Page 126 of Fire Fight

The smell is everywhere. I taste it on my tongue. Its harsh burn sears my throat. My eyes stream with tears.

“That’s better.” He chuckles at my silence then leaves the room. A loud clang sounds from the lobby where he tosses the empty can. “Just a few minutes of excruciating pain and we can all move on with our lives.”

“I called the journalist,” I croak. “Elaine Ngata. We’ve been in contact after she told me she was writing an exposé on you. That’s how I got the referral for a lawyer.”

Arnold falls silent.

The steady drip of petrol from our doused bodies onto the floor is the only sound in the room.

“I told her everything.” And the lie comes easy—a liefinallycomes easy—becauseGodhow I wish I had. “About Mum getting uncollected prescriptions. The names on the labels. How you were dating her and stole them and forced them down your ex’s throat.”

There’s a long pause, then the soft pad of Arnold’s shoes as he returns to the room. “Nice try, sweetheart. A pity you have no proof.”

“Drake found the label you peeled off the bottle. He thought his mother did it to protect whoever gave them to her, but the truth is simpler, isn’t it? You left it on the top of the rubbish because you’re a careless man who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.”

I force a laugh that tears my tender throat apart even as it fills me with renewed strength.

“He kept it. For a year, he kept it because it was the last connection he had with his mother.”

“No, he didn’t,” Arnold says but doubt makes his voice tremble. “You’re lying.”

Another laugh. He moves into my field of vision, and I force myself to meet his gaze. “I’m not lying. Drake has probably told the police everything by now.”

“Not with his lawyer telling him to keep his trap shut, he hasn’t.”

“Except you sent the same lawyer who put him in boot camp. Why else did you think I was trying to find someone better? He would never take advice from that man, and you never treated him well enough for him to keep your secrets. He’ll have shown them the scars you left on his body. The medical records from when you hurt him as a baby. The police are probably on their way here already.”

Headlights shine through the doorway, streaming across the room. Perfect timing.

“See? That’s probably them now.”

For a second, Arnold freezes, staring towards the lobby with fear in his eyes.

I experience the first stirrings of victory.

Then a blank mask snaps over his face as the headlights retreat. Someone must be turning in the driveway, and I could kill them. Literallykillthem for not being the hero we need to save us.

Could they not have paused for a minute longer? Just enough time for the seed of doubt to blossom.

“Uh-oh. Looks like you were wrong, but thanks for the warning.”

He moves to the side of the room, opening the sliding French doors onto the wide patio, the net curtains fluttering in the breeze.

“I was planning on staying around for the aftermath, but there’s a private plane on standby at the terminal. A long holiday in a country with no extradition treaties sounds like the perfect break.”

He pulls a lighter from his pocket and I can’t even panic.

My efforts to get free have already exhausted my store of energy. There’s nothing left.

“I’d like to say this will be quick and painless.” Arnold smirks and in that instant, despite mimicking Drake’s most used expression, he’s never looked less like his son. There’s not a scrap of humanity in him. “But that would be a complete lie.”

He flicks the wheel, the flint sparks, the flame catches, flickering with menace.

He raises the lighter.

The front door slams and I gasp in relief. “Here! We’re in here! He’s gone crazy.”

Footsteps pick their way across the lobby. The empty can comes skidding across the floor, coming to a stop near Arnold’s feet.

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