, tired and dusty and craving a hot shower, a soft bed, and a meal such as Magda’s chef delighted in preparing for the guests. He thought that Magda had smirked when he arrived at the front desk, but there was a group of French tourists behind him waiting to check in, and he let it go. He’d gone to his room and stripped off his clothes and went directly to the shower. A phone call brought a meal fit for a king, and he ate at the table on the balcony and watched the windsurfers out in the harbor. He fell asleep in his chair, and when he awoke, the tray was gone, his back was stiff, and his head hurt. He’d crashed on the bed, fully clothed, and slept straight through until the next morning.
    He’d ordered an American breakfast—eggs, toast, potatoes—and a pot of coffee, and once again sat on the balcony to eat. After weeks traveling from desert to mountain and to desert once again, the view of the Atlantic had been as welcome as an oasis. He thought about borrowing a boat from Cyrus. He’d drop anchor in one of the coves and dive in and swim until his arms and legs wore out, then he’d climb onto the boat and return to the marina.
    His eyes had strayed to the courtyard, and to the flash of white that moved to the corner table. He’d recognized the hat, white and