Mariah Stewart - Last Breath

“Stefano,” she said. “What are you doing here…?”

Connor could not remember the last time he felt this free or this good. He knew enough of life’s twists and turns to know that things could change on a dime, but for right now, he couldn’t think of anything better than being behind the wheel of a fast car on a winding country road, on his way to see his favorite girl, singing along with Jimi Hendrix’s “Gyspy Eyes,” a silly dog in the passenger seat next to him, hanging out the window catching a faceful of air.

He didn’t hear the phone ringing until the song played out.

“Shields.”

“Connor, it’s Will Fletcher.”

Connor turned off the music and slowed the car.

“You get a chance to run any more of those names I gave you?”

“Ran ’ em all. I e-mailed everything to you this morning, but when I didn’t hear back from you, I thought maybe I should give you a call.”

“I haven’t checked my computer yet today. What did you find?”

“Harry Dragonis.” Will was not one to waste words. “Born Hakan Drago, February 22, 1937, Adana, Turkey. Family immigrated here in 1946. Worked as a security guard at Howe University from 1958 through 1988. Married a Turkish girl, Ayfer Demerkan, in 1955. One child, Vedat, born 1962. Wife died in 1984. Body was returned to Turkey for burial. Hakan-Harry-died in June of 1988. Don’t know what happened to the daughter after that.”

Connor drove slowly, thinking it through. “Look, thanks-”

“Wait, there was something else. Stefano Korban. Interestingly enough, he was also born in Adana, Turkey. Immigrated at age nineteen. Guess which year that would have been.”

“Can’t.”

“July of ’88.

“Right after Drago died?”

“Less than a month later.”

“Think you can find out why?”

“I can find out anything if you give me enough time.”

“Thanks. Let me know if you come up with anything else.”

Connor hung up and thought it through.

Harry Dragonis the dealer had been a security guard at Howe and had selectively helped himself to some prime collectibles.

Way to cut out the middleman, Harry.

Stefano Korban arrived here shortly after Drago-Dragonis-died in 1998. What connected Drago to Korban?

Connor wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he was damned sure it wasn’t coincidental. It was all part of the same puzzle. Right now, he was still missing a few pieces, but he knew from experience that if he followed his instincts, they would lead him to the solution.

He dialed Daria’s number and was disappointed when it went right to voice mail.

He placed the phone on the console and drove under the arch that marked the entrance to the university. When he reached the lot, he parked in his favorite spot under the oak tree. In the fall, when he came back to see Daria, he thought he’d have to park elsewhere so that acorns wouldn’t ping off his precious Porsche. He snapped the leash onto Sweet Thing’s collar and got out of the car. The dog leaped across the console and out the driver’s side door. Connor slammed it, locked it, and jogged down the path leading to McGowan House.

When they got to the back door, he found it was locked. Sweet Thing barked several times, staring up at the door.

“Maybe she’s out front. Come on, girl.” Connor and the dog trotted around the side of the house to the front porch.

“I know you’re happy to be home,” Connor said. He knocked, then rang the doorbell, but there was no answer.

The dog jumped up at the door, barking and whining.

“I don’t think she’s in there, girl.”

He dialed Louise’s office, and was surprised when she, rather than her assistant, answered the phone.

“Louise, it’s Connor. I was trying to catch up with Daria. She’s not at the house, so I was wondering if your meeting was still going on.”

“We finished well over an hour ago. As a matter of fact, I just got back from the bank. I had a meeting there with the architect. He dropped off his numbers for the proposed renovations at the museum.” He could hear the shuffling of papers. “I have to say, things are looking very good.”

“Great. I’m happy to hear that.” Sweet Thing started pulling him to the edge of the porch steps and he tugged back on the leash. “Louise, if Daria shows up, would you ask her to give me a call? I’m at the house but I’m locked out.”

“Sure. And as soon as Vita gets back from lunch, I’ll ask her to run over with an extra key for you.”

“Vita.” He said the name aloud as if testing it. “Louise, what do you know about Vita’s background?”

“I know she grew up around Howeville, and that she was married briefly when she was young. She’s worked at the university for a long time. Why?”

“Do you know what her maiden name was?”

“I don’t think I ever heard her mention it. She’s been Landis for as long as I’ve known her.”

“Thanks.”

He hung up the phone, not liking the thoughts that were running through his mind.

Vita.

Vedat.

He tried Daria’s phone again. Still no answer. The uneasy feeling grew. Where was Daria?

Logic told him she was likely to be in one of three places. She wasn’t here at the house and she wasn’t at Louise’s office.

That left the museum.

“Come on, girl.” Connor led the dog down the porch steps. “Let’s find Daria.”

“Where are the guards the bank sent over?” Vita asked Stefano.

“Dismissed,” he said simply.

Daria looked from Stefano to Vita.

“What’s going on, Vita? I thought Louise and the architect-”

“I’m sorry, Daria, I really, really am,” Vita said softly. “I really do like you. Under other circumstances, I’d have liked to have gotten to know you better.”

“Please, cousin.” Stefano was becoming impatient. “We really don’t have time for this.”

“Vita, I don’t understand what’s going on here, but I think I want-” Daria started toward the door, but Stefano blocked her way.

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid we can’t let you leave, Daria.”

“It’s too late, honey,” Vita told her. “You just know too much.”

“I don’t understand,” Daria repeated.

“It’s only a matter of time before you do.” Vita shook her head. She turned to Stefano. “Do it quickly.”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “It has to be like the others.”

“Why?” Vita frowned.

“Use your head, Vita. She’s the great-granddaughter of the guy who dug it all up and brought it here. If we’re going to pull this off, make it look like a religious ritual, she has to be killed just like the others were.”

“Oh my God, you killed those people?” Daria gasped. “You killed all those people…?”

The closer they came to the museum, the more agitated Sweet Thing became. When the front door opened and the guard stepped out, the dog began snarling and snapping, demonstrating a viciousness Connor never suspected her capable of.

“Stop it,” Connor commanded. “Stop it, girl. Sit. Stay.”

The well-trained dog did as she was told, though her posture made it clear it was with the greatest reluctance.

“I’m sorry, but no one’s allowed in.” The guard stood with his back against the door, his eyes never leaving the dog.

“I think this gets me in.” Connor held up his FBI credentials. The guard reached for it, and Sweet Thing lunged.

“Sit!” Eyeing the guard curiously, Connor restrained the dog.

After returning the ID, the guard stared at Connor, as if trying to decide what to do.

“I have my orders,” he finally said.

Connor held up his ID again. “I think this supersedes any orders you have from anyone else.”