One Last Breath by Sarah Sutton (speld decodable readers txt) 📗

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