One Last Breath Page 2

  “It’s okay,” Tara replied, now sitting up as well. “I know you were just trying to protect me, but you don’t always need to do that. I can handle replying myself.”

  Tara leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he smiled. But even though she reassured him that there was no need for him to feel like he had to protect her, deep down she was glad that John said something.

  In reality, his mother had caught her off-guard. Tara had a feeling that if John didn’t step in—if the lights didn’t go out—her discomfort would’ve been written all over her face. But she refused to admit that to him. John already had enough reason to worry about her.

  But Tara knew that wasn’t all John wanted to say. There was something else on his mind. He was now turned fully toward her. Concern swirled in his eyes as each flash of lightning filled the room.

  He sighed. “We also haven’t spoken about you going to see your dad in a while. I feel like you’ve kind of been avoiding it.”

  It was exactly what Tara anticipated. But at the same time, she felt very unprepared for the conversation. He was right; she had been avoiding it. Because deep down, she had doubts. What if she was wrong about what she saw? The question had been rolling around in her mind for weeks. And she had wondered, if she were indeed wrong, would seeing her father be worth it? What if it only opened her psychological scars wider?

  “I’m just starting to wonder,” she started, “if it’s really a good idea.” She looked down at her hands, clenched anxiously together in her lap. She couldn’t see John’s reaction, but she sensed him lift his head up.

  “Why?”

  His question stirred a strange feeling. Because, in reality, she could think of so many reasons why she shouldn’t go see him. But she also knew that deep down, her biggest hesitation was just seeing him. She didn’t know if she was ready to open that door.

  “What if I’m wrong?” she finally said. “What if I allow him into my life and it only makes everything more complicated? What if I’m not ready?” The questions poured out of her mouth, and when she finished, John moved closer to her, grabbing hold of her hand.

  “I don’t think you’re ever going to feel completely ready,” he started. “But I also know you, and I know you wouldn’t even have thought of doing this if you didn’t feel a strong need to.”

  He was right. Tara knew that something had always felt off to her about the night of her mother’s murder. It was something that had been eating away at her for years, and she had finally admitted what troubled her. But now that it was out in the open, it had stirred a new level of anxiety. It was the thought of seeing her father after all these years. It was the fear of opening a door she had tried so hard to close.

  When she was younger, he had written to her for years. Her grandmother had allowed her to make the decision herself if she wanted to read the letters—and a few she did. In some odd way, she felt like she needed to. Her life had changed so drastically as a child, and she missed her old life, her family, her mother. His letters were mostly questions for her––asking how she was doing, what she did for her birthday, and so on. At first, she read her father’s letters because she craved her old life. But as she grew older, that craving turned into anger, and she eventually stopped reading them. She never wrote back, and he eventually stopped writing too.

  Tara feared that by visiting him, she would give him new hope, and then she would have to painfully push him out of her life again.

  “It’s going to be strange seeing him.” John’s voice caused her to look up, realizing that she had been absorbed in her thoughts. “But just because you see him once doesn’t mean you ever have to again. I think you’ll regret not trying to get some answers.”

  Tara nodded. “I just worry that he’s going to try to weasel his way back into my life, and I don’t want that. I don’t want anything to do with him except to find answers.”

  It was another fear of hers. What if she was right? What if someone else was in the room? Who could it have been? What would it mean? Would it mean she would need to see him again? And what if finding the answer was more painful than not knowing? Those thoughts danced frantically around in her head.

  She was very young when her father went to prison, but her memories of him in general were not positive. He was an angry drunk who would take everything out on her mother. She didn’t know what secrets he kept buried, but she knew it was possible that he did.

  “Well, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You don’t have to let anyone into your life that you don’t want in it. But if you need answers, don’t let him hold that power over you. You owe it to yourself to get them.”

  Tara nodded again. “You’re right.”

  She did need answers, or she’d be plagued with nightmares once again, and it would inevitably affect her job.

  “You’re in control now,” John added, squeezing her hand.

  His words suddenly sparked something within her, and she sat up straighter, a moment of clarity bursting in her mind. I’m not a scared child anymore, she told herself. I’m an adult. I’m an FBI agent. And at the thought, she reminded herself that if she needed answers, that was what she would get. Nothing more, nothing less. She was in control.

  “I think I just need to do it,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

  Tara could see a slight smile form on John’s face, filled with relief and worry swirled into one.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No,” Tara replied. “I think I need to do this on my own.” She knew this was a solo journey. She needed to face her father all on her own.

  Chapter Two

  Tara opened her eyes but then quickly squeezed them shut as the ceiling light glared down at her. She turned her head sharply, opening her eyes slightly once again.

  The thunder and lightning from the night before were now just a memory, replaced by a flicker of sunlight peeking through a break in her silver curtains. The electricity was clearly back on, reminding Tara that they had forgotten to flick the light switches before bed.

  John was still sound asleep, as usual, and Tara quietly peeled back her cover, treaded across the floor, threw some clothes on, and flicked the switch for him, sending the room into near darkness.

  She grabbed hold of her phone, checking the time as she quietly crept into the kitchen. It was 6:00 a.m. Normally, she wouldn’t get up for another hour, but she knew if she was going to keep her promise to John, if she was going to visit her father that day, she would need the extra time to plan.

  At the thought, she could feel her stomach grow queasy, but she couldn’t dare let herself cave in to emotion. She needed to do this; she knew that now. For so long, she had seen visiting her father as a window to more pain, but now she knew it held the possibility of freedom—the freedom of knowing what happened that night. But most importantly, of not being controlled by her demons anymore.

  But even though Tara felt mentally ready, she knew there was another hurdle. Her father was imprisoned in New York, over two hundred miles from Washington, D.C. It would not be easy to get to with less than a day to plan. But she had to try because she didn’t know how long her mental clarity would last before the fear would take hold again.

  Tara placed a filter and coffee grinds into the machine as she began to search on her phone for flights from Washington to New York. She knew it could be an easy day trip. After all, she had taken a similar trip when she was in the FBI academy in Quantico, when her grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. It was only a week into Tara’s training when she had received a call from her grandmother. She didn’t tell her at first. Her grandmother was always the type to hold things in—especially if she knew it would cause Tara the slightest discomfort. But she was also not someone to keep things completely hidden either. It was something she often struggled with—when to shield Tara from more pain and when to tell her the cold, hard truth, because in the end she deserved to know.

  Tara had sensed that something was wrong that day. She
could hear the same passivity in her grandma’s voice, the same hesitation and conflict from the first time Tara’s father wrote to her—when she decided that even though it would be painful, it was ultimately Tara’s decision if she wanted to read the letter.

  It took Tara a few times asking before her grandmother cleared her throat—something she always did before saying something that troubled her. It was then that Tara learned of the cancer.

  Tara had wanted to fly back home that very day, but her grandmother begged her not to. She was afraid it would disrupt her training––that it would disrupt the one thing that had gone right in Tara’s life. Tara knew very well that flying home would cause her grandmother more stress than she needed. And so she decided to stay, under the condition that her grandmother would call her if things worsened.

  Two weeks later, Tara received the worst call she had ever gotten. It was her grandmother’s live-in nurse. Her situation had worsened, and her doctors didn’t think she would make it through the night. Apparently, her cancer was much further along than she had led Tara to believe.

  Tara flew home immediately, but her grandmother was already gone. That was the last time she went to New York. It would be strange, she thought, to be back in the city after all these years.

  Tara took a sip of coffee as she took a seat on a barstool and continued to look down at her phone. There was a flight leaving at twelve. I can probably make that, she told herself, but she would have to call Reinhardt first and see if she could take the day. She hasn’t had a major case since the trail killer case, and they’d been keeping her on local smaller cases while her arm healed.

  She reassured herself with those thoughts as she searched his contact and then placed her phone to her ear. He picked up almost immediately.

  “Mills, what’s up?” There was a softness in his voice, tainted with concern.

  Over the past few months, Tara’s relationship with Reinhardt and the entire division of the FBI, had grown much more comfortable. They respected her more; she could feel it. They no longer just saw as a rookie.

  However, it was still unusual for Tara to call Reinhardt this early. She glanced at the clock on the stove—it read six thirty. This was early, even for Reinhardt, who didn’t get to the office until seven.

  “Sorry to call you this early,” Tara started.

  “Everything all right? How’d you make out in the storm?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine. We’re all okay,” she replied. She had almost forgotten about the storm. “What about you?”

  “All good here. A few agents called and said they had some home damage, though, won’t make it in.”

  Tara hadn’t anticipated that before this call, and she suddenly began to question if maybe Reinhardt would need her more right now, and maybe it was an inappropriate time to ask to pick up and leave. She felt the phone grow slippery in her sweaty palm.

  “I’m guessing that’s not why you called?” Reinhardt finally asked.

  Tara was quiet for a moment, trying to determine if she should still ask.

  “I just wanted to check in with you early and see if you have anything urgent for me today.” She paused, deciding how she would word what she was about to say. “I have a bit of a family matter I’d like to take care of in New York today. If it’s not a problem, I’d like to take the day.”

  Reinhardt was silent for a moment. “You want to fly all the way to New York? You sure everything’s all right?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine,” she replied quickly, but she couldn’t think of anything more to say without telling the truth. He’s going to ask me what type of family matter, she thought as her heart rate picked. She quickly tried to think of an excuse.

  “Yeah, should be fine,” he finally said hesitantly. Tara sensed his suspicion but that he didn’t want to pry, and she relaxed. “Because of the storm, there’s not a whole lot going on today.”

  Relieved, Tara thanked him and was soon off the phone. She was about to book the flight when she heard footsteps and felt the presence of someone in the doorframe where the hallway met the living room.

  Tara raised her head to see Claire entering the kitchen, already dressed for the day with a duffle bag around her shoulder. She struggled to carry it into the living room before dropping it down on the floor and looked up at Tara, out of breath. She always had a habit of overpacking.

  Tara was surprised to see her up this early, and she felt a sudden anxiety bubble up at the thought of Claire overhearing her conversation with Reinhardt.

  Tara stood up from her bar stool. “You’re up early. Do you need help with that?”

  Claire pushed her bag neatly into the corner of the room. “No, dear, but thank you,” she said as she stood up. “I wanted to get over to the condo early and check on it,” she added as she walked into the kitchen. “Any coffee?”

  Tara poured Claire a cup before settling back down in her seat, and the room fell into silence. She looked back down at her phone. She was almost finished booking her flight, and she quickly finished the transaction before looking back up at Claire.

  Tara hadn’t even realized that Claire was staring at her skeptically until she looked up.

  “Doing something for work?” Claire asked as her eyes moved to Tara’s debit card sitting on the counter.

  Tara placed her phone down as she felt her face begin to flush. She didn’t like to lie, especially to John and his family, but she knew she certainly couldn’t tell the truth. Claire did not know about Tara’s father. As far as Claire knew, Tara’s parents were murdered during a break-in gone wrong—it was the story John and Tara had stuck to when his parents spontaneously asked about her family a couple of years ago. Even though John insisted that Tara could tell them the truth—that his parents wouldn’t look at her differently—she refused to tell them. She knew no matter who she told, a change in perception was inevitable, and she certainly didn’t want that to occur with John’s parents.

  “Yes,” Tara started before hesitating. “Well, I was, but then I was just buying something I needed.”

  Tara knew Claire wouldn’t ask what it was. She was respectful in that way. But Tara also knew that if she were concerned about something, she would push.

  Claire reached for the handle on the fridge before grabbing some milk. As she poured it into her mug, she turned halfway to Tara.

  “Is that who you were on the phone with before—work?” Claire asked. Her eyes moved from Tara to her mug, which she was now stirring anxiously, awaiting Tara’s reply.

  Tara’s heart sank. She had overheard. But how much? She knew she couldn’t now lie. Depending on how much Claire had overheard, she would catch her in it.

  “Yes, it was my boss,” Tara replied.

  Claire nodded. She opened her mouth briefly as if about to speak before hesitating and twisting her mouth, as if deciding what she was about to say. She placed the milk back into the fridge.

  “I don’t mean to pry, but I couldn’t help but overhear. It sounds like you’re going to New York?”

  Tara’s stomach twisted into a knot. It was one thing about Claire that always irked her—she didn’t have many boundaries. In Claire’s eyes she was treating Tara like a daughter, but at times it was overboard, and it certainly wasn’t something Tara was used to. She was independent. She kept things to herself unless she wanted to speak of them, and she wanted to keep it that way with Claire. But Claire would never allow it, and it was clear that she had overheard the majority, if not all, of her conversation. And if that were the case, she would know that Tara did ask to leave work early—that she wanted to fly to New York later that day for a personal reason.

  Tara searched in all corners of her mind for a response. She needed one that was believable but still kept her father’s imprisonment a secret. My grandmother, Tara thought. I’ll make up something about her estate.

  “Yes,” Tara finally said. “My great-aunt has some things of my grandmother’s that she wants me to go through.”

 
; Claire nodded. “That’s a long way to go on a weekday.”

  “I kind of just want to get it over with,” Tara shot back.

  Tara was growing irritated by the incessant questioning, and she couldn’t help but question why Claire was pushing so. It had to have been clear that Tara was uncomfortable with the conversation.

  Claire moved closer to the island counter until she stood directly across from her. Tara could sense her movement, but her eyes remained focused on her coffee mug, trying to deter any further conversation. But all of a sudden, Tara felt Claire’s hand clasp hers and then give it a gentle squeeze.

  Tara looked up.

  “You know you can tell me anything, right?” Claire asked. “I see you as family, Tara—as a daughter. I want you to know that you can always confide in me.”

  Tara nodded, but she didn’t know what to say. It was clear that Claire knew she wasn’t being truthful. Tara knew Claire meant what she said, and it gave her a sudden surge of belonging––one that she had always searched for. Tara knew very well that she put walls around herself, and it was likely that Claire sensed that too. But as much as Tara wanted to grow closer to John’s family, she was in no way ready to tear this one wall down.

  “Thank you,” Tara replied. “Yes, I do know that.”

  There was brief silence, and Tara’s hand squeezed Claire’s on instinct, without even meaning to do so, and then she quickly pulled away. But Claire only smiled. It was as if Tara had said something without even speaking a word—that she was grateful, but she wasn’t ready yet to tell her what she held deep inside.

  Footsteps interrupted the moment as their eyes darted to the hallway entrance that led to Tara’s bedroom. John stood in the doorframe. He looked at them sleepily.

  “Good morning,” he said as he trudged into the kitchen.

  But Tara was already looking at the clock. She needed to get ready, and she quickly excused herself before leaving the room.

  ***

  Tara sat in the passenger seat of John’s car as they made their way to the airport. She had already told him of the awkward conversation with his mother, but he wasn’t surprised. He had already sensed it from Tara’s awkward exit from the kitchen, and how she seemingly stayed in their bedroom until they left—only leaving the room for a quick goodbye.