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  O N E

  L A S T

  B R E A T H

  (A TARA MILLS MYSTERY—BOOK TWO)

  S A R A H S U T T O N

  Sarah Sutton

  Debut author Sarah Sutton is author of the TARA MILLS mystery series, which includes ONE LAST STEP (Book #1), ONE LAST BREATH (Book #2), and ONE LAST UNVEIL (Book #3).

  ONE LAST STEP (A Tara Mills Mystery––Book One) is available as a free download on Kobo!

  Sarah has always been fascinated by the mystery genre and loves to write suspenseful books with complex characters. Sarah would love to hear from you, so please visit www.sarahsuttonauthor.com to email her, to join the mailing list, to hear the latest news, and to stay in touch!

  Copyright © 2021 by Sarah Sutton. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  BOOKS BY SARAH SUTTON

  TARA MILLS MYSTERY SERIES

  ONE LAST STEP (Book #1)

  ONE LAST BREATH (Book #2)

  ONE LAST UNVEIL (Book #3)

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  Prologue

  He stood on a mound of sand formed from the deep pit he had just dug. There was no one around. No one knew what he was doing. No one had seen him––just as he had planned.

  It was nearly three in the morning, and the homes lining the beach were just a row of shadows, dark and silent. They were the vacation homes of the wealthy, used to escape the fast-paced city life for days of tranquility. People were resting their weary heads, only to awake and rest some more under the sun and atop the sand. Little would they know what would be buried nearby or that they would soon hear another girl went missing.

  He smiled at the thought of their concerned faces glued to the news as they stepped into their vacation homes for lunch the next day, unaware that they sunbathed so close to her body that very morning—that their children played right where he had carried her in a trash bag.

  He could picture them in a panic as they questioned their own safety and gathered their things. It was the type of town where crime was rare. A person going missing was not supposed to happen here, but it would now be the second time. His eyes drifted down the dunes, along the row of houses, to where he had buried Alyssa White just about a year ago. She was still there; she still had not been found. He smiled at the memory—at the panic her search had caused—and at the realization that it was now going to happen again.

  The town was just starting to get back to normal, but he couldn’t let them get too comfortable. It would be a huge news story, he could feel it, and it sent a flurry of excitement through his body.

  He stared back into the hole he had just dug. It’s deep enough, he concluded as a gust of wind swirled around him, scooping up the fragments of sand until they struck the beach grass like shattered glass.

  His forehead glistened with sweat in the moonlight as he sliced his shovel one last time into the walls of the sand, making the hole wide enough.

  He was done now, but not completely, and a sudden tinge of excitement flowed through his body once more at the thought of what lay in his car. He was ready to bury her, and he knew he was so close to getting away with it. This had all gone so perfectly to plan.

  He had already backed his car up onto the sand, and he quietly walked toward it. The trunk was cracked slightly, and he opened it wider. He had already disabled the light, but he could still see the outline of her body––curled unnaturally within the trash bag he had stuffed her in.

  He stared at the bag for a moment. He had envisioned this for weeks, each time he watched her walk to and from work, each time he interacted with her. Every time, his mind wandered to this very outcome. At first, it was just a fantasy, but then it became a need as it seeped into his mind during everything he did. It became an urge so strong that he felt there was no other choice. He wanted all of her. He needed her. But it wasn’t for his own enjoyment. What he wanted was indirectly associated with her. She was a flame that attracted anything in her path. She was polite. She was smart and beautiful. She would smile and blush at the slightest compliment. She was innocent. She was perfect.

  And that was when he knew she was the flame that would spark a fire.

  He reached for her with his gloved hands and cradled her in his arms as he turned back toward the beach and walked across the sand. When close enough, he kneeled before the hole he had just dug and placed her body deep into the earth.

  He reached for the shovel and pierced the mound of sand with it, tossing what he scooped on top of her. He did this over and over again as her body slowly disappeared into the sand.

  And when done, he took a step back, staring at his work as a whole.

  He smiled again. She was nowhere in sight, and he was certain no one would ever find her.

  Chapter One

  One week later

  Tara flinched as another roll of thunder rumbled. She had just placed the casserole she had made onto the table, but no one was sitting at it. John and his parents stood by the window, staring out with eager eyes.

  “It’s getting pretty bad out there,” John said as he turned back to the table, letting the curtain fall.

  The storm had just started brewing within the past hour. It was a low-grade hurricane that had just been upgraded from a tropical storm that very morning.

  The dinner had been planned before there was even a mention of the storm, but after they heard of it, Tara extended the invitation for them to stay over. After all, John’s parents’ condo was located right along the Potomac River—a flood zone.

  John’s mother, Claire, was still staring out the window when John and his father, Tommy, sat back down at the dinner table.

  “Got any beer?” Tommy asked as he pulled in his chair, his round belly grazing the edge of the table as his deep-set eyes scanned the room for a sign of any.

  John began to
stand up, but Tara was quicker.

  “I got it,” she said as she placed a hand on John’s shoulder, causing him to settle back down in his seat.

  Tara was always well prepared for when his parents came. She always carefully chose a dish they would all enjoy, and she always had Tommy’s beer of choice. One thing she had learned very clearly over the years was that once Tommy liked something, he never wanted anything different. He was the type of man who would buy the same pair of shoes over and over again, each time they wore out. And he was certainly the type of man who only liked one brand of beer—Sam Adams.

  Tara grabbed one from the fridge and placed it on the table in front of him. He thanked her as she settled down in a chair across from him.

  “I hope this clears up by morning,” Claire finally said with concern as she too moved away from the window. “Do you still have work in the morning?” she asked, turning to John as she pulled out her chair and took a seat at the table too.

  “They’re letting me work from home.”

  His mother nodded. “I just hope this doesn’t ruin any other plans,” she added casually as she reached for Tara’s casserole with her long, bony fingers.

  Awkwardness momentarily swept through the room, and John and his father shot Claire a quick look, as if she had said something she shouldn’t. But then they looked toward Tara and their eyes quickly fell.

  John reached for his water glass, taking a sip. “Well, the only plans I have other than work is band practice, and it’s not a big deal if I have to cancel.”

  A look of confusion momentarily crossed Claire’s face. But then it just as quickly vanished, as if she suddenly understood something he couldn’t say. She nodded.

  It was certainly true that John did have band practice. Music was something he got back into recently. He had played drums in college, but that was over four years ago, and then life had gotten in the way. John had started his Master’s in the city, while Tara started working in the NYPD before starting her training at Quantico two years later to join the FBI, where she now worked as a general special agent for the BAU. There had always been something pulling him away from his drums—earning a living, soaking up the time with Tara before she left—but now their lives were settled, his more so than Tara’s. After meeting some local friends who needed a drummer for their classic rock cover band, John and Tara agreed that it would be good for him—that it would be a good distraction if Tara had to get up and leave again on assignment—and it also added excitement to his life that he had been missing for quite some time.

  But Tara knew very well that band practice was not what Claire was referring to. Normally, Tara would ask what was meant by her comment, but she had sensed it was not something she should question. In fact, she had this strange feeling for the past few weeks––that all three of them knew something she didn’t.

  It had all started with John acting odd. He didn’t want her to look at his phone, and he would step out of the room when certain people called––including his mother. Meanwhile, Claire had been smiling way more often than usual, which made Tara suspicious. She had always been exceptionally kind, but Tara knew that when Claire held information, she showed it in everything she did, and lately she looked as if she was ready to burst at the seams.

  The only person who was acting normal was Tommy, but he was always mostly quiet, often overpowered by Claire. But John and Claire’s behavior was enough for Tara to suspect that a proposal might be on the horizon. And while it certainly excited her, the timing made her uneasy, and she didn’t quite understand why John would think it was good timing either.

  She wasn’t sure if she could handle the pressures of planning a wedding right now. She had just finished her first big case only a month ago, when she had come face-to-face with the Appalachian Trail Killer, barely escaping with her life. And while her arm that he had slashed had healed, she was still recovering emotionally. Meanwhile, she still had yet to face her biggest obstacle of all: visiting her father.

  “How are your new jobs going, by the way?” Tommy asked as he took another bite.

  He was a tall man, with a thick head of gray hair. He leaned forward, his arms resting on the table, and looked across the table at the two of them. Tommy was someone Tara greatly respected. He was a retired lawyer with a big heart. He was smart and kind and always gave the best advice.

  John opened his mouth to speak as another rumble of thunder sounded, followed by a flash of lightning. The windows momentarily illuminated brightly, and John’s eyes wandered to them before directing his attention back to his father.

  He sighed. “It’s all right,” he said with a shrug as he looked back down at his plate and took another bite. “I’m starting to like it a bit more,” he added.

  “That’s great!” Tommy replied. “I knew you just needed to give it more time.”

  It was something he and Tara had discussed multiple times already. It was true; he was starting to like his job as an accountant a bit more. He was starting to enjoy working with his clients, and he had made some friends in the office too. But he admitted that he was envious of Tara’s action-packed career. He needed something more, which was why they decided that getting back into music in his spare time would be good for him.

  “I’m just so happy to hear you’re playing the drums again,” Claire chimed in. “You always had a talent for music.” She took another bite before turning her attention to Tara. “And what about you, dear? I know that last case took a toll on you.” She paused a moment and sighed. “You’re a brave woman, Tara, and I admire it. But I have to say, I worry about you. Not just physically, but emotionally with everything, you see.”

  Tara felt heat rise to her face.

  “Mom, stop,” John suddenly said.

  He knew his mom was stoking a delicate subject, much more than she was even aware of, and he wanted to save Tara the discomfort. In reality, her job did affect her emotionally, but it wasn’t the details of the case that affected her most. It was the trauma of her childhood that would surface without warning at the slightest trigger—and she still had yet to deal with it fully.

  Tara forced a smile. “There’s no need to worry. I’ll be fine. I actually really like the excitement of it all.”

  Another flash of lightning caused Tara’s head to spin, a loud boom sounded in the street, and then the lights went out.

  ***

  The flashlight from Tara’s phone guided her as she made her way to the bed. After dinner, she and John had tried their best to clean up the kitchen in the dark with just the light of a lantern they kept in case of emergency.

  Once John’s parents left the room, Tara and John barely spoke, yet Tara sensed that John had something he wanted to tell her. Each time she handed him a dish to dry, she had caught his eyes, fixated on the sink––on the soapy water—until Tara said his name.

  But she also knew it wasn’t the place to ask him. Their apartment wasn’t very large. Their kitchen and living room were situated in the center, divided by a barstool counter. There was a hallway on either side of the living room. One led to Tara and John’s bedroom and the other to the guest room, where his parents slept. She knew that they could most likely overhear whatever was said in the kitchen. It was an unspoken understanding that sat loudly in the air.

  Tara had a feeling it was related to what his mother had said, that she was worried about her. It was most likely a triggered reminder to John of what Tara revealed to him and that they had barely spoken about it since her nightmares stopped. It was during that time—when they were regularly occurring, when they bubbled into anxiety during the trail killer case—that she realized why she was having them at all. They weren’t just recurring nightmares. They were memories from her childhood, when she was only six years old and her father took her mother’s life. They were memories of when Tara walked into the room, when she saw her mother’s body. But there was always one piece of the nightmare that had taken Tara time to admit to herself and then to John—that her
father wasn’t alone, and she had sensed someone else was in the room with him.

  Tara and John had agreed that she should go see her father—that it was necessary for her to get answers in order to battle her trauma. But it had now been a few weeks since they last spoke about it, and she still had yet to decide when she would go. At first, she just wanted to wait until her injury healed, but then once it did, she needed to heal mentally. The nightmares eventually stopped, but now she was beginning to question if visiting her father was truly necessary at all.

  Tara pulled back the covers and slid into bed. John was already lying down, his eyes fixed on the ceiling in the dark. As Tara lay down, he shifted closer to her. She braced herself for whatever he was about to say.

  He spoke in a whisper. “Sorry I was a bit quiet in the kitchen before.”

  “Yeah, what was that about?” Tara asked, already anticipating his answer.

  John sat up, his back pressed against the headboard. The storm was still brewing, and at each flash of lightning, Tara could see his face, staring off in front of him, deep in thought.

  John had always been someone who thought clearly before he spoke. It was something Tara had always admired about him––his self-control, his restraint. Of course, he wasn’t always perfect, and there had been a few moments when he had acted out of emotion and said something he later regretted, but it was always a rare occurrence. And when it did happen, it would eat away at him. He hated being the cause of someone’s discomfort.

  Tara knew he was choosing his words carefully.

  He sighed. “Sorry if I made you feel awkward when I told my mom to stop…I just…I was trying to prevent you from feeling uncomfortable, and I feel like I did exactly what I was trying to prevent.” He let out a slight chuckle.