Chapter 1
The shrill, insistent beep of the smoke alarm woke Rita Jordan to a nightmare. Smoke hung chokingly thick in the air. She gasped at the taste of it, and the scorch of it flooded her lungs.
“Oh God.” She rolled out of bed. Her feet hit the bare floorboards. The whole house was timber, old timber. In a fire, it would go up fast. She had to get out.
She scooped up her mobile from the bedside table. Her handbag was on the dressing table by the door. She picked it up, dropped the mobile in, and slung it over her shoulder.
She could hear the fire. It crackled in the kitchen. The orange flare of light was terrifying. “Front door.” She put an arm over her face and bent low, remembering that smoke was said to rise.
The heat of the fire reached out for her as she fled past the kitchen. The wooden floor burned beneath her bare feet, hotter than the hottest summer concrete. She clung to the front door, sobbing as she fought the deadlock. It clicked, the door swung open and she flung herself out and down the two front steps.
The cool lawn comforted her feet. Her hands shook. She had to phone the fire brigade. “Triple zero.” She had to phone 000.
But a blaze of orange shone from the side window of her kitchen and she knew the fastest response wouldn’t be fast enough. Something thudded inside the house. Flames crawled up the side of the house. Their light showed the roofline had changed.
“My house is on fire,” she whispered into the mobile.
Story to be contained within this section. The author and title should be present in the running heads of this section – title on odds, author on evens. Headers should not be present on any prelims or end matter.
The emergency operator was good. She extracted Rita’s address with calm efficiency and confirmed there was no one else in the house. She advised her to stand back. “Don’t try to be heroic.”
Rita shivered. No, she wasn’t contemplating heroics.
Her neighbours arrived. Unlike her, they lived in new executive homes, modern brick structures, safe and soulless. She’d watched the original timber cottages, like hers, be demolished to make way for a new generation.
Someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She didn’t know who, didn’t care. She listened to the fire captain’s grave assessment, heard the determination and apology in his voice as he addressed her.
“We’ll contain the fire, but we can’t save your house.”
She nodded. Part of her had been mourning it since she stumbled out of bed. There would be no recovering from this. Her mobile rang and she blinked to realise she still held it.
It was instinct to answer.
“Rita, I need you to come into the office. An emergency.” Ivan Novak, her boss, owner and chief executive officer of Tamerlane Security.
Late night calls were always emergencies.
Rita cleared her throat, feeling the harsh pain of the smoke she’d swallowed. “Ivan.”
“Did I wake you?” A touch of amusement lightened his voice. “You sound croaky.”
“My house is on fire.”
“What?”
Heads turned as his voice exploded from the mobile.
“My house is on fire.” She couldn’t manage anything more, anything different.
The fire captain took the phone from her. “She’s fine. Safe outside. The house, though, is finished. If you’re a friend—Yeah. Okay.” He ended the call and handed the mobile back to Rita. “He’s coming.”
She sighed, took the phone and went back to watching her home burn.
Ivan drove the way he’d been trained, and he’d been trained to survive in warzones. He’d never known a fear like this, though. Rita’s home was burning. Amazing how priorities shifted. The emergency with Kai’s son on the Gold Coast that he’d phoned Rita to come in and help deal with was now secondary. He’d called Caleb in. Caleb could hold the business together while he went to Rita.
Fire trucks framed her house. He stopped down the street, got out and jogged up. He watched the crowd.
The shrill, insistent beep of the smoke alarm woke Rita Jordan to a nightmare. Smoke hung chokingly thick in the air. She gasped at the taste of it, and the scorch of it flooded her lungs.
“Oh God.” She rolled out of bed. Her feet hit the bare floorboards. The whole house was timber, old timber. In a fire, it would go up fast. She had to get out.
She scooped up her mobile from the bedside table. Her handbag was on the dressing table by the door. She picked it up, dropped the mobile in, and slung it over her shoulder.
She could hear the fire. It crackled in the kitchen. The orange flare of light was terrifying. “Front door.” She put an arm over her face and bent low, remembering that smoke was said to rise.
The heat of the fire reached out for her as she fled past the kitchen. The wooden floor burned beneath her bare feet, hotter than the hottest summer concrete. She clung to the front door, sobbing as she fought the deadlock. It clicked, the door swung open and she flung herself out and down the two front steps.
The cool lawn comforted her feet. Her hands shook. She had to phone the fire brigade. “Triple zero.” She had to phone 000.
But a blaze of orange shone from the side window of her kitchen and she knew the fastest response wouldn’t be fast enough. Something thudded inside the house. Flames crawled up the side of the house. Their light showed the roofline had changed.
“My house is on fire,” she whispered into the mobile.
Story to be contained within this section. The author and title should be present in the running heads of this section – title on odds, author on evens. Headers should not be present on any prelims or end matter.
The emergency operator was good. She extracted Rita’s address with calm efficiency and confirmed there was no one else in the house. She advised her to stand back. “Don’t try to be heroic.”
Rita shivered. No, she wasn’t contemplating heroics.
Her neighbours arrived. Unlike her, they lived in new executive homes, modern brick structures, safe and soulless. She’d watched the original timber cottages, like hers, be demolished to make way for a new generation.
Someone wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. She didn’t know who, didn’t care. She listened to the fire captain’s grave assessment, heard the determination and apology in his voice as he addressed her.
“We’ll contain the fire, but we can’t save your house.”
She nodded. Part of her had been mourning it since she stumbled out of bed. There would be no recovering from this. Her mobile rang and she blinked to realise she still held it.
It was instinct to answer.
“Rita, I need you to come into the office. An emergency.” Ivan Novak, her boss, owner and chief executive officer of Tamerlane Security.
Late night calls were always emergencies.
Rita cleared her throat, feeling the harsh pain of the smoke she’d swallowed. “Ivan.”
“Did I wake you?” A touch of amusement lightened his voice. “You sound croaky.”
“My house is on fire.”
“What?”
Heads turned as his voice exploded from the mobile.
“My house is on fire.” She couldn’t manage anything more, anything different.
The fire captain took the phone from her. “She’s fine. Safe outside. The house, though, is finished. If you’re a friend—Yeah. Okay.” He ended the call and handed the mobile back to Rita. “He’s coming.”
She sighed, took the phone and went back to watching her home burn.
Ivan drove the way he’d been trained, and he’d been trained to survive in warzones. He’d never known a fear like this, though. Rita’s home was burning. Amazing how priorities shifted. The emergency with Kai’s son on the Gold Coast that he’d phoned Rita to come in and help deal with was now secondary. He’d called Caleb in. Caleb could hold the business together while he went to Rita.
Fire trucks framed her house. He stopped down the street, got out and jogged up. He watched the crowd.
Similar Books
