Page 127 of Fire Fight

A casual off-tune whistle tells me it’s Drake before he nonchalantly strolls into sight, lounging against the doorframe.Even when I twist my neck to its farthest extreme, his right hand is obscured by the wall, body angled in the gap.

“Hey, Dad,” he says, his tone mild. “You look surprised to see me.”

Arnolds face drains of colour. He makes a noise that’s more snarl than language. Then he gives a low chuckle, a grotesque smile distorting his face.

“You know, I planned this to look like Raelene had gone off her rocker, but this is so much better.”

“Better?” Drake echoes.

“Sure. Because here we were, sitting down to have a nice family meal while the black sheep of the family was safely locked in a cell.” He snaps the lighter lid closed, raising his opposite hand as he gestures to Drake. “But now, the resident firebug is back to take his final bow. This story is so much better.”

“Better than the story of how you killed a pharmacist? Because that’s the lead the police are following.”

“No, they’re not.” Arnold shakes his head, chuckling again. “If you’d been released, I would’ve had a phone call. Which means you escaped.” His smile grows as he flicks open the lighter, reigniting the flame. “And everyone knows how dangerous escaped prisoners are.”

He tips the lighter back and forth, his steps carefully backing him towards the sliding doors, ready to abandon the inferno.

There’s no separation between my heartbeats. The world pulses in and out of focus, black spots eating my vision as my head spins towards unconsciousness again.

Arnold drops the lighter.

The spilled fuel catches.

And the world turns into a shimmering lake of flame.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

DRAKE

The extinguisher sprayhits the spilled petrol a second after it catches fire, coating the bound figures in white foam. The can empties until nothing emerges from the nozzle but a glut of creamy liquid.

“Drake!”

I toss it to the side and, while Arnold runs across the patio to freedom, I run to them, knife out to cut the drenched figures free from the chairs. Helping Cadence to stand. Helping her mother.

My head insists they’re okay, I came in time to save them.

My heart screams with fear I’m too late. Even as I hug my girl close, heart thumping in a jagged rhythm.

“Get into the shower,” I instruct. “Douse yourself in case he comes back.”

Cadence hesitates, then nods, running to her mother and helping her into the lobby. The smothering foam was concentrated on them, but the remaining spill of petrol could still catch.

I want to stay.

I want to keep embracing Cadence. To stroke her hair and reassure my aching heart that she’s safe.

Instead, I head out the back door, standing in the exit as the sky illuminates with lightning, then my vision shortens to a metre as the world is drenched by a summer storm.

I cut across the patio; arm raised as an inadequate umbrella as I struggle to work out which direction Arnold ran. The garage seems a safe bet, but when I fight against the torrential downpour to the building, the door is firmly shut.

Water hits me from above and splashes from the ground until I’m soaked. The path around the side of the house runs with water, the earth baked too dry in the past week to absorb the moisture.

When I reach the corner, another bolt of lightning sends jagged arcs across the sky, illuminating the garden. Empty.

Thunder rolls across the landscape, crashing and roaring as loudly as the waves striking the rocks in the harbour. I fight forward, my feet slipping out from under me as I push towards the cliff side path.

“Drake!”

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