Last Breath: A Novel of Suspense - Hardcover

Stewart, Mariah

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0345492242 ISBN 13: 9780345492241

Publisher: Ballantine Books, 2007

Synopsis

You’ve taken your Last Look. You’ve spoken your Last Words. Now prepare to surrender your Last Breath to New York Times bestselling author Mariah Stewart, in this tour de force of suspense, romance, and action.

As renowned archaeologist Dr. Daria McGowan readies the most important project of her career–a University museum exhibit showcasing the priceless artifacts her great-grandfather unearthed a century earlier in the Middle East–she makes a shocking discovery: many of the most significant pieces have vanished. Panicked, Daria turns to the FBI.

Solving the mystery is an assignment that Connor Shields is more than happy to accept: Daria is the same intriguing blonde archaeologist he’s had on his mind since their paths first crossed two years ago. Working together to track down the stolen artifacts, Daria and Connor discover a trail of bodies–collectors who have met brutal, bizarre ends at the hands of a killer whose murderous methods are based on the rituals of an ancient civilization.

Amid rumors of a curse and mounting pressure from both the FBI and the University, Daria and Connor race to unmask their enemy and unravel a mystery stretching across oceans and centuries. All the while, an ingenious murderer follows a sinister plan to gather the coveted antiquities and one last acquisition–Daria.

About this title

About the Author

Mariah Stewart is the bestselling author of numerous novels and several novellas. She has been a RITA finalist for romantic suspense and is the recipient of the Award of Excellence for contemporary romance, a RIO (Reviewers International Organization) Award honoring excellence in women’s fiction, and a Reviewers’ Choice Award from Romantic Times magazine. A native of Hightstown, New Jersey, she is a three-time recipient of the Golden Leaf Award and a Lifetime Achievement Award from the New Jersey Romance Writers, of whose Hall of Fame she is an honoree. Stewart is a member of Sisters in Crime; International Thriller Writers; Novelists, Inc.; Valley Forge Romance Writers; New Jersey Romance Writers; Washington Romance Writers; and Romance Writers of America. She lives with her husband, two daughters, and two rambunctious golden retrievers amid the rolling hills of Chester County, Pennsylvania.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

One

July 2007

Northwestern Iran

In the bottom of the earthen pit, two skulls lay side by side, their foreheads touching, eyeless sockets gazing eternally into eyeless sockets. A hand of bone lay across a forearm, and bony fingers rested on what had once been the cheek of a beloved. From above, faces stared down at the unique find, most definitely unexpected in this part of the world. Here one was more likely to discover swords and knives, perhaps the bronze or silver sidepiece of a horse’s bridle. In some graves, a beloved horse had been buried with its rider. But lovers buried together, still locked in an embrace, that was a find.

“Have you ever seen anything like this, Dr. McGowan?” Sayyed Kasraian, the excavation director on the dig high in Iran’s Zagros Mountains, crouched at the side of the opening.

“Never.” Daria McGowan carefully knelt beside the top of the pit, shining a flashlight on the skeletal remains four feet below. “Not just the positioning of the two figures, but the artifacts that were buried with them . . . it takes my breath away.”

She moved the light as a pointer.

“Look there, the one is wearing some type of diadem, from here it looks like gold and lapis, see how blue? And the breastplates, also gold . . . rings on the fingers of all four hands, so we’re looking at the remains of some very prominent lovers.” She looked up at the Kurdish laborers who’d accompanied them, and said, “Gentlemen, we may even be in the presence of royalty.”

Two of the men smiled; the third shifted uneasily and looked away, afraid, no doubt, of attracting the notice of any spirits that might still be lurking within the grave.

“And over here, see, glass bottles, dozens of them. They must have held water or wine or some type of oil that the dead would have wanted to take with them on their journey into the next world. And there, at the feet, see the bones?” She hopped into the pit, careful to land on the excavated area around the remains. “These appear to be canine.”

She directed the light onto the skull, and her companion studied it from above for several minutes.

“It does look like a dog, doesn’t it?” He smiled. “Well, that would be something new. I haven’t seen that before. Not in this area, at any rate.”

She knelt as carefully as she could to more closely examine the human remains.

“These two must have had a long and happy life together,” she murmured. “The teeth are quite worn. They were elderly—for their time—when they died. Definitely a man and a woman, judging from the pelvic bones.” She glanced up at the man whose face loomed above hers. “We’re so accustomed to finding the bones of battle-scarred warriors, that when something like this is uncovered, well, it just melts your heart, doesn’t it?”

The sound of a car engine drew her attention to the road behind the dig, and she climbed out of the grave as the vehicle pulled up and stopped.

She brushed off her hands on her pants and called to the man who had just arrived by Jeep.

“Dr. Parishan, come look! See what was found while you were back in Tehran at the museum having tea with your friends!” she teased the longtime friend of her father’s.

“I heard there was a find and got here as soon as I could. Daria, thank you for coming.” Under other circumstances the elderly man, the project director, would have offered a more gracious greeting to the American, whom he had personally requested join them on the dig, but he was eager to examine the contents of the grave. He reached the edge and stared down. “Oh, look at them . . . look at them . . .” he murmured reverentially. “Perfect . . . they are perfect . . .”

“So, Dr. McGowan, what is your feeling?” An obviously pleased Korush Parishan stood and brushed the sand from his knees. “On the site, overall?”

“I concur completely with Dr. Karaian’s assessment,” Daria said without hesitation. “The artifacts he’s already unearthed show such a vast mix of cultures, I can’t imagine that these people were anything but nomadic. We’ve seen the Indian river goddesses on the vases, golden goblets in the style of Bactria. The pottery bowls with the horned dragon, the god Marduk—definitely Babylonian. So here we have clear influences from India, Afghanistan, Mesopotamia. They all came together here in the mountains.” She pointed off to the east, then drew a line across the horizon with her index finger. “The Silk Road passed through this region. You’d have had travelers from China, India, Anatolia, Greece. Their cultures all intermingled through the centuries, which would account for the fact that some of the artifacts are of a different age from the others.”

She turned to the others and smiled. “This could be an amazing find. The rise off to your left looks as if it might be a likely spot to start. I cannot wait to see what else you might discover here.”

“Unfortunately, Dr. McGowan, you may have to postpone your participation,” Dr. Parishan told her. “As I was leaving the museum, I was handed an urgent fax to deliver to you, as well as a phone message from a Dr. Burnette. Forgive me, but I could not help but note that the message says it is imperative that you contact her as soon as possible.”

He removed a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.

Frowning, she opened it and began to read.

“Dr. Burnette is the president of Howe University back in the States.” Daria continued to read, then looked up and asked, “Dr. Kasraian, may I use your computer?”

“Of course. It’s on the table in the main tent. Please, whatever you need. . . .” He gestured toward the area where the shelters had been erected.

“Thank you.”

Daria went directly to the tent, her mind on the fax and its request that she return to the States immediately. Having to leave so soon was not what she’d had in mind when she arrived in Iran late last week. That the Iranians had invited a well-regarded foreign authority—and a woman, at that—to this newly discovered site was evidence of their desire to participate in the international archaeological society. It was of particular importance to Dr. Parishan that the rest of the world understood how seriously the Iranian archaeological community was taking its obligation to not only protect but to share and showcase their distinct cultural heritage. Like those of its neighbors Afghanistan and Iraq, Iran’s cultural treasures had been finding their way out of the country for years, legally and illegally. They were now determined to locate and safeguard whatever remained, and do whatever was necessary to recover those items that had, over the years, been lost due to an active black market in stolen antiquities.

Dr. Parishan had handpicked the team to work on this new find. He’d been unable to secure the services of Daria McGowan, a well-known expert in Middle Eastern archaeology, to participate in the initial excavation, but she had offered to come on board as a consultant as soon as her work in the Gobi Desert had been completed. To Parishan, that she was internationally recognized was the cake; that she was the daughter of an old and esteemed friend and colleague, Samuel McGowan, was the icing.

Daria returned to the others an hour later.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” she explained, “but I’m going to have to leave right away. Dr. Kasraian, could I impose upon you for a car?”

“No imposition at all,” he assured her. “I’ll have a driver take you wherever you need to go. But your family . . . there is bad news?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” She dropped her duffel bag on the ground and slid a hijab around her shoulders. Once they neared the airport, she would use the scarf to cover her head to conform to Iranian law.

“Dr. Parishan, I feel awful about this.”

“As long as everyone is well. When I heard ‘doctor,’ I feared perhaps . . .”

She smiled to reassure him. “Everything is fine with my family. Apparently Dr. Burnette has been trying to track me down for several weeks. Dr. Parishan, did my father ever speak to you of his grandfather who was also an archaeologist?”

“Alistair McGowan, of course.” He nodded. “The man who found the city of Shandihar when no one believed it had ever existed. Your father told me his grandfather’s journal inspired him to follow in his footsteps to become the great archaeologist that he is.”

“Then perhaps he also mentioned that the backing for Alistair’s expeditions had come from Howe University?”

“Yes, I believe so. Your father has lectured there, correct?”

“Yes, Dad lectured often at Howe before he retired. When my great-grandfather returned to the States following his discovery at Shandihar, he went directly to Howe and brought all the artifacts he’d found with him. The university had supplied the funding, so the spoils belonged to them. At least, that’s how it worked at the turn of the century. My great-grandfather spent years cataloging the artifacts to display in the museum that Howe was building. Unfortunately, he died before construction was completed.”

“Yes, yes, this I have heard.” Parishan nodded. “But what does this have to do with you?”

“Apparently the university wants to commemorate the hundredth anniversary of Alistair’s discovery. They want to put his findings on display, after all these years. Dr. Burnette has asked me to take...

About this edition

• Publisher: Ballantine Books
• Publication date: 2007
• ISBN 10: 0345492242
• ISBN 13: 9780345492241
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 304