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

good was to get to the bottom of who this woman was and what she had to do with her mother’s murder. “Yes,” she replied. “It’s the only way I will be.”

Chapter Thirty Three

Next morning

Tara sat in the parking lot, her car turned off as she waited for someone to enter the building. She had booked the earliest flight out to New York and rented a car, and now she sat right outside the prison. She only knew that this woman was forty-two, had curly red hair, and that she came everyday around noon, but Tara was beginning to think it was a long shot that she would spot her. It was now a half hour past twelve, and every person that had entered the building did not fit that description. She had only spotted one person so far that seemed reasonably close, but once Tara stepped out of her car and said “Mackenzie,” the woman did not turn around, and Tara realized that her hair was actually a light brown, not red.

As Tara waited, she stared down at her phone to see a text from John. I’d love to take you out to dinner when you get back, it read, and Tara sighed. He had been trying so hard to spend time with her, and at every moment she had, she had picked up and left on a mission of her own. He had understood why she left again this time, but she could see the disappointment on his face when she told him. She owed him that dinner, and so she replied that she would love it, which she would. She desperately needed time with him too.

As Tara placed her phone down, she spotted a woman walking to the entrance. She looked like she could be in her forties. She had red, curly hair, and Tara’s heart began to pound.

Before the woman reached the door, Tara rolled down her window. “Mackenzie,” she yelled. The woman stopped in her tracks. She spun around, a confused and fiery glare scanning the parking lot. Tara felt her palms begin to sweat as she stepped out of the car.

“Mackenzie James?” Tara asked.

The woman glared at her skeptically as she cautiously began to walk closer. She was around Tara’s height, 5’6”. She wore form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt that accentuated her slender build. She had dark brown deep-set eyes, and as Tara looked into them, for a moment it felt as if she had seen them before. But then she scanned the rest of her face—her petite little nose, her porcelain skin. She was remarkably pretty and looked relatively young for her age, but Tara was sure she had never met her.

“Yes?” the woman said once she was close enough.

Tara had been in her car, contemplating over and over again how she would approach her. She would ease into it, she had told herself. But in that moment, as she stood in front of her, everything Tara had planned blended into one, and she was unable to pull the pieces apart in chronological order.

“How do you know Richard Mills?” Tara asked. It was blunt and straightforward, and at the question, the woman stiffened. Her eyes narrowed into a cynical glare.

“Tara,” she said under her breath, suddenly realizing who she was. Her eyes opened wide with panic at the realization. “He’s my friend,” she spat. “Is that a problem?” She was trying to sound tough, but her voice shook. For some reason, Tara’s presence was making her increasingly anxious.

“You must be pretty close friends then, since you visit him almost every day.”

She stayed silent a moment. The bit of information had caught her off-guard. “I suppose so,” she replied. She stared Tara straight in the eye, as if afraid to turn away, or as if too afraid to show her nerves, which she had already revealed.

“How do you know my name, anyway?” Tara asked, but the woman didn’t answer. Tara sighed. “I’m not trying to start trouble with you. It just seems odd that my dad has such a close relationship with someone that I know nothing about, and I don’t see why it’s such a big secret.”

The color suddenly drained from the woman’s face. “We’re friends,” she muttered again, but her voice shook even more.

“Romantically?” Tara questioned.

But the woman didn’t respond. It was as if she wasn’t sure if she should say any more. And as Tara stared into her eyes again, the same familiarity washed over her. It was as if she’d seen that same terrified look in the same eyes before.

“I think we’re done here,” the woman finally uttered as she turned away from Tara and began to walk to her car.

“You just got here,” Tara called after her, but it didn’t stop her. She opened her car door and quickly got inside. “Wait!” Tara yelled, picking up into a run as she ran toward her. Tara knew she most likely would not get this opportunity again, and she suddenly regretted coming at her so strong. “I just want to talk,” she yelled again, but it was no use. The woman wanted nothing to do with her. The car sped through the parking lot to the exit, and before Tara could even capture a plate number, it made a left turn and barreled down the road until it could no longer be heard at all.

Tara stood in silence, defeated. She had traveled all this way, and now she was leaving just the way she had come—empty-handed. The only bit she gained was a face to put to the name, but without knowing where she lived or anything about her, that bit of information was useless. But as the woman’s face surfaced into Tara’s mind, a thought suddenly burst through. The reaction—staring at Tara dead in the eye as Tara asked her questions, afraid to pull away, and then quickly leaving when it got too difficult—she had seen it before. It was the same reaction her father had, and