Bet Your Life (29 page)

But what I could remember made my blood run cold. I ran my hands over my clothes, checking that everything was where it should be. I didn’t think I’d been undressed and dressed again. I didn’t feel any different.

I couldn’t be sure.

Feeling sick, I checked my watch: just after nine. So it was possible, if not likely, that I’d been unconscious for nine hours straight. My mouth was dry, my throat raw, and I looked around for water while I checked my pockets. No water. No phone. No key to the sauna door, magically. Nothing useful.

Nothing that could get me out.

I rubbed my eyes, then squinted at the room. It wasn’t me. The sunset was
flickering
. And it was too late for sunset anyway, if my watch was right. I held onto the window ledge and pulled myself up so I could see out.

“Oh. My. God.”

It was dark out, the sky as black as tar. The sunset was nothing of the sort. It was the bonfire.

And it was burning out of control.

Even as I watched, the wind pulled a sheet of flames sideways, catching the top branches of a nearby tree. Sparks danced around it, and tiny chips of blazing wood dotted the grass, as if the stars had fallen out of the sky.

The sauna, it occurred to me, was mainly wood too. And it was far too close to the fire for me to feel happy about being locked inside it. I made myself stand unsupported, peering out with my hands cupped around my eyes so I could see if there was anyone in the garden. A friendly fireman, preferably. Someone who could get me out.

The only living thing in the garden was the fire.

And I recalled, with a sick feeling, that Bonfire Night was the one night of the year when a giant blaze at one of Port Sentinel’s most exclusive addresses would attract no attention whatsoever. I could see a tiny bit of the bay between two shrubs. The black water made an ideal background for the blazing torches that drifted around the sea like fireflies. Anyone who wasn’t looking at the boats would simply assume that Harry’s bonfire was like everything else he did: big, dramatic, and over the top.

I needed a plan. Two plans, actually. Plan A was get rescued, which was not going to happen. Plan B was pretty simple. Get out.

I stood up, ignoring the spinning sensation in my head and the fact that my muscles seemed to have been replaced with cotton wool. Now was not the time to faint. Waiting patiently to be saved was just not an option. I was going to save myself.

After two circuits of the sauna looking for anything that might help me do that, I’d found nothing except the stupid ladle. It wasn’t heavy enough to break the window, which seemed to be made of toughened glass. I could throw lumps of charcoal at it if I wanted. I could arrange them in a circle around myself and wait to burn.

Not appealing.

Which left the door, and me.

I stood and looked at it. The lock seemed pretty solid. So did the door. On the other hand, I was what you might call highly motivated, and I was wearing boots with heavy soles. I chose a spot just below the lock. The trick was to imagine I was kicking someone standing on the other side. The person who had dumped me in the sauna and left me to burn, ideally. I stood side on to the door, my right leg braced, and kicked the door as hard as I could, landing my heel right on the spot I’d intended to hit.

Thud
.

Deep breath.
Thud
.

Deep breath.
Thud
.

The door didn’t budge. A rattle on the roof made me stop and look up, which was stupid, because I couldn’t see what it was, but I knew. The fire finding something new to burn.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

And the wood started to give. I kicked harder, sobbing under my breath. The frame splintered. The lock loosened. Another kick, and I was getting tired. I wasn’t strong enough to do this.

I
had
to.

I took a second, choosing the exact spot where I was going to land the next kick to cause maximum damage. I was getting out.

I kicked, and the door burst open. I must have stared at it for two whole seconds before I went through it, I was so surprised. Surprised and wary, because instead of leading to the outside world, the door opened into a dark, windowless room, and only the light from the fire behind me showed that it was the changing room of the pool house. I half expected to be grabbed as I stepped into the darkness of my own shadow, but the room was empty, and quiet, and the next door I came to was unlocked. It took me a moment to realize that my luck, such as it was, had run out.

The last room in the pool house was fitted out as a gym. Three of the walls were mirrored, and I almost gave myself a heart attack as I saw a movement in the darkness, before I knew it to be my own reflection. There was a running machine, and an elliptical trainer, and an exercise ball and some yoga mats. No free weights. Nothing heavy that I could use to break the sliding glass doors that constituted the fourth wall of the room. The ones that were locked. The ones that showed me the heart-stopping view of the garden, and the house. I’d been wondering why Harry’s uptight neighbors hadn’t reported the fire, but they probably had. The trouble was, the house was burning too. All that sharply angled, silvered cedar was blazing merrily, as a couple of million pounds of real estate went up in smoke. No one, but no one, was going to be worried about a bonfire and a pool house with all that to look at. That was assuming the firemen even made it to the back garden through the house. I knocked on the glass with my knuckles, hearing the dull sound of reinforced glass. There was no point in kicking that.

I went back through the gym to the changing room and tore through it, looking for something heavy that I could lift and throw. I found towels and laundry baskets and toiletries in quantity, but nothing useful. The air was getting hard to breathe as I got nearer the sauna, and I peered in to see that the roof was starting to go, glowing red, throwing off thick black coils of smoke that made me cough.

Back to the changing room to discover that the water was switched off, so I couldn’t even soak a towel and use it to protect myself from the flames.

Back to the gym. Back to the view of hell. I hammered on the glass and called for help, and I might as well not have bothered, except that I couldn’t just give up. Giving up was the end, and I wasn’t ready for the end yet.

A shadow moved in the dark garden. It flitted in front of the flames so I could see a brief silhouette, and disappeared against the darkness. A man, running. A few endless seconds passed before I saw him again, nearer the fire. I hit the glass again with the flat of my hands, shouting, and either the movement or the sound made him twist round to look at the pool house, then at me. Right at me. He saw me. He ran toward the door and I realized it was Dan Henderson, his face blackened by smoke.

“Jess! Are you all right?”

He was my last hope of survival, but it was still a stupid question. “Not as such.”

“I mean, are you injured?” He was pulling at the door.

“No. It’s locked,” I said, pointing at the handle. I wasn’t even sure he could hear me, but he seemed to get the idea.

“Stand back.” He pulled a short black stick out of his pocket and shook it, and it turned out to be the police-issue extendable baton.

“Now that would have been useful earlier. I need to get me one of those,” I said to myself, moving smartly to the back wall of the gym. I was lightheaded from the aftereffects of the drugs, and the smoke, and the relief of being rescued.

All of which would have been fine if I had actually been rescued. Dan hit the door five or six times, then stood back, shaking his head.

“Oh, you are kidding. Hit it harder!” I yelled, coming over to push on the glass—as if that would make any difference.

He dropped the baton on the ground and held up one finger, then turned and sprinted away. I watched him go. One minute, he’d said. Sixty seconds. I wasn’t sure I had that much time left. I was coughing almost constantly.

He was back within the minute, as he’d promised, dragging a wrought-iron patio chair with him. He pointed to me, then to the back of the gym. I went. It was really hard to breathe now.

Dan picked up the chair, hefted it, and threw it as hard as he could at the glass. It smashed through, quite low down, and the whole wall turned to frost. He bent to yell through the hole. “Get over here, Jess. Right now.”

I went, crouching, and allowed myself to be dragged through the gap in the glass. Mum’s leather jacket bore the brunt of the edges, which was one reason to be glad I couldn’t wear my coat. It would have been in ribbons.

“Thanks,” I wheezed, collapsing against Dan’s chest in a most embarrassing way. “That was not fun.”

“Can you walk?”

“I learned ages ago.” Still lightheaded. Still coughing too. “I can probably do it. This foot, then that foot—am I right?”

For a second I thought he was going to laugh, but he shook me instead. “Come on, Jess. Sober up. We’ve got to go.”

“OK. I’m fine. Let’s go.” I almost fell over. “Oops.”

“Do I have to carry you?”

“No,” I squeaked. “Definitely not.”

He put his face close to mine. “Then walk.”

I did as I was told. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, holding me close to him as he did his best to shield me from the fire.

The way out lay through a tiny dark alley that ran along the side of the house. The house was in danger of collapsing, I found out later—which was why the firemen hadn’t made it to the back garden. We shouldn’t have been anywhere near it, but it was the only way out.

Dan put his mouth to my ear. “Put your head down and run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Don’t wait for me if I get held up.”

I nodded and did as I was told, for once, with the last of my energy. I came out in front of the house, on a path that ran between tall stands of bamboo. After a few steps it seemed like too much effort to go all the way along it. I sank down to my knees, waiting for Dan. It felt as if I was standing in a furnace, inhaling super-hot air, but I was far enough from the fire to know that the problem wasn’t with the air I was breathing, but with me. I tilted my head back and struggled to breathe.

“Bit of help over here!” Dan yelled it over my head. I was glad he’d made it out too. I tried to say as much, but I couldn’t think how. Suddenly we were surrounded by people lifting me up, half carrying me to an ambulance beside the gate, where there was oxygen, and a blanket I didn’t really need, and paramedics who seemed to know what they were doing and how I was feeling. Dan stood just outside the door, breathing hard, waving away offers of medical assistance every time a paramedic came near him. Every fire engine between Port Sentinel and London seemed to have turned out for the show, and the view I had from my seat in the ambulance was of a sea of big men in high-visibility jackets and helmets unrolling hoses and shouting a lot. It was like watching a film. It was nothing to with me, or what had almost happened to me.

Trudy, the paramedic who was looking after me, was a nice, motherly lady wearing purple mascara. I really wanted to ask her about it but I was too fuzzy-headed.

She fiddled with my oxygen mask. “You’re going to be just fine.”

I just nodded at her, as if to say,
I know, thanks, lucky old me
, and she seemed to get the idea. She smiled, then leaned out to talk to her crewmate.

“This one is doing well—we can transfer her to hospital when you’re ready.”

“Good. At least we got one of them.”

I struggled up onto my elbows, pulling my oxygen mask away. “Who else?” My voice sounded ridiculously weedy and I coughed, then tried again. “Excuse me, who else were you talking about?”

Dan heard and came to stand in the doorway of the ambulance, glowering. “Never you mind. Concentrate on getting better.”

“Tell me.” I could feel my heart starting to race.

“The fire crews have found one casualty so far.”

“Who?”

“We don’t have an official ID at the moment.”

“What does that mean? Do you actually not know or are you just being official about it?”

Dan pointed at me, back to being stern. “This doesn’t go any further.”

“Who am I going to tell? I’m stuck in this ambulance.”

“It looks as if it’s one of the residents at this address. Harry Knowles.”

“And he’s dead.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Are you sure?”

Dan grimaced. “Am I sure he’s dead or am I sure he’s Harry Knowles?”

“Both.”

“I am very sure he’s dead. I am fairly sure he is who I said he is.”

“Was he … was he burned?” I was shaking.

Dan stared at me, and his expression slowly changed from the usual hostility to something approaching sympathy. “They think he was overcome by the smoke. He was beside the front door.”

“He almost made it.” I sank back against the pillow Trudy had tucked behind me. “Did he leave any clues? Anything that might say why he started the fire?”

“He started it? Deliberately?”

“Excuse me, can you leave my patient alone?” Trudy clambered back into the ambulance past Dan, her expression stern. “She’s not able to talk. She’s supposed to be resting.”

“I asked him,” I said. “I wanted to know.”

“With all due respect, young lady, you don’t know what’s good for you. Now just be quiet and calm and take nice deep breaths for me.”

“I’ll be asking you about what happened, Jess. When you’re well enough.” Dan, marking my card. He wanted to know what I knew. He probably wanted to know all of it. I sat silently, letting Trudy fuss over me, thinking about all the people who had brought me to Harry’s door, and how I couldn’t possibly tell Dan what I knew about them, and the part they had played in Seb’s downfall.

The next minute, all that flew out of my mind as Mum came running toward the ambulance. “Jess? Are you all right?”

I nodded, smiling at her to prove it. She whirled round and hugged Dan, which instantly made me feel worse. “Thank you for saving her.”

“Anytime.”

“Hopefully not.” Mum turned back to me. Dan still had a hand on her back, as if he’d forgotten to take it away. “What were you doing in there?”