LAST BREATH

  EMMA LAST SERIES: BOOK ONE

  MARY STONE

  Copyright © 2023 by Mary Stone Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  This book is dedicated to the dreamers and misfits who dance to the beat of their own drum. Your differences make you beautifully unique and precious. Don't hide them. Let them shine.

  CONTENTS

  Description

  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

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  What’s Next?

  Emma Last Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  DESCRIPTION

  Welcome to the deadliest show on Earth...

  When the Ruby Red Spectacle Circus rolls into town, chaos and death follow in its wake. At first, the accidents seem coincidental, but as the body count rises, it becomes clear that a killer is lurking within the big top’s shadows.

  Smoke and mirrors concealing love and hate.

  After a third performer turns up dead, the newly formed FBI Violent Crimes Unit in Washington, DC is called in to investigate. For FBI Special Agent Emma Last, the case is a chance to prove herself to her new SSA—and a welcome distraction from the ghosts who’ve invaded her life.

  As Emma delves deeper into the twisted world of the circus, she begins to see things that can't be explained. And when the animal rights activists outside the fairgrounds grow increasingly aggressive, the team must protect the performers from both outside threats and their own dark secrets.

  Secrets worth killing over.

  When the investigation takes a sinister turn, Emma knows she's not the only one haunted by ghosts. With each shocking revelation, she's forced to confront the terrifying truth...someone is willing to do whatever it takes to keep the circus's secrets buried.

  By turns thrilling and jaw-dropping, Last Breath is the first book in the exciting new FBI mystery series from bestselling author Mary Stone—where you’ll realize the show must go on...no matter the cost.

  1

  The lingering stink of popcorn, cotton candy, and salted peanuts was swallowed by the sweet smell of blueberry muffins, but Kyle Perkins had no trouble resisting the lure of Cookie’s fresh-baked goods. He’d done his carbo-loading over the past few days and was happily burning it away with this morning’s workout.

  Mornings like this were Kyle’s favorite. The world was peaceful, despite containing residual energy and odors from the previous night’s festivities.

  Beyond Cookie’s trailer, the peak of a bright-red tent sliced into the horizon, casting a dark shadow across the pavement as the sun rose behind it. Signs proclaiming Spectacles and Marvels! and A Plethora of Pyrotechnics! and Strongman Shoulders Chevrolet! pointed the way toward the circus act areas.

  Even with those distractions, Kyle found a sense of ease and comfort in his lifting regimen.

  Thirty-three down.

  The Ruby Red Spectacle Circus strongman brought the weight up again, ensuring the motion of the hundred-pound barbell remained smooth through the arc of his arm curl.

  In his other hand, he held the day’s first protein shake, a double-chocolate-almond concoction that would soon serve as his breakfast appetizer. As always, the glass remained steady in his hand. That was the test.

  Thirty-four down.

  It wasn’t enough to just lift the weight. The muscles needed to be isolated from the rest of his body.

  Thirty-five down.

  Behind him, the kitchen trailer’s old stove rattled the wall, overworked and struggling. Not for the first time, he thought about how nice it would be to have a fridge or stove in his own camper. He’d never set foot outside that cozy space for anything but workouts and performances if that were the case, especially on cold January mornings like this. Maybe one of these days…

  Thirty-seven down.

  His stomach grumbled, as it usually did around this time. The straw of his protein shake tempted him.

  No. Routine was everything.

  No eating or drinking ’til you’re done, Strongman Perkins. Not a sip.

  From the other side of the trailer, a performer was crying as she left the kitchen area. Maybe the fortune teller, Esther, but maybe not. Grief still hung heavy in the air since they’d lost Penelope and Dennis so suddenly, and Kyle imagined that had to be why she was still distraught.

  Losing Penelope had shocked him, too, and it still did. She’d been a serious athlete and deserved a hell of a lot more than a cheap-ass billing with the Ruby Red Spectacle Circus. No, she’d been of an elite breed like him, devoted to her training and her craft as a trapeze artist against all obstacles and distractions. She’d just been trying to make a decent life for herself after being dealt a losing hand.

  It still didn’t feel real.

  A safety line had allegedly snapped, plummeting Penelope to the dirt- and straw-covered asphalt. Kyle worried no one had checked the lines as they were supposed to nightly. Like so much of the circus’s equipment, however, they were probably ten years overdue for replacement.

  Forty-one down.

  Gritting his teeth against the ache building in his right bicep, he refused to stop. He eyed his protein shake, noting a tremor in the liquid as he exhaled a cloud of breath through his chapped lips.

  It seemed like whoever was in charge of those safety lines should’ve been fired, but no one claimed responsibility, and he hadn’t heard of anybody leaving the circus. Even the damn police had labeled it an accident and washed their hands of things in record time. Though they lived, breathed, loved, and lost like the rest of the world, “circus freaks” were not treated equally.

  Not viewed as normal.

  Reggie O’Rourke, the ringmaster and owner, said the Ruby Red took care of their own like a family…but that wasn’t how Penelope’s and Dennis’s demises felt. They felt like neglect.

  “Least my barbells and other equipment can’t fall apart and drop me to my death,” Kyle muttered to himself between counts. “That’s something.”

  Forty-five down.

  Of course, Dennis Hamel’s death, unlike Penelope’s, hadn’t been because of aged materials. That’d been his own fault. How a trained professional like Dennis, who’d performed hundreds of shows, could mix up a prop firecracker with a real one was anyone’s guess.

  Well, no, Kyle corrected himself.

  The reason was clear. Dennis had been a drunk and a moron, an unfortunate trend within the Ruby Red Spectacle Circus.

  That damn firecracker had blown a hole right through Dennis a week ago, and not one person trained in pyrotechnics within the circus could figure out how he’d mixed the real thing up with his props. His death was a true blow to morale.

  But the two deaths together…

  Kyle brushed away the thought.

  Coincidences happened, especially in a world like the one they lived in.

  High-pitched, off-tune whistling signaled Reggie O’Rourke’s approach. Kyle looked up just as the ringmaster rounded the corner, glad for anything to interrupt his thoughts.

  “Fancy seeing you here.” Reggie’s greeting came complete with one of his annoying bows.

  “Always am. Gotta get the morning curls in.”

  “So you do, so you do.” The man’s white hair and bushy beard were even unrulier than usual, but Kyle tried not to judge his unkempt appearance when he wasn’t on the job.

  It wasn’t as if Reggie ever really had a wife to tell him when he looked the fool. He slept with enough women, though. Surely, one of them would tell him how nuts he appeared at some point. Though it didn’t seem like that was ever going to happen.

  The thought might’ve made him laugh on another day. Today, not so much.

  Instead, Kyle bit back the urge to ask about the investigation into the circus’s recent deaths. Police were still wandering around, looking into Dennis’s demise, but Reggie hedged whenever he was asked a direct question about the situation. He’d only say that this stuff took time.

  “Don’t forget, I want you to do some research into adding cannonballs into your routine. Take advantage of this downtime while we’re between shows, all right? Let’s see if we can find some thirty- or forty-pounders in D.C. this week. Get me the costs, and let’s get it done.”

 
Reggie clapped him on the shoulder as he went on by, rocking Kyle’s shake and not bothering to wait for a response. Why everyone couldn’t leave him in peace so he could exercise—so he could do the job they damn well paid him for—he didn’t know.

  “I’ll look into the cannonballs,” he promised to Reggie’s back, doubting the ringmaster even heard him.

  What Reggie said, folks did. Normal enough for the owner of a circus, Kyle guessed. If the man really thought cannonballs would wow the crowds, he didn’t mind obliging, as long as he didn’t have to foot the bill. What did he care what he lifted for their audience? So long as whatever it was didn’t blow him up…

  At least the Ruby Red provided him with a solid job and an escape from his old life.

  That was what he should’ve been billed as—an escape artist.

  He’d escaped his parents, his marriage, and his mortgage. And even though everyone was in disbelief when he filed for divorce, they didn’t ask questions. The marriage had been his mistake either way, and it didn’t matter what anyone said.

  He’d only married Marsha to prove to his parents he wasn’t gay. But after five years, no kids, and a lot of personal growth, he hadn’t been willing to hold up his end of the charade. And staying at his accounting job felt more like a death sentence every day.

  His one serious hobby—bodybuilding—had saved him. Given him the escape he’d desperately needed.

  And now he’d lost track of his damn count.

  He set the heavy barbell gently down before stretching his bicep. He hadn’t mucked up his routine too badly. Looking around, he hoped nobody had noticed him spacing out, but the only person around was the young trick rider.

  Bunny Weaver was up early, too, training. The makeshift corral was like a second home to the preteen. Her focus was wholly on somersaults around her horse’s belly at crazed speeds. Good on her for being that brave, but Kyle preferred to keep his feet on the ground. He admired Bunny, though. She had the same discipline as he and Penelope had, rest her soul.

  Sitting on top of a crate, he downed his breakfast, enjoying the richness of the double-chocolate-almond shake as it coated his throat. The chill of the drink would’ve been more enjoyable on a warmer day, but he was warm enough after his workout.

  Reaching down to retrieve his barbell, Kyle froze as the world began to spin. Nausea roiled in his stomach, churning like a knife in his gut. He tried to straighten back up but couldn’t. His entire body seemed to be locked in place.

  What the hell?

  His heart picked up speed, pounding against his ribs worse than when he’d walked out on his wife.

  The protein shake burbled in his stomach. He fell to his hands and knees just before bitter vomit exploded from his lips, covering the ground, his hands, his barbell. It was frothy like the chocolate of his shake but bloody too.

  Hot, bright lightning bolts of pain struck all the way down his spine. His muscles seized, spilling him sideways in the dirt. White stars flared across his vision as his head knocked against the kitchen trailer.

  “I need…” His cry for help was preempted by another flood of bloody vomit. His body arched back and then curled in on itself like a giant was playing with him, pulling and pounding until he simply broke.

  Agony brought a tight scream from his lips. His whole body was being crushed and punched and stretched, and his heart drummed ever harder as his brain went white-hot from the pain. He jammed his eyes shut, wishing he were dead.

  Distantly, panicked voices shouted his name. Cookie? Bunny? Reggie? Ty? Jamie? But they didn’t matter. Not unless one of them would have mercy, finish the deed, and just kill him already.

  Kill me. Kill me, please.

  He tried to speak the words, but his body jerked again, hard, then his stomach spasmed, twisting tighter than any charley horse from overdoing it during training. Then the seizure came, stretching his muscles to their breaking point and beyond. It felt like every abdominal muscle snapped like an overworked rubber band.

  Kyle really wanted to die. There were sounds coming from him, from his throat and chest, but they weren’t human. He wasn’t human anymore. Just a big ball of burning pain with no means of escape.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he could barely breathe through the blood and vomit dribbling from his mouth. His lungs ached, too, and a pressure like none he’d ever felt built behind his eyes. When the pounding in his heart got louder, then louder again, he knew cardiac arrest was coming for him.

  And he welcomed it.

  2

  FBI Special Agent Emma Last reached around the tree of ceramic coffee mugs on her kitchen counter and smacked her Keurig on its side—again—waiting for some gurgle of compliance. None came. The device appeared to be hopelessly clogged, or else it’d swallowed the water she’d poured in for her coffee.

  Emma groaned in frustration.

  She brushed a few locks of light-brown hair out of her face, flinching as her fingers passed through a patch of icy air. The dreaded, frigid chill had become an all-too-familiar sensation ever since her birthday. Still, sometimes that was all it was, just a sensation that came and went. Emma waited, hoping that would be the case this morning.

  When another, more powerful shiver raced down her spine, all the way to her toes, Emma groaned a second time. She was no longer alone.

  “Those newfangled machines are always going to let you down.”

  The ghost of Mrs. Kellerly lurked behind Emma, peering over her shoulder with those milky-white, pupil-free eyes. “If you want a decent cup of coffee, young lady, you start with a kettle of boiling water. That’s the only real way to go about it. You must invest in a press.” The woman had risen from the dead last week, too, to tell her the very same thing. Mrs. Kellerly really needed to get a life. Or get a death, in her case.

  At least I’m not screaming this time.

  Emma suspected the first time she’d seen a ghost was at her high school graduation party. Over the ten years between then and now, a specter would occasionally appear. Then there was the woman she spoke to in Ireland. Then there was Miguel, someone she’d known personally. Her murdered FBI teammate had tried to help her with an investigation, but Emma claimed it was a dream. She half believed she’d dreamed Miguel and his shooting injury.

  But it wasn’t until last month, right around her twenty-eighth birthday, that ghosts started popping up in her daily life.

  Like Mrs. Kellerly, for example.

  Emma sighed and turned to her elderly neighbor, who now stood on the other side of the kitchen island. Ghosts could move fast. “I think you must be right, Mrs. Kellerly. Unfortunately, I really have to get to work. And I need caffeine. So I need to focus.”

  “New team members today, hmm? Are you nervous?”

  Emma wasn’t sure what had possessed her to tell Mrs. Kellerly about her team dynamics. The Washington D.C. Violent Crime Unit had recently attained a new supervisory special agent, Jacinda Hollingsworth, after Neil Forrester, Emma’s mentor and former SSA, decided to retire. To make matters more awkward, her best friend and VCU partner, Keaton Holland, had transferred to the Richmond Behavioral Analysis Unit.

  She not only had to get used to a new supervisor but also needed to learn how to work with Keaton’s replacement, a guy named Leo Ambrose, who transferred from the Miami office with the new SSA.

  The end result of all these new faces was that Emma felt like this was the first day of school and she was missing supplies. “Not…nervous, per se.”