Next breath, p.1
NEXT BREATH, page 1
N E X T
B R E A T H
(A Meg Thorne Mystery—Book 7)
K a t e B o l d
Kate Bold
Bestselling author Kate Bold is the author of numerous series in the mystery and thriller genres, including Meg Thorne, Heather King, Brynn Justice, Beth Drake, Maggie Flight, Addison Shine, Barren Pines, Nina Veil, Nora Price, Kelsey Hawk, Alexa Chase, Ashley Hope, Camille Grace, Harley Cole, Kaylie Brooks, Eve Hope, Dylan First, Lauren Lamb series.
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2025 by Kate Bold. 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.
SERIES BY KATE BOLD
MEG THORNE
HEATHER KING
BRYNN JUSTICE
BETH DRAKE
MAGGIE FLIGHT
ADDISON SHINE
BARREN PINES
NINA VEIL
NORA PRICE
KELSEY HAWK
ALEXA CHASE
ASHLEY HOPE
CAMILLE GRACE
HARLEY COLE
KAYLIE BROOKS
EVE HOPE
DYLAN FIRST
LAUREN LAMB
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
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
Gloved hands deep in his pockets, the man watched the approaching figure through the blowing snow. So unseasonal, so violent, as if the elements themselves had conspired. A perfect storm. That was how he thought of it.
Snow in Seattle, especially so thick and deep, wasn’t common in early winter.
He’d been waiting for the cold snap for weeks, wondering if the freezing air and the looming clouds would echo the coldness he felt in his own heart.
Then he realized they didn’t just echo it, they amplified it.
In a state of dark anticipation, he’d made meticulous plans while the temperature plummeted. This winter was looking to be especially brutal, and he’d hoped that an early snowfall might shut down the city. Now, even wearing his parka, he could feel the cold seeping through. Flakes blown by the harsh wind stung his face.
He didn’t turn his face away. Instead, he breathed in the air that numbed his lips and tingled in his throat. He let the cold lash his skin as he stared around.
The weather had driven almost everyone inside. But there were a few people who had no choice and who had to brave the elements to get to their destinations.
He had followed a couple of others over the past few minutes, but the leads had fizzled out. One had veered into a driveway, scurrying up the snow-clogged garden path to safety – although she didn’t know it.
Another had rushed across the road and jumped into a car after a good Samaritan had offered her a ride.
At any rate, that was what he thought had played out. That man might not be a good Samaritan after all. That woman had seemed desperate, and in the frigid temperatures, with the claustrophobic snow whirling thicker, he doubted that she'd vetted the seemingly kind person who'd stopped and opened his car door for her.
However, it was unlikely that her fate would be worse than the one he had planned.
When he’d reached the park and seen the desolate, snow-covered grass ahead of him, he’d felt excited that he hadn’t yet singled out his prey. And, when he’d seen the woman hurrying across it, alone and nearly invisible in the whirling whiteness, he knew that she was his.
Third time lucky.
The park was the perfect hunting ground. Snow was banked up against the cluster of trees and mounded around the benches, blown into drifts by the worsening wind.
The pathway winding through it was completely hidden by the snow, making it difficult for the approaching woman to see where she was going. He watched her stumble in the snow, her hands wrapped around her body for warmth. He imagined how her core must be shuddering with cold, although he loved the crimson jacket she was wearing. It was nice and bright, like a splash of blood against the whiteness.
Her face was bowed against the wind, and every so often, she glanced up to see where she was going.
He didn’t think she was confident about her route, and he guessed that the dazzling white snow with its shapeless drifts was disorienting her. Maybe she wasn’t sure which direction the exit was in. From this point in the park, you couldn’t see it.
Yup, she was temporarily lost. She stopped, raising a hand and using it to protect her face as she stared around. He imagined her blinking tears of cold from watery eyes.
He wanted to make her cry.
A dark thrill ripped through him at the thought of what exactly he wanted to do to her.
Normally, he was able to suppress these urges. But this year, as the season turned, they'd flared again. He'd tried to resist them for a while, but the voice in his head couldn't be silenced this time.
Not when the time and place was so perfectly in synchronicity. He glanced around him to make sure about that. Not another soul in sight. Maybe she’d think that he, too, was lost and looking to see which way to go. She probably had a cellphone with her – they were becoming increasingly common – but in this storm, he doubted that she’d be able to call for help in time, even if she did feel uneasy when she saw him.
But why should she, anyway?
He was an innocent citizen, like herself. He was going to make sure that was what she thought, anyway. When she saw him, he hoped she’d feel a sense of confidence and trust.
For a few moments, at least.
She’d gotten her bearings again. Slowly and determinedly, she was plodding along, staring down, and he knew it was time.
From the inner pocket of his parka, he produced the innocent item that he needed. He tugged its length through his gloved hands, making sure he had a good grip on it. It wouldn't do for this to go wrong. He couldn't afford it, though.
Then, he sped up, his feet scrunching through the snow as he closed the distance between them in a few giant strides. His footprints would soon be obliterated. The perfect cover. In it, he was anonymous and unseen.
He passed her by with a friendly nod, keeping a couple of yards away so that she would not become fearful.
“You take care,” he said.
She glanced in his direction but didn’t speak. Maybe his words had scared her.
Once they were a few steps away from each other, it was time for the fun to start.
He wheeled around, adrenaline pulsing, every action becoming slow-motion in his mind as he strode up behind her. He knew that she wouldn’t see him – the hood of her jacket, which she’d yanked as far forward as she could, acted like a pair of blinkers. No way could she see behind her, and with the whirling snow, she wouldn’t hear him in time.
He gripped his weapon – a colorful scarf, bought a while ago from a big chain store. The shade he’d chosen this time was yellow. The color he always associated with springtime, which was ironic, because it was the season of hope and renewal, the opposite of the bleak scenario that surrounded him.
Now, finally, he could give in to the urge which had consumed him for so long. With a sharp exhalation, he reached her, flung the scarf over her neck, and then, he gripped and twisted with all his might. Finally, he could unleash the alter ego who’d haunted his thoughts for so long.
He tugged at the scarf, his vicious strength ensuring that the job was over fast, and that the victim didn’t have the chance to struggle effectively, although he enjoyed the attempts she made. Power hummed through his veins as he finally unleashed the killer within him. He felt a sense of satisfaction that didn’t falter until her brief battle had ceased.
Breathing hard, his arms burning, he acknowledged that he’d have loved to prolong the moment, but circumstances didn’t allow for it.
Someone else might walk through the park, and besides, he had work to do.
The first step wa s the killing, and the second was the creation.
And then, he was going to walk away, faceless in the blowing snow, and leave his masterpiece for somebody else to find.
CHAPTER ONE
Cocooned in the surprising blast of an early winter snowstorm, Meg Thorne focused all her attention on the names in front of her. Sitting at her dining room table, with the central heating turned up and her cat, Corrigan, on the sideboard, Meg didn’t pay the weather much attention beyond hoping that the storm would have abated by the time she went out this afternoon.
Slowly but surely, she was working her way through the list of suspects who might have killed her husband, James.
Her research had been interrupted in recent weeks by the arrival of her stepdaughter, Naomi, from Hong Kong. During Naomi’s two-week vacation back in Seattle, Meg had decided to shelve the research on James completely.
She’d told herself that it was so that she could spend more time bonding with Naomi, and that was true, but it was also due to the nagging fear that she was digging into something that could have repercussions.
James had been uncovering an embezzlement scheme within a large corporation, and someone had killed him to keep their secrets hidden. Meg wondered if, five years later, they might kill again – and while she was prepared, trained, and alert, she couldn't bear the thought of innocent Naomi, James's daughter, getting caught up in it.
And so, the vacation had passed in a blur of happiness, with memories being made, and beautiful fall weather to be enjoyed, and tons of photographs. She and Naomi had talked with each other about James, and shared memories and tears.
In a way, it had provided Meg with a sense of closure on his death.
Then it had taken her another couple of weeks to summon up the strength she needed to face the list of names. It wasn’t easy to refocus on the high-level execs at the company James was investigating, who’d left while the embezzlement was being uncovered.
Because of James’s murder, that had taken a year longer than it would otherwise have done, as the forensic investigation had stalled after he was killed. There had been delays in appointing someone else to take over, and of course, Meg guessed that had given the criminal, or criminals, the time they needed to steal more money and then cover their tracks.
So far, Meg had ruled out one of the possible five marketing executives, Faye Cooper. She didn't know anything about the embezzlement.
There were four still left. Suanne Brook, Donovan Carver, Mark Vernon, and Patrick North.
Five people who’d worked at a high level for this corporation, and who’d all left within a couple of months of each other during the ‘restructure’ following the discovery of the embezzlement.
Sighing as she looked at her scribbled notes, Meg acknowledged that it wasn’t only her hesitancy that had delayed things. It had also been because these top execs were shielded from the general public, and almost impossible to get hold of.
Meg had her cover story ready – she was using her maiden name, Meg Ashford, and figuring out a plausible excuse for each meeting.
This afternoon, she was heading out to meet Donovan Carver.
He’d been top of her list to start with, because he’d been the chief financial officer.
When it came to financial shenanigans, the CFO must surely have known what was going on. No way could he not have known if he was worth his salt, which Donovan Carver’s resumé said he was.
Starting with his Harvard degree, and powering on from there, his career had achieved top executive heights in a record amount of time.
“Who are you really, Carver?” Meg murmured to herself, her voice breaking the silence accentuated by the snowfall, and causing Corrigan to cock an ear in her direction as he deigned to rouse from slumber on a spot he wasn’t theoretically allowed to occupy.
Theoretically.
Meg had long since given up expecting that Corrigan would do as she asked.
He was a cat. Furthermore, he was James’s cat.
Meg thought he still blamed her for the disappearance of his human dad from his life. It had taken him years to warm to her. Now, at last, he did show her some affection.
Five freaking years later! Cats!
“If you’re interested,” she told him, “I’m heading out just now to see a man who’s forty-nine years old. After working for the finance firm, he moved on to greater things. He’s now CFO for a major, nationwide financial services company. I wonder if they’re experiencing any oddities in their books. What do you think, Corrigan?”
Corrigan had decided this conversation was boring, and there wasn’t even any entertainment to be had from Meg telling him to get off the sideboard. He stretched his paws out on the wood, making a tiny scratching noise as he flexed his claws and lowered his head again.
“Thanks for that,” Meg said. “I’ll polish it out later.”
Now it was time for her to attend the appointment it had taken months to set up. Meg had even considered going to wait at his front door instead, but that would have been risky, because he lived in a gated estate, difficult to gain access to and security patrolled, and she didn’t want to get into trouble with security.
She picked up her coffee mug. She’d drunk a couple of cups this morning, needing the caffeine and the warmth because the sight of the falling snow was chilling.
“I hope it doesn’t start snowing harder,” she said darkly. “Let’s hope I get back in time to feed you your dinner.”
Ending the ungratifying conversation with her cat, Meg turned her attention to her notes again.
Carver was your typical exec – in her book, anyway. Sleek, serious-faced, with an expression that never changed, and hair that was perfectly cut and graying at the temples. In every picture she'd seen of him, he wore a suit in a different shade of gray, with a conservative tie.
Didn’t the man own a golf shirt? A pair of flip flops? Meg couldn’t visualize it.
At any rate, if he ever wore casual gear, no sign of it had filtered through to the public eye. He kept his profile very much under wraps. Hunting through social media, Meg had found no sign of his family. She'd had to take a deep dive into police records, with the assistance of her former investigation partner, Gabe Reeves, to find out the facts.
Gabe had uncovered a wife and three children, all with virtually no online presence at all.
Suspicious? Meg thought so.
She’d finally managed to get a meeting with Carver by using a common connection whom she didn’t actually know personally, dredged up courtesy of her ex-prosecutor friend Alex.
Mentioning that connection’s name and saying that she needed to discuss a potential project had finally opened the doors.
Her cover story was so vague it wouldn’t stand up to the most basic interrogation. As soon as Carver said, “Tell me more,” Meg knew she was going to be in a predicament. She’d better make sure that she controlled the direction of the conversation before it reached that stage.
“I’m going to get ready now,” she said, looking dubiously at the weather. Finally, the torrent of snow was abating, and the weather was clearing. Really, it had been about fifteen years since she’d last known such intense early winter storms.
That thought brought another memory to the surface – one that Meg didn’t want to think about now. That vicious storm had marked the beginning of a serial killer’s strangling spree, in which he’d left his victims posed in disturbing ways, decorated with the murder weapons themselves – brightly colored scarves.
Having allowed that thought to intrude, Meg banished it from her mind again. She didn’t want those memories distracting her focus when she was face to face with Carver.
This was going to be a make-or-break meeting.
The CFO? He must have known what was going on. Surely.
Hopefully, with a southerly wind blowing, the temperature would warm quickly, but even so, she was going to leave very early to make sure she reached the company headquarters in good time.
No way she was going to miss this meeting due to the traffic. Not after having battled for nearly two months to get it. She’d rather spend two hours sitting in reception, taking in the ambiance, than staying here and pacing her living room.
