Last Breath by Mariah Stewart

Shields.”
    Louise left the room.
    â€œThanks again for coming, Connor,” Daria said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
    â€œWell, you know, this isn’t really something I’d normally handle. The FBI has a dedicated team of experts in this field—art theft, cultural theft, that sort of thing.”
    â€œThat’s what Agent Mancini told me, but I was so uncertain what to do. I thought you…well, you said to call you, anytime.”
    â€œAnd I’m glad you did. I really am. I’m just saying that if there has been a major theft, it’s in your best interests to have the best in the field working on the case. Our people specialize in this type of thing.”
    â€œAnd what do you specialize in, Connor?” she asked.
    He appeared to welcome Louise’s return to the room, as if Daria’s question was one he hadn’t really wanted to answer.
    â€œHere you go, Agent Shields.” Louise handed over a thick stack of paper in a brown folder. “The inventory Daria made and we both doubled-checked.”
    â€œThank you.” He glanced at it briefly before tucking it under his arm. To Daria, he said, “Ready when you are.”
    â€œThen let’s get started.” Daria gathered her bag and headed for the door. “I have my phone, if you need me, Louise. And you know where to find us.”
    â€œLet’s take the shortcut,” Daria said when they’d stepped outside into the oppressive heat of the afternoon. Overhead the sky was hazy, the sun a blur behind the clouds, the air heavy with humidity. “At least there will be some shade.”
    â€œI’m all for shade,” he agreed. “But I’d think you’d be used to the heat, feel right at home, all the time you spend in the desert.”
    â€œDesert heat is one thing, this humidity is something else.” She pulled dark glasses from her bag and slipped them on.
    â€œRight, dry heat, and all that. Though frankly, when it gets to be a hundred or more degrees, it’s just plain hot.”
    â€œTrue.”
    She rounded the side of the building and he followed her.
    â€œWe’ll stop at McGowan House and pick up a few bottles of water,” she said. “We’ll need them.”
    â€œMcGowan House, eh?” He smiled. “You’ve been here less than a week, and already they’ve named a building after you?”
    Daria laughed. “The university uses the house my great-grandparents lived in as a guesthouse. Louise very kindly offered to let me stay there while I’m at Howe.” She took a key from the pocket of her shorts. “It’s the white building straight ahead.”
    They followed a crumbling brick path to the back of the house.
    â€œThis will just take me a second. Come on in.”
    â€œI’ll wait.”
    She jogged up the back steps and unlocked the door. “Want anything besides water? I might have some pretzels.”
    â€œJust the water, thanks.” He stood with his hands on his hips overlooking the gardens behind the house, where hydrangeas top-heavy with blooms fought a wild tangle of roses for space.
    True to her word, Daria was back in a flash, the water bottles held against her body. She handed two to Connor.
    â€œGreat. They’re cold. Thanks,” he said.
    â€œSo,” he said after taking a long drink from one of the bottles and replacing the cap. “Tell me about Shandihar. I have to admit I’d never heard of it. All I know is what you’ve told me, that it was a city in southern Turkey and was found by Alistair McGowan in 1908.”
    â€œWhat exactly would you like to know?” She began to walk.
    â€œWho were its people? What was its culture?” He followed along the path.
    â€œAt first, it was little more than a crossroads on the Silk Road, populated by merchants from all over the region. Greeks, Turks, Mesopotamians, nomads. Shandihar was quite the