Kate Medina - Fire Damage - A gripping thriller that will keep you hooked

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016

Copyright © Kate Medina 2016

Cover design by Dominic Forbes © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017

Cover photograph © Ashraful Arefin/Arcangel Images

Kate Medina asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Ebook Edition © MARCH 2016 ISBN: 9780008132309

Source ISBN 9780008132279

Version 2018-02-13

For Anthony Medina, with love

and thanks for everything

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Keep Reading …

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Kate Medina

About the Publisher

The little boy inched through the doorway, arms and legs jerking like a marionette. Stopping just inside, he scanned the room with frightened eyes. In his hands, he gripped a torch. A huge, black metal Maglite, which swung slowly back and forth in front of him as if he was feeling his way through darkness. The beam traced along the walls, was swallowed for a moment by the sharp winter light cutting in through the sash window. It scoured each corner, drifted over the furniture, stopping to inspect the alcove under Jessie’s desk, the corner where the filing cabinet housing her psychology books and journals cast shadow.

Kneeling down so that her face was level with his, but maintaining her distance, avoiding direct eye contact, Jessie smiled.

‘Hello, Sami. I’m Jessie Flynn,’ she said softly.

She had dressed in civvies this morning, a denim skirt, long-sleeved white shirt and simple, navy patent leather ballet pumps, ubiquitous clothes that communicated nothing about her, made no statement.

The little boy remained silent. He continued to rotate the torch, eyes twitching from side to side, nervously tracking its beam. Standing, Jessie stepped forward to close the door.

Sami shot back against the wall, his expression rigid with fear. A sob burst from his lips. Swinging the torch wildly, he made a harsh, throbbing noise deep in his throat, like the growl of a terrified dog.

Jessie moved away, hands spread calmingly.

‘I’m sorry if I scared you, Sami. I didn’t mean to.’ She sat down slowly in one of the two leather armchairs by the window. ‘I won’t move from here. You explore my office. Take as long as you like.’

He remained where he was, pressed against the wall, ramrod straight. His chest hollowed and heaved from the effort of drawing in breath. Jessie stayed silent, waiting. Gradually, he moved from the wall, the heavy torch hugged close to his body like a loved teddy bear. One step. Another. The movements jerky, uncoordinated. His face, hauntingly pale, began to take on colour.

The torch’s beam reflected off the patent leather of Jessie’s ballet pumps, was dull on the denim of her skirt, tinged the white of her shirt citrus. The beam found her face. She smiled, compelled herself not to blink. Knew that beyond the light that fuzzed her vision, Sami was watching her intently, obsessively focused on every cue.

The torch dipped. Jessie raised her eyes, and for a fraction of a second their gazes met.

‘The girl knows,’ he whispered.

Sami’s breath came fast and shallow; Jessie could feel it, hot and cold, damp against her cheek. Then came the soft touch of his fingers.

‘Grrrrr. Grrrrr.’

That growling noise again, from the back of his throat. She sat completely motionless, staring ahead, making no sound. With lightning quickness, his fingers touched her neck and were gone. Jessie forced herself not to flinch. She could sense him only millimetres from her, the heat of the torch beam mapping a circle on her skin.

His fingers again, touching her hair this time, butterfly wings. She had tied her hair up in a ponytail to get it out of the way. Usually she wore it in the regulation bun when she was at work, but she had felt that it was too formal, too severe for today’s patient. Reaching up, she tugged the elastic band from her hair. A jet-black curtain fell to her waist. The hair swallowed his arms, coating his hands and forearms to the elbows.

Sami froze.

‘Sami, what’s wrong.’

Without warning, he swung the heavy metal Maglite wildly at Jessie’s head, slamming its metal edge into her temple. He swung again, smashing the torch against the side of her head. Raising her hands to fend him off, she ducked. Another blow caught her cheekbone, glanced off her shoulder. Dizziness. The floor rose, the ceiling dipped. She managed to snatch the Maglite from his grip as she fell to her hands and knees. Blood streamed from the gash in her head, into her eyes, blinding her.

He was screaming. Dragging her sleeve across her eyes, she spun on to her back, searching for the noise, searching for Sami. He had slid to the floor, hands pressed over his ears, body curled tight into a foetal position. He was wailing and sobbing, his chest heaving as if there was not enough air in the room. Crawling over, Jessie wrapped her arms around him. Held him tight. Felt him struggle and kick, writhe and scream. Felt his heart beating, almost punching its way out of his chest. Didn’t let go.

Thought of another little boy, fifteen years ago, equally helpless and terrified. A little boy she had loved. Loved and failed.

‘Burnt,’ Sami sobbed. ‘Arms burnt.’

‘Nothing’s burnt. You’re safe.’

She could feel blood running down the side of her face, her cheek and neck slick with it.

‘The girl is burnt. The man is burnt.’ His voice was hoarse from screaming. ‘Sami torch? Sami torch? ’