Last Wish (A Kaylie Brooks Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book 3)

L A S T   W I S H

(A Kaylie Brooks Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book 3)

K a t e   B o l d

Kate Bold

Bestselling author Kate Bold is author of the ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising six books (and counting); the CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising eight books (and counting); the HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising seven books (and counting); and the KAYLIE BROOKS PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER series, comprising five books (and counting).

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 © 2022 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. Jacket image Copyright VanjaLausev, used under license from Shutterstock.com.

BOOKS BY KATE BOLD

ALEXA CHASE SUSPENSE THRILLER

THE KILLING GAME (Book #1)

THE KILLING TIDE (Book #2)

THE KILLING HOUR (Book #3)

THE KILLING POINT (Book #4)

THE KILLING FOG (Book #5)

THE KILLING PLACE (Book #6)

ASHLEY HOPE SUSPENSE THRILLER

LET ME GO (Book #1)

LET ME OUT (Book #2)

LET ME LIVE (Book #3)

LET ME BREATHE (Book #4)

LET ME FORGET (Book #5)

LET ME ESCAPE (Book #6)

CAMILLE GRACE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOT ME (Book #1)

NOT NOW (Book #2)

NOT WELL (Book #3)

NOT HER (Book #4)

NOT NORMAL (Book #5)

NOT AGAIN (Book #6)

NOT SAFE (Book #7)

NOT TODAY (Book #8)

HARLEY COLE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOWHERE SAFE (Book #1)

NOWHERE LEFT (Book #2)

NOWHERE TO RUN (Book #3)

NOWHERE LIKE THIS (Book #4)

NOWHERE GIRL (Book #5)

NOWHERE TO HIDE (Book #6)

NOWHERE CERTAIN (Book #7)

KAYLIE BROOKS PYSCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER

LAST BREATH (Book #1)

LAST CHANCE (Book #2)

LAST WISH (Book #3)

LAST SHOT (Book #4)

LAST MISTAKE (Book #5)

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

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

She was surely going to run past any moment, he thought. And this time, he would be ready for her.

Brody Brewer crouched down so that he was almost invisible behind the first floor window glass of his house, using the potted plant on the sill for camouflage as he focused on the road outside. He’d been doing this for a couple of months now, since his boss at the finance firm where he worked had moved to London for a year. That had meant his early morning meetings were remote, from home, rather than at the office. What a stroke of luck that had been.

He narrowed his eyes. A smile, which was more of a leer, stretched his mouth wide.

She was something, this au pair from next door. Tan legs that seemed to go forever, especially in those bright pink shorter-than-shorts she wore for her runs. Smoking hot body. That top she wore showed off her toned arms and her round, curvy breasts. Her blonde hair, long and wavy, was tied back in a ponytail which allowed for him to ogle her wide blue eyes and full, luscious mouth.

This time, he had a camera with him. He wasn't going to let another opportunity go to waste. After all, seeing her once a day was one thing. But filming her would give him the chance to see her as many times as he liked.

He could zoom in, watch close. The camera might pick up details that his eyes were missing. It had taken him a while to get around to this idea. Filming, after all, was another step forward from just watching. But after some serious thought, he’d decided it was, in fact, better.

He licked his lips at the thought, knowing that since he was probably twice her age, looking closely was not something he could do in public. It wouldn't be met with approval. But there was no harm in looking at footage, right? Especially since she clearly wanted the attention. Otherwise why would she wear such a skimpy outfit? And therefore, there was no harm in filming, within the privacy of his home. Nobody need ever know.

He waited, keeping low, looking out for the first sign of her arrival, which would be the front door opening in the three-story mansion across the road.

Come to me, baby, he whispered, waiting to see that door open. It was like clockwork, the way it swung wide at exactly six a.m.

But something was wrong. He checked his watch. It was after six already. Ten minutes past, in fact.

She was late.

Was it wrong of him to feel a flash of resentment toward her that she was letting him down this way? It was very inconsiderate of her.

With a sigh, he dropped back down onto his hands and knees, feeling the ache in his knees where they had already been bruised and battered in the time he’d spent in this position. He had been so sure that she would run past his house at precisely six o'clock that morning. He couldn't have been more right, so why was she late now?

He wanted to see her. He wanted to see her so badly it hurt.

Come on, beautiful. Please come to me. I watch to see you again. His words were tinged with desperation.

He glanced at the upstairs window of the mansion opposite, the one that he thought was hers. He was pretty sure, anyway. The curtains were usually closed until seven a.m. and he guessed that was because she was showering after her run, getting changed and ready for her working day, that she was prowling around the bedroom naked.

Naked!

But now, as he looked up at that window, he saw to his surprise that the curtains were open. That was very unusual. But it presented him with an opportunity, and his heart sped up at the thought as he turned away from the first floor window and climbed up the stairs to his higher-level observation point which was from one of the bedrooms. From here, with curtains open, who knew what would be visible when he looked into her room?

Maybe he shouldn’t do it.

This is going too far, he muttered to himself. If you do this, you’re nothing but a sad pervert.

Oh, come on, the other side of him argued. It’s just innocently glancing at the home next door.

With binoculars?

The birds are out at this hour. I’m looking for the Monk Parakeet. There have been several sightings recently in suburban southeast Florida.

Yeah, right.

But his argument had done enough. The other side of him had no real comeback to the birding excuse. So he took out his binoculars that he told himself he used only for birding. And he trained them onto the window.

Just to check, he told himself, to be neighborly. Caring, like a neighbor should be. He was looking for that parakeet, and then, accidentally, he was going to lower them to the window. So Brody did exactly that. He raised them to the sky, empty of birds at that particular moment, and then lowered them to the window, eagerly focusing on what was beyond.

What was that, though? There was nobody in the room that he could see. He frowned, lowering the binoculars and then raising them again. There was something at the back, near the corner of the wardrobe, that he couldn't make out.

Was everything okay in that house, he wondered suddenly. The thought was so far removed from the other thoughts that had been going through his mind, that it was actually quite shocking. It felt as if he'd been dragged into a place he didn't want to be.

He shook his head. No, no, of course everything was okay. He was just being ridiculous, seeing something that wasn't there.

But then he saw it again. That odd, lumpy shape near the back of the room. It was bothering him. It didn't belong. Did it mean something? Had someone passed out, fainted? Or was it a big travel bag, and they were all busy packing to move? The sun was in the wrong place, and it was too dark inside there to see clearly. He needed to know.

Letting out a resigned sigh, he hurried downstairs, leaving his camera and binoculars in the bedroom. In the hallway, he briefly glanced at himself. He thought he looked presentable enough. Neat hair, a designer shirt, an artificially enhanced suntan. Everyone would think he was a fine, upstanding citizen, who was just concerned about his neighbors. And honestly, now, he was.

He jogged across the road, went in through the big ornate gate, up the paved driveway, which took a full minute to walk, and then he was at the front door.

He knocked. No response. Were they out, so early?

He heard the hiss of sprinklers nearby, but not a movement or a noise from inside.

Well, that was that, then. They were all away. Quite obvious. He had probably seen a pile of clothes or a discarded bag upstairs. Maybe that was what had caught his eye.

He had no idea what made him try the front door. Perhaps it was a flash of instinct, beyond his conscious ability to comprehend. It was almost as if he wanted to check the box at the back of his mind that was telling him something really was wrong, and he should just make sure.

It opened, and he felt a weird thrill, this time fearful, far removed from the salacious expectancy of earlier.

Hello? he called. There must be a maid or someone home. Hello?

There was no answer. Was it too early for the maids? Where was everyone? This was weird. Nobody in this neighborhood left their house empty and open. Everyone had valuables and expensive items on display.

He stepped inside, feeling as if he were trespassing, but now his worry was stronger. He was a good citizen at heart, he told himself. He was concerned for his neighbors’ safety, worried that something had happened to them.

He moved along the hallway, toward the kitchen. He called for them again.

Hello? Anyone home?

There was no one there. No sign of anything wrong. His neighbors hadn’t been robbed or burgled. But what about the room upstairs? He should check that, because the more he thought about it, the more strongly that doubt twisted inside him.

There were the stairs, leading up. He'd never been up this staircase. He had only ever seen it from the window outside, although of course, in his wilder fantasies, he’d imagined the blonde au pair, leading him up by the hand. He feared this time, it would be a very different outcome from his dreams. But there was no turning back now. He was here and he had to check.

Climbing the broad, elegant stairs, he felt his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. He reached the top and went to the room that he had seen.

He hesitated before he reached the door, because he could smell something that was starting to make him worried. A thick, intense, metallic odor that made him want to choke. He breathed out, feeling ill.

Brody thought he knew what was in the room. What all this was pointing toward. The clues had been building, implacably guiding him to this impossible conclusion.

But he stepped in anyway, holding his breath. He stared at what lay there, slumped near the antique wooden wardrobe.

And then, he let it out in a high pitched, terrified scream.

CHAPTER ONE

Kaylie Brooks couldn't believe it. She'd made it. She'd graduated from the law enforcement academy in southern Florida, after a tough, six-month course that had tested her to the limits both physically and mentally.

She felt ten feet tall with pride as she stood in line with the rest of her class, her police uniform feeling smart and new, though maybe a little loose on her newly fit, toned frame. Her chestnut blonde hair was neatly braided. Her nails were cut short and varnished clear. Kaylie had always enjoyed long, decorative fingernails in the past, but she’d soon learned that short nails were a necessity in police work.

Well done, Kaylie, her fellow trainee Heather Mills whispered from behind her. They'd been rivals at one stage, filled with anger and resentment toward one another. But they’d overcome their differences and had become good friends, ending up supporting each other through the most difficult parts of the training. Now, those words of praise meant everything to Kaylie.

Well done to you, too, she whispered back, smiling.

I never thought I'd ace the written work. Thanks for your help with the psychology topics, Heather whispered.

And thanks for your help with the physical training. The tips and pointers you gave, and those PE sessions we did together, made such a difference, Kaylie said thankfully.

It hadn't all been smooth sailing between herself and the other candidates, she remembered. They had all gotten off to a rocky and unfriendly start after they'd assumed she was a wealthy member of the Palm Beach elite, and had resented her as a result, believing that such a person couldn’t be seriously committed to a career as a policewoman.

That had been thanks to the car she drove, a gleaming white, brand new Range Rover. She hadn't bought it. As someone from a poor Nebraska family, she could personally never have afforded such a car, nor the sumptuous mansion in Palm Beach where she now lived.

Brett Brooks, the man she’d been married to for only a couple of weeks before she’d found out his true nature, had been the wealthy one. Kaylie hadn't realized exactly how well off he was until after the wedding when she had moved to Palm Beach.

Nor had she realized that her charming, handsome, and loving husband was a cold-blooded killer, until she'd pieced together the clues. Now, Brett was in jail, sentenced to life imprisonment for murder, and she was embarking on a new and exciting career that she knew was her calling.

Together with her psychology degree, this qualification would allow her to become a police profiler. She already had a