From an acclaimed “master of suspense” (New York Times Book Review) comes a thriller in which Thorn must confront an assassin whose victims and methods are taken directly from the script of a popular TV show April Moss writes obituaries for the Miami Herald .  Her son, Sawyer, also a writer, has been scripting a cable TV series called “Miami Ops” and has been using his mother’s work as a central element of the show's storyline.  In “Miami Ops,” a serial killer is using obituaries published in the local paper as a blueprint for selecting his next victims. But midway through the season, a copycat appears off-screen, a real-life killer who is using the same strategy to select victims.  When this serial killer crosses paths with the reclusive Thorn, he has no choice but to leave his sanctuary in Key Largo and join forces with a young policewoman from Oklahoma who is investigating the murders. In addition to the show’s head writer, April’s other son, Sawyer’s twin brother, works on “Miami Ops” as the lead actor.  Could one of them be involved in the killings?  Or are they orchestrated by the director of the TV series, an aging mogul who badly needs a hit? And what about the female star of the show, a deliciously strange young woman who seems willing to do anything to promote her career. Thorn walks into this hotbed of entertainment business intrigue totally unprepared for the life-altering shocker he’s about to face. This loner from Key Largo has brought down his share of killers, but he's never confronted one that was his own flesh and blood. With the pacing of a thriller, and the lyrical prose for which Hall is renowned, this story pits Thorn against a killer—or killers—whose motives are as elusive as their identities. “ Dead Last is a mystery with multiple layers, with Thorn pursuing a ruthless and clever killer as well as diving into his own past — two paths that will have a shocking convergence.” — St. Petersburg Times “Thorn, that Key Largo loner whose renegade style always gets results, has written another page-turner, this time with a surprising twist. [...]Which, if any, of these leading suspects, is the right one? As if that weren't enough of a puzzle, Thorn gets the surprise of his life in the course of the investigation.” —Valerie Ryan, Shelf Awareness "Hall combines crisp prose, solid psychology, sardonic humor, and glimpses of an edgy, fast-changing Florida into a suspenseful and satisfying whole." -- Publishers Weekly on Dead Last JAMES W. HALL is an Edgar and Shamus Award-winning author whose books have been translated into a dozen languages. He divides his time between South Florida and North Carolina. ONE   IT WAS SATURDAY, MID-JULY, AND Thorn and Rusty Stabler were drifting through Trout Creek, a half hour west of Key Largo by boat. On the fringes of the Everglades, this northern corner of the Florida Bay was dotted with tiny islands and flats that rose into view at low tide to become vast sandbars where egrets and herons feasted on mollusks and stranded pinfish and shrimp. Narrow unmarked channels snaked across the grassy bottom and cut close to the mangrove islands, making it a tricky place to navigate even in a shallow draft skiff like theirs. All across this region the turtle grass was scarred with prop trails from novice boaters who’d strayed into the shallows and plowed deep grooves at high speed, leaving their idiotic signatures in the sea floor for decades to come. The Bogies, Stump Pass, Nest Key, Alligator Bay, Trout Cove, Little Madeira, Long Sound, Joe Bay, Tern, and Eagle keys. The islands and sandbars, bays and coves of this remote area were as familiar to the two of them as the slopes, curves, and soft undulations of a lover’s body. Unanchored, they rode the tide, their live shrimp jigging past the mangrove roots where the groupers and big snappers lurked. For this mindless sport, none of Rusty’s casting skills or dexterity was required. It was the kind of half-assed fishing that day-tripping tourists indulged in. Though it was beneath her abilities, Rusty was beyond caring about such things. Today it was the air they were after, the pure, hard summer light, the wayward scent of wilderness. One by one, they were going to hit all her favorite fishing holes, a stations-of-the-cross pilgrimage around the bays and flats and creeks of the upper Keys. Spots both of them had fished since they were kids. Rusty Stabler, his lover for the last two years. The longest connection Thorn had ever managed with a woman. Longest and most solid, and now it had become by far the most painful. He watched Rusty twitch her line, putting action in her bait. Hip cocked against the center console, eyes fixed on the water’s surface, waiting for any riffle, holding the rod with a loose readiness, reflexes alert. Like Rusty of old. Twenty yards up the creek a trio of dolphins appeared and took their sweet, silky time rolling past. With a quiet smile, Rusty monitored their journey. To the east