Breathe Your Last: An addictive and nail-biting crime thriller (Detective Josie Quinn Book 10) Read online

  Breathe Your Last

  An addictive and nail-biting crime thriller

  Lisa Regan

  Books by Lisa Regan

  Detective Josie Quinn Series

  Vanishing Girls

  The Girl With No Name

  Her Mother’s Grave

  Her Final Confession

  The Bones She Buried

  Her Silent Cry

  Cold Heart Creek

  Find Her Alive

  Save Her Soul

  Breathe Your Last

  Available in Audio

  Vanishing Girls (Available in the UK and the US)

  The Girl With No Name (Available in the UK and the US)

  Her Mother’s Grave (Available in the UK and the US)

  Her Final Confession (Available in the UK and the US)

  The Bones She Buried (Available in the UK and the US)

  Her Silent Cry (Available in the UK and the US)

  Cold Heart Creek (Available in the UK and the US)

  Find Her Alive (Available in the UK and the US)

  Save Her Soul (Available in the UK and the US)

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Hear More from Lisa

  Books by Lisa Regan

  A Letter from Lisa

  Vanishing Girls

  The Girl With No Name

  Her Mother’s Grave

  Her Final Confession

  The Bones She Buried

  Her Silent Cry

  Cold Heart Creek

  Find Her Alive

  Save Her Soul

  Acknowledgements

  For Maureen Downey, who has made my life infinitely better.

  Prologue

  I don’t always get to see their faces when they breathe their last breath. I wonder, when their time comes, do they know they’re about to die? Do they realize what’s happened? Are they afraid? Do any of them think about me? Do any of them suspect me? It’s kind of a letdown, never getting to be there in those final moments, but what comes after more than makes up for it. The satisfying part isn’t in the killing. It’s in the aftermath. The real thrill is in watching families and friends stumble around in a haze of grief and shock, as if they really expected nothing bad to happen to them in their lives. I’ve seen it all, from tear-filled eyes to full-blown breakdowns. My favorite mourners are the ones who are so overcome with their loss that they can’t even stand under the weight of it. Their bodies fail them. They collapse and shake, sob and howl. There is one thing common among all mourners, however. Each and every one of them is plagued with this universal question:

  What happened?

  Sometimes, I want to look right into their eyes and say, “They got what they deserved, that’s what happened.”

  But I can’t. If they knew what I’d done, I’d probably go to prison. If I went to prison, I wouldn’t be able to play my little game.

  Where would be the fun in that?

  One

  The city of Denton flashed past as Josie drove her friend Misty and Misty’s four-year-old son, Harris, into the mountains on the northern side of the city. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees over the winding mountain road, making the Denton Police Department polo shirt she wore appear more hot pink than salmon-colored. The shirt—all of her work shirts—used to be white. Under her breath, she cursed her younger brother, Patrick, a sophomore at Denton University. The campus was close enough to Josie’s house that he often dropped by to eat or do his laundry.

  Misty said, “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” Josie muttered.

  “You’re still upset about the shirt?” Misty said.

  Josie glanced down at herself again, resisting the urge to curse out loud. “Not just this shirt,” she explained. “All my work shirts. I’m going to have to buy new ones!”

  Misty reached for the dash and toggled the knob for the air conditioner, turning it up. The weather was still hot for September, even early in the morning, and Josie’s Ford Escape wasn’t cooling down as quickly as Misty would have liked, evidently. She said, “What was he washing?”

  “Every item of clothing he owns,” Josie answered, “including a bright red T-shirt his boss just gave him to wear to work. He washed it separately and forgot it was in there.”

  “Is he working on campus?”

  “Yeah, he got a job with the university’s towel service—”

  “Towel service?”

  “Yeah,” Josie said. “Basically he is assigned to one of the athletics buildings to monitor towel use. He gives out clean towels, collects dirty ones, and makes sure no one takes any towels out of the building with them. Anyway, they just started wearing red T-shirts. He left in a hurry last night to go see his girlfriend and left it in the washer. Then when I washed my work shirts for the week, this happened.”

  She motioned to her chest.

  Misty eyed the shirt. “You didn’t check the washer before you put your own stuff in to make sure it was empty?”

  Josie shot her a glare fierce enough to end the conversation. Misty turned away to look out the passenger’s side window but not before Josie saw the small grin on her lips. Josie thought about the offending shirt, balled up into a plastic bag in the back of the car. Patrick had called her just before she left to pick up Misty and Harris and asked if she could bring it to him on her way to the station. He was due at work by eight thirty. Josie would be cutting it close, but she fully intended to lecture him on the importance of not leaving any more bleeding garments in her washer. Showing up in her ruined police shirt would surely drive the point home. In the meantime, she had texted her colleague on the police force, Detective Gretchen Palmer, and asked her to bring one of her extra shirts for Josie to borrow. It would be a little big, but at least it wouldn’t be faded flamingo pink.

  Josie’s foot pressed harder onto the gas pedal. The further up the mountain they got, the more discomfort tugged at her, causing a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “I don’t like this,” she told Misty, changing the subject. “This place is too far out of town. What if there’s an emergency? It would take first responders at least ten minutes to get out here, probably longer.”
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br />   Misty rolled her eyes. “Josie, this school has the best Pre-K program in the entire city. I researched this.”

  “What kind of ’mergency?” Harris asked from his booster seat in the back. Josie glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at him. He grinned right back at her and she was struck dumb by his resemblance to her late husband, Ray Quinn, with his dimples and his spiked blond hair. After Josie and Ray had separated, Ray started dating Misty. Harris had been born after Ray’s death and, in spite of the initial tension between the two women, their love of Ray’s only son had united them in a friendship that Josie now treasured.

  “Like the kinds we talked about, remember?” she told Harris.

  Misty blew out a breath, her blonde bangs flying up and then landing neatly on her forehead. “Please don’t start with this again.”

  Harris said, “Like what to do in a fire?”

  “Yes,” Josie said. “Exactly. What do you do in a fire?”

  “If I catch on fire, I stop, drop, and roll like a roly-poly bug, only a crazy one cause I want the fire to go out,” Harris said.

  “Right! What else? What if you’re in the classroom and there’s a fire?”

  Misty said, “Josie, seriously. I want him to have a normal Pre-K experience.”

  Josie frowned at her. “And I want him to be prepared for anything that might happen.”

  “Did you go to Pre-K?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “Well, no, but how many fires are there at Pre-K facilities in this city each year?”

  Josie stayed quiet, chewing the inside of her lip. None, that was how many. She knew because she’d looked it up. She’d also talked to the city’s fire chief. As a detective with the city’s police department she had access to more information than the average citizen.

  Harris said, “First thing is, I have to find all the exits when we get there.”

  “That’s right,” Josie encouraged. “Now what if you’re in the classroom and a stranger comes in and you think that stranger might hurt someone? What do you do?”

  “Josie!”

  “I go to the closest door and get out and I press my alarm and then you come with Uncle Noah and make the bad stranger go to jail.”

  Noah Fraley was Josie’s live-in boyfriend and a lieutenant with the Denton PD. His polo shirts had escaped the pink massacre.

  Harris held up one of his feet and shook it, the shoelaces on his sneaker wiggling. A small, gray device about the size of a quarter but in the shape of a guitar pick had been clipped to one of the grommets. Josie couldn’t see it from her quick glance in the rearview mirror, but she knew the tiny orange button was tucked away along one side of the device. It was called a Geobit. It was a GPS tracker for children. Josie had researched about a half dozen of them when Misty told her she was enrolling Harris in school, but Geobit was the only one with an alarm that alerted Josie’s phone directly should Harris need to use it.

  “Not all strangers are bad, you know,” Misty said.

  “He knows that,” Josie scoffed. “I talked to him about strangers.”

  “I know. I know you also talked to him about sex offenders and bad secrets and bad touch/good touch. I know you talked to him about abductions, and I also know that you showed him how to get into the trunk of a car to disable and knock out a taillight so he can slip his hand out and signal someone.”

  “That was cool!” Harris exclaimed. “Can we do that again?”

  “No,” Misty said.

  “It’s always good to practice,” Josie said at the same time.

  “Josie,” Misty scolded again.

  Josie opened her mouth to apologize but then clamped it shut. She wouldn’t apologize for overreacting because she wasn’t sorry. When Harris was a baby, he’d been abducted. They’d been lucky to get him back alive. He had nearly died. Between that and all the terrible things that Josie saw in her work as a detective, it was hard not to be paranoid.

  Two

  I was exhausted, even by Monday-morning standards. It had been a long night waiting for her, putting my plan in place, and making sure to leave no trace of myself. I considered staying home and sleeping the day away, but I knew that wasn’t smart. I couldn’t call attention to myself in any way. Just like all the other times, everything had to appear perfectly normal. This time, that meant going on almost no sleep, showing up when and where I was supposed to, and putting a smile on my face. Besides, I wouldn’t really know if my plan had worked until much later. I wouldn’t be there when she took her last breath. I rarely was. I had to be patient.

  It would be worth it. I imagined the phone call, visualized exactly how I would react, how I would modulate my voice so that people would think I was both shocked and horrified. This one would make the local news for sure. It might even go national, I thought with glee. Of course, there would be a great outpouring of sympathy for her. Everyone thought she was so perfect, which was exactly why she had to die. I knew it was going to annoy me in the coming weeks having to hear about her shocking death again and again—in the news and pretty much anywhere I went because people were going to call her things like “special” and “amazing,” and her death would be touted as a “tragic loss.” But then the news stories would fade, and I wouldn’t have to hear about her supposed greatness any longer. No one should be so universally adored.

  She wasn’t the only person who was special or amazing. With her around, it was like no one else existed. I couldn’t take it anymore. Especially since I knew how she lied. She hid things from everyone. Vile things. Secrets that made her just as contemptible as anyone else. So I did what I did, and now I waited for the news to hit. I checked my phone. No news yet, but my plan was underway. The magnificent wave of grief was about to hit Denton in all of its glory.

  It was only a matter of time.

  Three

  They pulled into the parking lot of Tiny Tykes Gardens Pre-K and Daycare Center. It was an old brick two-story home surrounded by roughly four acres of beautifully kept land. An asphalt parking lot sat in front of the building. To the right, Josie could see a gated playground. To the left was a large garden area with tables, chairs, and a small greenhouse in the center. Just like Misty, Josie had researched the place the moment she heard that Misty was thinking of sending Harris there. She, too, had been impressed by all the different programs they offered, including gardening, raising baby chicks, keeping a small koi pond, and generally learning how the environment worked. Josie hadn’t learned so much about the environment in sixteen years of formal schooling. She knew without having to look that behind the large building were more green areas including a small outdoor theater where the children could perform plays for each other and their parents, and a mini petting zoo that was maintained in conjunction with the Denton City Wildlife Rescue Association so that the children could learn about animals.

  Josie also knew that the Tiny Tykes Gardens Pre-K and Daycare Center was in full compliance with their legal obligation to conduct background checks on their employees, so she knew none had criminal records. Also, no known sex offenders lived within ten miles of the place. Still, that did little to quell her uneasiness as Harris hopped out of the Escape and hoisted his green dinosaur backpack onto his shoulders. Josie took one of his hands and Misty took the other. He had a nervous habit, just like his father had, of squeezing her hand in rhythmic fashion when he was feeling anxious. If she hadn’t been holding his hand, she knew he would have been clenching and unclenching his little fist. Ray had done the same as long as she’d known him and now, even though Harris had never met his father, he did it as well.

  Josie felt the pulse of his gentle squeezes quicken as they walked up the ramp to the front door of the school together. She mustered a bright smile for him and said, “This is going to be fun.”

  He didn’t answer. Inside the double doors, the lobby was brightly colored with decorations that mostly seemed to center around learning the alphabet and counting. A few cardboard cutouts of animals stood along th
e walls. Parents and their small children crowded into the center of the area. Josie looked around, noting that opposite the front doors were two more sets of doors, each one leading down a separate, well-lit hallway. To their left was a wide set of steps leading to the second floor. To their right was a long, wooden desk, presently empty, and behind that, two more doors.

  Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

  Misty said, “Honey, you’re squeezing my hand.”

  Josie compressed and released Harris’s hand back in a similar rhythm, and he smiled up at her. She knelt down and smoothed the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. “This is an adventure, remember? You’re going to meet lots of new people and learn lots of new things.”

  Misty knelt as well, still holding his hand in hers. “You’ll get to meet all the animals in the petting zoo. You were looking forward to that, remember?”

  Another smile lit his face. “I really want to see the goat.”

  There was a commotion around them as a woman emerged from one of the doors behind the desk. She was in her forties, thick around the middle with an ample bosom, and dark brown hair pulled up into a bun on the back of her head. She wore a bright green T-shirt that said: Tiny Tykes Are All Right. She maneuvered through the crowd of parents and children until she was standing between the sets of doors leading down the hallways. She waved her arms like a flagger directing a plane to the gate. “Good morning, everyone,” she called. “Please form two lines. Two lines.”