Page 99 of The Thinnest Air
When I realized Ronan was behind all this, I was more fixated on getting free and finding Meredith than figuring out why Harris lied about his whereabouts.
Berwick hooks his hands on his hips, his lips pressed. “Sure was. He’s the one who found her.”
My jaw hangs slack for a second as I wrap my head around this. I start to ask a question when his radio sounds. He tells me to stay there and slams the car door before running toward the backyard of the little cabin.
A fogged windshield obstructs my view, but I’m able to make out the sound of men yelling, though I can’t decipher what they’re saying.
A gunshot.
Then three in a row.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
My heart stops cold. I don’t move.
Ronan is a cop. He has access to guns. He’s trained to shoot to kill.
I hit the locks like a coward, my exhausted mind crafting up some scenario where Ronan comes running toward the car, a gun pointed in my face, and a bunch of dead FBI agent bodies lying bloodied in the snow. I know a lock couldn’t save me from him, but at this point, I’ve nothing but a blanket to hide under.
“Ten-thirty-three, shots fired. Ten thirty-three, shots fired. Suspect down, still not in custody.” A man’s voice plays over the agent’s car radio, sending shock waves through my frozen body. “Send backup. And medical.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath the moment Berwick appears from around the back of the house. He jogs toward me, and I unlock the door, opening it for him.
“Stay in here,” he says. “We got him. He fired at us from the woods. One of the county guys fired back. Hit him twice.”
“He’s still alive?” I ask.
Berwick cocks his head, his chin jutting forward. “For now. He’s bleeding pretty good. Conscious and suffering, I’ll tell you that much.”
With that, he shuts the door and speaks into his radio before trudging back to the scene.
I hope the bastard suffers.
I hope his death is slow and painful and agonizing.
And I hope he never gets the privilege of living to regret what he’s done.
Agent Berwick insists I get an examination, but I refuse, forcing him to take me to Meredith instead.
Two officers stand guard outside her hospital room, nodding at Berwick as we pass through.
“Mer.” I freeze the moment I see her. She’s hardly recognizable, so faded. So fragile.
“G.” Flinging the covers off her legs, she tries to come to me, but a nurse stops her before she hurts herself.
Making my way to the side of her bed, I wrap my arms around her tight. I’m not a hugger, but I could hold her forever.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” I pull myself away, keeping my hands on her shoulders. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I didn’t tell you about Ronan, about the affair. I didn’t tell you I’d been talking to Harris about all the things I didn’t want to tell you,” she says. “I didn’t tell you anything because I wanted you to think everything was fine, that you didn’t have to worry about me anymore.”
“None of that matters now,” I say, brushing my fingers through her tangled blonde waves. On the drive over, I thought about Harris and how he rescued her. And here I was ready to strangle him for sending my emotions into a spiraling free fall and me on a wild-goose chase. I’ve never been so relieved to have been wrong about someone. “I have to admit, I’m shocked about the Harris thing. I thought you two hated each other.”
Her mouth draws into a careful smirk. “We did. And then I called him once when I wanted some nonbiased life advice, and somehow that turned into him becoming my sounding board, and ...”
My sister rambles on, filling me in on the last eleven days, on Harris, her reasons for contacting him instead of anyone else, and how he found her by locating Jack Howard, a local business owner with hundreds of rental cabins in Utah.
