Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4) by Helen Harper (read books for money TXT) 📕

stepped back. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you!’ She shook her head in amazement. ‘I’m just so happy to see you. The last time I saw you, you were this high.’ She indicated a point on her thigh. ‘I used to babysit you.’ She grinned at me before sobering up. ‘I was so upset with what happened. We all were. That man, Samuel Beswick.’ She hissed. ‘Hanging’s too good for him.’

‘You knew Beswick?’ I asked.

‘Oh yeah.’ She bobbed her head. ‘Used to think he was a decent guy until he did what he did.’ She shuddered. ‘Even got it on with him one time after a night out here.’ She glanced at me and her expression altered. ‘But you don’t want to hear about that. Tell me about you. Where have you been all these years? I want to know everything.’

‘She’s with the police,’ Bill said from behind my shoulder.

‘Police?’ Julie jerked. ‘You’re here for Patrick.’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow,’ she whispered. ‘Talk about your chickens coming home to roost.’

I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Julie’s eyes met Bill’s. ‘You know. Because of Patrick and your parents.’

I stilled. ‘What about Patrick and my parents?’

‘You know.’

‘No,’ I told her. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, he was the one that found them, wasn’t he? And you. He went round because Mark – your dad - had asked him to fix a leaky tap. He knocked on the door, walked in and,’ she gave an awkward shrug, ‘saw what had happened. He was never the same afterwards. I think finding you and seeing all that blood is what made him so angry all the time. What do they call it? PDST?’

‘PTSD,’ I whispered. I stared at her. I hadn’t read that part in any of the news clippings or the court summary. I hadn’t known that Patrick Lacey found my parents. That he’d found me.

‘That’s a hell of a coincidence,’ Julie burbled.

‘Uh huh.’ I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it.

‘Blimey.’

I took a sip of my juice. I was desperate to know about my mum and dad, but this was a real chance to ask more about Patrick. There would be time for my parents later; I had to focus on the crime in front of me. Inadvertently, I tightened my grip on my glass. There was a sudden cracking sound and orange liquid spilled everywhere as the glass shattered in my hand. Shit. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

‘Fucking hell.’ Julie whipped a bar towel off the counter and started dabbing at my skin. ‘Don’t move or you’ll cut yourself.’ She glared at the barman. ‘I told you those glasses were cheap and nasty,’ she castigated him. ‘Em here could have been seriously injured!’

‘I’m fine,’ I managed. ‘It was my fault.’

‘Pssss! Don’t be ridiculous!’

The barman rushed round with a dustpan and brush in his hand. ‘I’ll get this cleaned up. Don’t worry. I’m sorry about that.’

‘It was my fault,’ I said. It really was my fault; sometimes I didn’t know my own strength.

‘You’ve got it all over your lovely shirt,’ Julie tsked. She dabbed some more with the towel but only succeeded in spreading the orange stain.

I smiled at her and held up my hands. ‘It’s okay,’ I insisted. I knelt down and helped the barman with the last few shards. ‘There’s no use crying over spilt orange juice.’

‘Aw hen.’ Julie gazed at me. ‘That’s just the sort of thing your mum would have said.’ She sighed. ‘You’re really like her.’

I bit the inside of my cheek. ‘I have a room upstairs,’ I said. ‘I’ll just go and change.’

‘Good idea.’ Julie nodded vigorously. ‘You go do that.’

‘Will you stay?’ I asked. ‘I won’t be long.’

She smiled. ‘I can hang around for a bit. I’ll have to get home soon and get dinner on, but I’ve got some time.’

‘Thank you.’ I looked at Bill. ‘And thank you, too.’

He offered a gruff sniff. ‘No problem.’

Breathing hard, I raced up the stairs and into my room. Breaking that glass had been stupid. I knew it had happened because I’d let my emotions get the better of me but that didn’t make it any better.

I stripped off my shirt and darted into the bathroom to wipe off the worst of the sticky juice. As soon as I turned on the tap, however, there was a strange loud squawk that had nothing to do with the pub’s plumbing. What the hell was it?

I leaned back so that the rest of the room was visible through the bathroom doorway. Nothing looked different. I frowned and decided that I must be imagining things when suddenly there was another loud squawk followed by frantic tapping at the window. For fuck’s sake. It was yet another damned crow, perched on the windowsill and staring at me with sharp, beady eyes. The window was propped open a few inches to let in the warm summer breeze. I should have been grateful that the bird hadn’t squeezed into my room through the gap, but I wasn’t.

‘This is ridiculous!’ I exploded, my voice echoing round the room. I spun round and dropped my shirt, preparing to thump on the window and scare the bird away. I stomped round the bed – and then there was a creak from behind me.

A second later, a large hand clamped over my mouth and another reached for my throat and began to squeeze.

Chapter Eight

Gah.

I shifted my body and heard a pained creak as I moved. Floorboards, I decided. That’s what that noise was. I was lying on old floorboards. My nostrils flared. The acrid stench of sulphur clung to the air. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

‘Morning, Emma!’

I opened one eye and squinted. I was still in my room at the Bird and Bush. Sitting in the old armchair opposite the bed, with her feet tucked up underneath her, was Laura.

I groaned and heaved myself up, grabbed the duvet from the bed and wrapped it round my body. ‘I died again, didn’t I?’ I asked flatly.

‘I’m afraid so.’ Her expression was both concerned and