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Last Look: A Novel of Suspense Mass Market Paperback – May 29, 2007

4.4 out of 5 stars 31 customer reviews
Book 9 of 11 in the Dead Series

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Editorial Reviews

About the Author

Mariah Stewart is the bestselling author of numerous novels and several novellas. She is 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 the Valley Forge Romance Writers, the New Jersey Romance Writers, and the 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.

June, 2007

Hot summer closed around the Florida panhandle like a tightly clenched fist. Soaring afternoon temperatures and suffocating humidity had thickened the night air, sending those poor souls who lacked air conditioning to seek respite in the nearest source of water, which for the prudent was a swimming pool or the shower. Only a fool would have taken to the lakes or ponds, especially in the dark, gators being what they are.

Dorsey Collins abandoned the air-conditioned comfort of her apartment for the balcony off her living room. The unrelenting sun had faded the orange-and-white-striped cushions on the two patio chairs she’d bought at the end of last year’s season. She’d known when she purchased the chairs with the matching table that the fabric wouldn’t stand up to direct sunlight, but she’d bought them anyway. When you’re on the job, and dealing with life and death on a daily basis, it’s life’s small pleasures that keep you going.

Dorsey leaned over the railing and tried to ignore the mosquitoes buzzing around her face. In the past, mosquitoes rarely bothered her, but lately, everything in her life had been totally screwed up. She was thinking her body chemistry must be reflecting this somehow, drawing a cloud of the little bastards to her whenever she stepped outside.

It really did figure, didn’t it?

She twisted the cap off her beer, took a long, serious swallow, and stared out into the parking lot beyond her apartment building. She’d met very few of her fellow residents in the complex, so she didn’t expect to recognize any of the tenants who were parking in their assigned spaces. By the time the last of the arrivals had disappeared into their respective buildings, she’d finished the beer. She debated whether or not to have another for all of three seconds.

Maybe, she told herself as she pushed aside the sliding door to her living room, just maybe she’d get lucky and pass out while leaning over the side of the balcony, fall three stories to the pavement below, and break her neck, thereby putting herself out of her misery.

It could happen, she reasoned as she opened the refrigerator door just far enough to grab another bottle. She was twisting the cap as she walked back toward the balcony when the phone began to ring. She stopped midstride to listen to the message.

“Dorsey, it’s Scott Murphy.”

She groaned at the sound of his voice, then walked to the patio door even as the message was being left on her machine.

“I was hoping to catch you at home . . . I mean, I know you’re busy, but I was hoping . . .” Breathy asthmatic pause. Big sigh. “Anyway, I was hoping to catch up with you before the weekend, see if you were free for Saturday night. Or Friday.”

He paused again, just as she slid the door closed.

“Or Sunday. . . .” was the last she heard of the message.

Damn, she wished he’d stop calling. That was the third message he’d left for her since last weekend. She knew she should return his calls. He was a nice guy, just trying to be nice to her, even though she’d been a total shit to him.

Dorsey sat on the chair closest to the balcony and rested her feet on the railing. She looked up just as a frothy bank of clouds shifted from the face of the moon. A minute later, stars could be seen winking here and there overhead.

If I could have one wish, she thought, I’d wish for . . .


She closed her eyes, knowing damned well what she’d wish for. She’d wish she could go back in time to 4 p.m. last Friday afternoon, and then instead of letting her friends talk her into going to a barbecue for a retiring agent, she’d go home to that book she’d been planning to read.

But no. When her fellow agents gathered around the door to her cubicle and harassed her, she gave in.

“Honestly, Dorsey, you live like a hermit. You need to get out once in a while.”

“Come on, Dorse. Just for an hour or two. It’ll do you good to have a little fun. You deserve a night out. You’ve been working nonstop for the past three weeks.”

“Yeah, well, there was that little matter of Hector Rodriguez and his buddy, Jon Mattson, and that young girl they kidnapped,” she’d reminded them dryly.

“Hey, just for a while, okay?”

“Yeah, come with us now, or we’ll follow you home and make rude noises outside your apartment until you cave in. Come along quietly, Agent Collins, and no one will get hurt.”

And no one did, but me. . . .

Things had been just swell until sometime after ten when He walked in.

With Maddy Chambers, an agent just transferred from San Francisco, and Wilbur, the dog he’d shared with Dorsey.

He was Davison Everett Kane Haldeman.

Jesus, Dorsey chastised herself, with a name like that, she should have known.

It was bad enough he’d brought along the woman he’d left Dorsey for, knowing there was a good chance she’d be there, but the bastard had the nerve to bring Wilbur.

Up until then, she’d been mourning the loss of the dog almost as much as she’d been mourning the loss of the guy. But damn that Wilbur, fickle mutt that he was. His heart always did belong to whoever held the treat box. And these days, all the treats were in Maddy’s hands, along with the brown leather leash Dorsey had picked up on the way home, the day Davis had called to tell her he was bringing home a dog he’d seen sleeping in a vacant lot three days in a row.

It had been hard enough, watching the flirtation in the office once word had gotten out that Davis had moved out on Dorsey—taking Wilbur. (“Hey, I was the one who found him. He goes with me.”) Harder still to maintain a professional demeanor when she had to work with either Davis or Maddy. But she’d drawn the line at socializing with them.

Dorsey tossed back another long swig of beer and questioned her ability to make sound decisions in her personal life. What in the name of God had she been thinking when she’d let Davis move in with her? And more recently, whatever had possessed her to throw caution to the wind on Friday night and hit on Scott Murphy, the new prosecutor from the state’s attorney’s office?

God, she cringed whenever she thought about it.

Not that he’d been a bad guy, or anything. He was nice enough—too nice, actually—when she found herself the next morning hung over and embarrassed in his apartment.

Scott had compounded her humiliation by sending her flowers and repeatedly assuring her—and anyone else who’d listen—that absolutely nothing had happened; she’d merely passed out on his sofa and he’d let her sleep it off right where she’d slumped.

God, what ever possessed me. . . ?

She leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees, and watched dark clouds roll in and lightning move across the sky. Maybe if I sit here long enough, it’ll strike me.

If nothing else, she knew, she should go back inside and return his call. Thank him for the flowers, at the very least. She owed him that much. The roses had set him back a pretty penny. She could at least thank him for his thoughtfulness.

She took a swig and wondered if she’d ever make the call.

The humidity continued to rise by the minute, the sultry air thick in her nostrils. The closeness made her slightly claustrophobic. She’d be infinitely more comfortable in the apartment, but she just couldn’t bring herself to go back inside. It was too quiet. Too empty. Too lonely.

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Product Details

  • Mass Market Paperback: 344 pages
  • Publisher: Ballantine Books; 1st edition (May 29, 2007)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0345492226
  • ISBN-13: 978-0345492227
  • Product Dimensions: 4.2 x 1 x 6.8 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 12 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
  • Average Customer Review: 4.4 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (31 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #371,127 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Customer Reviews

Top Customer Reviews

By Elaine C McTyer VINE VOICE on June 5, 2007
Format: Mass Market Paperback Verified Purchase
LAST LOOK is a shocking and fasinating novel, I could not put it down and had no idea who had done what until the end. I really enjoyed this book.

Dorsey Collins is an agent with the FBI, following in her father's footsteps. She has been an agent for over eight yrs. Just coming off a bad relationship she is throwing herself into the job.

Andrew Shields is an older agent who has family problems of his own, and now he has a disaster for the FBI on his hands. His boss turns the mess over to him with the provision that Dorsey be allowed access to his notes.

Twenty four yrs ago her father made his name in the agency by leading the prosecution to charge and finally convict the man accused of murdering a fourteen yr old girl named Shannon Randall. Now a body has been found in Ga, it is identified as Shannon Randall. The problem is that she has only been dead for a few hours. The young man accused of her murder was executed by the state for the crime.

The shock waves of horror will destroy her father and Dorsey feels she must find out why this terrible misscarriage of justice happened. Not just for her father but for everyone involved. Suddenly, there are two cases, who killed Shannon now, and why was she believed dead by everyone when she disappeared. The young man was convicted on circumstantial evidence, there was no body.

The story unfolds in the place where it started, Hatton SC, where it seems no one wants to talk or find out what really happened.

Do not miss this one.
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I am in total disagreement with the other reviewers of this book. The suspense is just okay and the romance was nonexistent. I am a fan of Mariah Stewart and I have realized that the last two books that I have read of hers, this one and Hard Truth, lacked in the romance department and didn't exactly thrill me with the suspense. I was looking forward to reading this new trilogy of hers and was disappointed. I will think twice before purchasing from Stewart again. It's like she is a totally different author! Some of her older books, Dead Even, Dead Certain, etc. were much better! Borrow the book from someone, don't buy it.
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Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
Too many characters. If you put the book down, it's hard to remember who's who, next time you pick it up.
The writing often feels hasty and not properly checked, with awkward turns of phrase and repetitions.
So, why do I still give this novel 3 stars ? Well, we've all heard the three conditions for a shop to do good business : location, location and location.
For "Last Look", it's plot, plot and plot.
The basic idea is superb, the unraveling of the story suspenseful and the conclusion unexpected and bitter.
There are two morality twists adding flavour to the plot :
One is that family secrets become about as attractive as a flat tire when they, themselves, are deflated. Those who will not divulge these secrets are evil, and encouraging evil.
Two : the persistent hypocrisy of those who pretend to be our spiritual guides.
So, in the end ? YES : an excellent book with that extra dimension that turns a detective story into a real novel.
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I enjoyed Last Look, the first book in Mariah Stewart's "Last" series. I've read her other FBI books and have enjoyed them as well.
Special Agent Andrew Shields, is still reeling from the backlash caused by the scandal his brother, (also an FBI agent) was involved with.
Hoping to give him back some of his self confidence, his boss sends him to Georgia to investigate the death of a prostitute found shot and stabbed to death. The prostitute has been positively identified as Shannon Randall.
Shannon Randall disappeared from her home town of Hatton South Carolina in 1983 when she was 14 years old. All the evidence pointed to 18 year old Eric Beale. Eric was tried, found guilty and sent to prison for Shannon's murder. He was executed eight years later. Now her body has turned up, and there are a ton of questions being asked.
FBI agent Dorsey Collins' father Mat Ranieri, was the agent sent to finalize the investigation into Shannon's "death". He has since retired from the Bureau, and making his living as an expert on crime and criminals. Still riding on the fame of convicting Shannon's murderer. Now he has a lot to answer for.
Dorsey knows she wont be allowed to actually work this case, but she wants in to help in anyway she can, she needs answers and wants to clear her fathers name. She is given permission to shadow Andrew and his investigation.
As Andrew and Dorsey start to ask their questions, it quickly becomes evident, that Shannon's family is not being entirely truthful with them. The police chief at the time was maybe not all he seemed to be and the locals were not as truthful as they could have been when it came to what happened the night Shannon went missing.
I liked the story. And as I've said in other reviews of this author, I love her character development.
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This is my first time reading Mariah Stewart and I must say I enjoyed this book very much. It had a great mystery and surprising ending. My only complaint was that there was very little romance, if any. One kiss in the entire book was a little dissappointing, but if you buy this book just for the suspense, you will love it. If you buy it for the romance, there won't be any. All in all, a very entertaining and enjoyable read.
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