Page 96 of The Thinnest Air
The squelch of a police radio fills the empty house.
“In here!” I yell, my body shifting in the metal chair as I attempt to make as much noise as I can. My heart races and I’m breathless, but I manage to yell once more. “Hello? Can you hear me?”
My pleas are met with silence.
CHAPTER 47
MEREDITH
One Day Ago
I can’t stop thinking about Greer today.
The thought of Ronan spending two days with my sister has been eating me alive, my mind obsessing over every possible thing that could go wrong, every possible thing he could do to her.
He’s not stable.
And he’s not one to let anyone stand in the way of what he wants.
All that time I spent with him in the past, he seemed so harmless, so benign. Never in a million years would I have thought he was capable of something like this, and if he’s capable of kidnapping me, he’s capable of anything, especially getting rid of the one person who knows what he did.
I can’t stop shaking as a cocktail of powerlessness and anxiety takes over.
The windows rattle, which I’ve learned almost always coincides with the opening and closing of the front door.
He’s back.
Lying in the dark bedroom, my arms tingling and asleep, I stare at the water-stained ceiling, my body sinking into the mattress. The pungent stench of bodily fluids fills the thick, stale air.
I shouldn’t have placed all my hope in Harris. He’s just an Ivy League–educated coffee shop owner from New York, not a superhero.
Ronan moves around the house, his footsteps shuffling from room to room, quickly, as if he’s looking for something. I listen until they grow louder and then stop altogether.
A second later, the latch on the outside of the door slides, and the door swings open.
I don’t look at him.
I can’t.
“Meredith.” The man’s voice doesn’t belong to Ronan.
Lifting my aching neck, I squint toward the dark figure in the doorway. When he steps closer, his face comes into focus. The glasses. The dark hair. The smug smirk permanently etched on his face.
“Told you I’d find you,” he says, calm as ever. Reaching into his pocket, he grabs a tactical knife, sawing the plastic restraints until they snap.
My hands are asleep, but I manage to shake them until the feeling returns.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” Harris glances toward the door.
“Where is he?” I ask.
He shrugs, examining the cramped room I’ve come to know too well. “Not sure. Not planning on sticking around long enough to find out either.”
Wrapping one arm around my shoulder and hooking his hand around my elbow, he leads me outside, toward the glowing headlights of a running Toyota.
I don’t know what day it is.
I don’t know what time it is.
