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

His grip was firm and his shake was hard. “Come in,” he added as he opened the door wide. Tara stepped into a living room that was immaculately clean and organized. The walls were made of shiplap, the floor a dark finished wood, with dark gray furniture throughout. “Take a seat,” he said as he gestured to a couch and sat down on a loveseat opposite.

He was remarkably welcoming, and it made Tara relax as she began to question her suspicion toward him. “Thank you for seeing me,” she started. He nodded without hesitation.

“I just hope I can help you,” he replied. He knitted his eyebrows in concern as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. His concern seemed genuine and took Tara by surprise.

“You’ve been following this case, correct?” Tara asked.

He nodded. “Since the beginning, when Ashley White went missing.” He straightened up, pressing his back against the couch as he shook his head. “It’s terrible. The poor girls in this town. Everyone’s on edge.”

It was a bit of a strange remark, Tara noted. His focus not on the victims but on the terror it ensued in the community, but she didn’t bring attention to it. Instead, she pushed forward. “And you knew Reese?”

He sighed and nodded. “I used to order coffee from her.” He spoke to the floor as he said the words, and then he lifted his head. “That’s as much as I knew about her, though.” He shrugged.

“Did she ever mention anyone? Anyone she may have been meeting after work or speaking to?”

He shook his head. “I wish she did. Believe me, I wish I could help.”

Tara took out her phone. She still had the pictures of the house fire from the memory card, and she flicked one open. She already knew the images were Ben Ford’s, but she wanted to see his reaction. “Do you know who might’ve taken this photo?”

He leaned in closer, studying it, but only for a moment before he sat back into his seat. “It looks like a house fire we put on the news. I think a couple weeks ago. There were a few reporters there with camera crews, though; it’d be tough to know.” His eyes veered to one side of the room, as if to avoid any eye contact as he straightened awkwardly. But then at Tara’s gaze he suddenly relaxed and turned to her. It gave Tara a strange feeling, as if he had for a split-second morphed in and out of character.

“Was anyone from your station there?” she asked. Again, she wanted to see what he would say, what his body language would reveal.

He nodded. “It doesn’t look like any footage I saw, though. I’m not sure if it came from our station. Were there any other pictures on the memory card?”

He stared at her, waiting for a response, but he hadn’t even realized what he had just revealed. Tara’s heart quickened as the reality of the situation dropped into the pit of her stomach. She never mentioned a memory card. They hadn’t even released that information to the press or public.

“I never mentioned a memory card,” she replied.

He stared at her a moment, as if understanding what she just said and what he had just done. She could see a flicker of panic flash in his eyes, until he chuckled, making light of it. “I just assumed. If it was taken at a scene, it had to have come from a memory card, right?” As he spoke, he awkwardly rubbed his knees with his hands, and as Tara looked down at them, she could see swelling and bruising around his knuckles. It looked fresh and new.

“What happened to your hand?”

He looked down at it and then flinched, pulling it toward himself. “I…uh,” he stuttered. “I take boxing a couple days a week to stay in shape. Hit a bag too hard.” He smiled, stroking his hand. But Tara could tell he was lying. He was witty. He was not someone who would stumble on the truth or even a lie that was well thought out. But on the spot, anyone would.

Silence sat heavy in the room, and for a brief moment a sound echoed in the distance. At first Tara wasn’t sure what she heard, but as she looked at his face, it was clear that he heard it too. The same terror Tara saw a flicker of before burst into flames in his eyes.

“What was that?” she asked as she stood up. It was a banging from down the hall, and now Tara could hear it more consistently. She began to walk toward it. “Mind if we go see what that is?” she asked. Every inch of her mind pulled her forward. She needed to see what it was. She could feel the air in the room was now different.

He nodded, but he didn’t speak, his charming persona now nowhere to be found. “I don’t know what that is.”

Tara inched into the hall, but before she took a next step, she sensed him following close—too close. She spun around, his fist already in the air, but she ducked just in time. She charged into his stomach, sending him sprawling backward as he tripped on the edge of the rug, falling flat on his back.

Tara reached for her gun on her belt loop, pulling it out in one swift motion. But just as she took aim, he kicked her legs out, sending her tumbling backward, her gun skidding across the floor. Something shattered and she crashed into something as an excruciating pain shot through her back. Glass covered the floor, every way she looked. She had hit the coffee table, and she could feel a shard in her back as the sensation of warm liquid soaked through her shirt. It was blood, but she didn’t have time to assess the damage. He was already scrambling for her gun.

He threw himself toward it, his arm outstretched, his fingertips grazing the grip.