One Last Breath Read online

  “I think she knows,” Tara finally said as she sighed and looked back down at her phone, double-checking that there were no delays with her flight. There weren’t. “It was like she was trying to pull it out of me.”

  John’s eyes moved briefly to Tara before shifting back in front of him.

  “She just loves you, Tara, and she just wants to make sure you’re okay.” He grasped her hand and slid his fingers between hers. It was something he had said numerous times already. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he added as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Your past doesn’t define you. You never did anything wrong. Your dad did, and that doesn’t say anything about you.”

  Tara sighed. “But it does, John. You know that.”

  John remained silent. She had explained her reasoning to him before. And although John had always respected Tara’s feelings on the subject, he could never quite grasp what it felt like to be in Tara’s shoes. She knew it wasn’t his fault. No matter how hard he tried to empathize with her, no matter how hard he tried to understand, he was always limited because he never actually had the experience. Part of her envied that about him. He had a loving family—a normal family—and because of that Tara was certain that he didn’t fully understand the depths of shame.

  To John, Tara was merely the victim of a tragedy. She was an innocent bystander. And because she didn’t play a part in the events that unfolded, in his eyes she had no reason to feel ashamed. But Tara knew different. Her past did define her, because no matter who she told, she would always look damaged.

  She placed her phone back down and looked over at him. She could see him growing flustered, the way he knitted his eyebrows, evaluating his next choice of words carefully.

  His display of distress suddenly made Tara feel sorry for him. He was trying so hard to say the right thing and to make Tara feel better, but there was no right thing to say.

  John finally sighed. “I just don’t think you should worry about that right now. And I promise you, there’s nothing to worry about with my mom anyway.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “You’re right,” Tara sighed.

  She wasn’t going to keep pushing the subject, and she could see John relax slightly at her words. He knew that he didn’t have to keep reassuring her now. But he was also right. Tara had something much bigger to face, and it suddenly occurred to her that maybe she was using the situation with John’s mom as a distraction.

  Tara’s phone beeped, interrupting her thought. It was her work phone, and as she picked it up, she could see Warren, her partner’s name, light up the screen. She had a text from him.

  How is everything?

  Tara assumed he was asking in regard to the storm. It occurred to her that she hadn’t even checked in with him to see how he was. Reinhardt mentioned that some agents had damage to their homes, and it didn’t even cross her mind at the time that Warren could be one of them. She felt guilty.

  Everything’s fine. We didn’t have any damage. How about you?

  No damage.

  Tara was about to write that she was glad to hear it, but then Warren started typing again, and a message came through.

  Reinhardt said you’re going to NY?

  Tara’s heart sank. She wasn’t prepared for Warren to know. Ever since the trail killer case––since she proved herself to him and revealed the details of her past––Tara’s relationship with Warren had become much more level. Instead of seeing her as an inferior rookie, he now saw her as an agent with potential. He seemed to feel like he had a new role, to mentor her, which often required him to check in with her if he was concerned. And Tara knew that was exactly what he was doing. Warren knew that Tara was from New York, and that given her past, there were very few reasons why she would be heading back there. It quickly occurred to her why Warren had texted her at all. It wasn’t to check on her about the storm. It was because he heard of her plans.

  “Is that work?” John suddenly asked as his eyes moved from the road to her.

  Tara looked up. They were close; she could see the exit sign to her terminal, where John would be dropping her off.

  “Yes,” she replied. “It’s just Warren.”

  She looked back down at her phone.

  Yes, I’m just going for the day, she finally wrote.

  Warren was quick to reply. Everything OK?

  Tara’s fingers hung heavy over her phone as John veered off the exit and then slowed down as he neared the drop-off.

  Yes, everything’s fine.

  She sent off the message and then slipped her phone into her purse as the car came to a stop. She turned to John, whose dark brown eyes were heavy with concern. It made her realize just how quiet he had been throughout this drive, and that he was probably torturing himself with worry.

  “I can still come with you,” he said.

  Tara shook her head. “This is something I need to do by myself.”

  John opened his mouth, about to protest, but then he closed it as his reason caught up to his emotions. He wanted to respect her decision.

  “Well, if you change your mind when you’re there, just call. I’ll hop on the next flight.”

  Tara smiled. It felt good to have someone so supportive and devoted to her, and that she felt the same about. It was something she had always craved as a child. And now it felt almost ironic—how she would’ve done anything to find this type of love and leave her life behind, and yet here she was, leaving John behind as she faced what she always wanted to escape.

  “Thank you,” she replied. She would never ask him to do that, but it was still nice to hear that he would.

  He leaned over, placing his hand gently on the back of her neck as he pulled her in for a kiss.

  Their lips parted ways, but he still held her there, their foreheads touching, his hand still caressing the back of her neck.

  “You’ll be okay,” he added. “You’re the strongest person I know, Tara. You can do this.”

  His hand slid off her as they settled back into their seats, and she nodded. She could feel a newfound strength swim through her at his words, but then her father’s face surfaced in her mind and butterflies burst into her belly.

  She took a deep breath as she pushed the image out of her mind and said her goodbyes to John. She then gathered her things and stepped out of the car.

  Chapter Three

  Wendy Stern closed her eyes briefly, letting the salty wind brush against her face. It was refreshing—just what she needed. She could taste the fragments of the ocean that it had swept into the air. But she also knew the wind was moist from the storm—that it carried the last bits of rain.

  She took a deep breath and looked ahead of her, hearing the laughter of Stella, her six-year-old daughter. She was a bit farther up the beach, digging in the sand. Each time her hands touched the sandy earth, their Golden Retriever would join in, kicking the sand up into Stella’s face and sending her into joyful hysterics.

  A smile seeped onto Wendy’s face. “Remember, don’t get too close to the water,” she reminded her daughter.

  Stella nodded, only half listening, too consumed by laughter. But Wendy knew that Stella already understood. She had told her numerous times before they even left the house, warning her that the currents were still strong from the storm.

  Wendy knew she would listen, because Stella loved the beach, even on a day like today. She wouldn’t risk her chances of being there by defying her mother’s orders. Stella had begged her to go, and she had agreed. But it wasn’t just her daughter that convinced her; she also saw it as an opportunity to survey the damage.

  We’re lucky, she said to herself as she scanned the homes lining the beach. She could see the damage to some of the siding and roofs, where it looked as if branches or some other physical objects had whacked the homes. Her eyes fell upon a man in the distance in front of one of the perfectly lined houses. His salt-and-pepper hair danced at each flick of the wind. He was bent over, wearing knee-high rain boot
s as he collected the fallen debris around his home. As Wendy walked past, he caught her presence from the corner of his eye and looked up briefly. He stared at her a moment until they locked eyes and he briefly shook his head. It was clear what he was saying—what a nightmare—and even from afar, Wendy could see the defeat, the exhaustion in his face. She felt sorry for him, and she nodded back at him as if to say I know, I’m sorry.

  Wendy, Stella, and Stella’s father were lucky that their home was inland. It was their main home. They weren’t fortunate enough to own two. Today was the first time Wendy had actually felt grateful that they didn’t have a beachfront summer home. For so long it had been her dream to own one—to be able to watch the sunset from her protruding porch, to wake up to the sound of waves crashing on the beach, but not today. Today, she was grateful.

  She scanned the beach for Stella, and for a moment a panic swirled within her when she couldn’t spot her instantly, but then she saw her curly head bobbing at each playful step. She had made her way over to the sand dunes, a few houses back from where Wendy had just walked.

  “Stella, stay off the dunes!” Wendy called out.

  She had lived in a beach community long enough to know that you weren’t supposed to let your kids play there, that they could ruin the dune grass planted to combat erosion. The storm, Wendy was sure, already gave it a beating, but she didn’t want to add to it.

  Stella stopped in her tracks as she turned to her mother, her hair whipping her face as the wind blew full force, and she pointed in front of her at their dog Charlie. He was a few feet in front of Stella, digging desperately in the sand.

  “Charlie, no!” Wendy called out as she picked up into a run toward where they stood. “Stella, don’t let him do that,” she called out again.

  Stella ran toward him as well, scolding him, in her usual playful scold. But just like every other time Stella tried to stop Charlie from doing something, it was ineffective. And Wendy chuckled slightly at the sight of it—her daughter trying so hard and Charlie knowing very well that he could get away with it in her presence.

  But all of a sudden Stella grew quiet as she stared down at the sand Charlie was frantically digging away. Wendy was already almost near them, and she slowed down to a brisk walk as she called out again for Charlie to stop. This time, Stella didn’t echo her mother’s words, and as Wendy looked at her, she could see her daughter’s face morph into something she had never seen on it before: terror. And just before Wendy could ask her what was wrong, her daughter let out a shrilling, pained scream as she ran toward her mother.

  Panic and confusion pulsated through Wendy’s body as she instinctively scooped up her daughter, who buried her face into her mother’s neck.

  As she approached the dog, he stepped back, almost as if he knew she needed to see what he had done. Her heart pounded as she peered into the hole. A large white object gleamed in the sand. Her mind swirled in confusion; she couldn’t quite make out what it was. But then her eyes moved down the object to where it joined another and splayed into short, smaller white objects. It was bone—a leg, a foot, toes. Wendy gasped for air.

  She looked up into the distance to the man she had caught eyes with moments earlier. She wanted to call to him, to ask for help. But as her eyes moved toward him, she could see that he was already reaching for his phone in his pocket as he picked up into a run toward them—as if he already understood.

  Chapter Four

  Tara stepped into a narrow lobby of white walls as her heart thumped. She had arrived at the prison moments ago, only to hesitate at the door. The reality of where she was and what she was about to do slammed into her at full force. But she forced herself through the threshold as her mind gave her every reason to turn around.

  She walked up to a large, protruding desk, scribbled her name down on a visitation log, and slid her ID and the clipboard into a slot under a large Plexiglas window. She didn’t even bother to look in front of her at the officer who grabbed the ID from the other side. She was too preoccupied with her thoughts, in keeping herself grounded with strength, and pushing every thought out of her mind telling her to leave.

  “Tara Mills?” the officer asked.

  It wasn’t just a question. A stroke of familiarity played in his words. As he spoke them, Tara realized too that his voice sounded familiar.

  She raised her gaze and was met by a face she had certainly seen before. It was Owen Reiner, an officer she had trained with during recruit training at the NYPD academy. He had the same clean-shaven face and muscular arms that always made the shirts of his uniform look too small. Tara had always thought he would be intimidating if it weren’t for his height. Even seated, Tara could tell that he was still the same short man she remembered. The majority of his body was barely visible behind the desk. Training was the last time Tara had seen him, but he was a difficult person to forget. He always seemed to be at a disadvantage because of his height, and Tara knew he overcompensated by working out. He was one of the strongest and fastest during training, and had run a mile and a half in 8:15. It was a record.

  His smile was wide. “Not a place I’d expect to run into you.”

  Tara forced a smile. It was not a place she would expect to run into him either, or anyone for that matter, and it was certainly not a place she would hope to. They were an hour outside the city. Last Tara had heard when she left for Quantico, Owen was still in the NYPD, stationed in the Bronx. She was just as surprised to see him here at a state prison.

  “When did you leave the NYPD?” she asked.

  “About a year ago. My wife’s family lives up here, so we moved after we had a kid. I was able to get a nine-to-five.”

  “Congratulations,” Tara replied before an awkward silence fell between them. He was a father now, and the mention only twisted the knot in Tara’s stomach tighter. She had remembered Owen always helping other officers in training, showing them how to increase their strength, their speed, going to the gym with them on weekends. He was always willing to devote his time to those that needed it, and Tara couldn’t help but assume he was a good father. It was a realization that made her suddenly feel like an outsider. She knew that as soon as he knew she was here to see her father—a man convicted of killing her mother—he would never look at her the same. He would pity her. He would dissect everything he knew about her. He would suddenly make sense of all her life choices, of all her reactions in every situation he had witnessed. It was what everyone did once they knew her history. He would assume he knew her, when in reality he knew nothing about her at all.

  “Who are you here to see?” he asked as he grabbed hold of the clipboard that Tara had just written her name on moments ago. He scanned the names.

  Tara’s heart thumped harder. “Richard Mills.”

  The officer nodded as he found Tara’s name. He then looked up again.

  “What’s your relation?”

  Tara could feel every instinct telling her to turn away, to run. She could feel her palms begin to sweat. “Father,” she started. “He’s my father.”

  It was strange saying it out loud. Even though it was an undeniable fact, he didn’t feel like a father to her at all, and it felt odd calling him that.

  Owen’s face fell. She could see the pity surface in his eyes, and Tara couldn’t help but feel ashamed as a frustration boiled within her. He only nodded as he motioned to the metal detector and Tara focused on her breathing. She focused on controlling every piece of her being as she stepped through. You can do this, she said to herself. She knew very well how her anxiety worked. It would creep up, and if she didn’t fight back, it would seize her lungs, her body, and her mind.

  Another officer stood on the other side of the metal detector. Unlike Owen, he stood tall and showed little emotion, his face stoic. Tara followed him as he opened a large, barred metal gate and continued to walk down a dimly lit hallway. It was lined with brick white walls and a concrete floor that gave off a musty smell. Tara focused on her surroundings, trying to kee
p her mind preoccupied when it suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea what she would say to her father. She had been so focused on keeping her emotions at bay, and then her interaction with Owen, that she hadn’t even considered how she would broach the subject of her mother’s murder.

  It was as if she was a child again, controlled only by emotion, and it irked her that she would allow that to happen. So many times as a child she had approached her father with the intention to ask him something—to get ice cream, to go play with a friend—but then she would see his mood twisted into a scowl as she entered the room. His dark brown eyes that were so dark they looked like one large pupil would stare her into intimidation. She would stare back at him like a deer in headlights as he took a swig of his Budweiser.

  “What?” he would bark, and Tara would shoot her eyes to her feet at the realization that she had been standing there quietly for too long.

  Eventually, she would mumble that she had nothing to say, or she would lie and say something else that wouldn’t irritate him—something that didn’t require him to take her anywhere or do anything for her—and then she would eventually cower back to her room.

  The officer reached the end of the hallway and scanned his ID before opening a large steel door. Tara quickly followed behind. You will just feel it out, she told herself. You got this. As she said the words to herself, she could feel her heart drumming, and a trace of doubt seeped in, but she quickly reminded herself that she wasn’t leaving until she asked.

  They came to another door, and the officer stopped before turning around to Tara. He motioned to a small window cutout in the intimidating door.