After the Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

worst fears. I stopped looking at myself in it and concentrated on squirting toothpaste on the brush. If I was brushing my teeth, at least I wouldn’t have to talk to him.
    Unfortunately, nothing would stop him talking to me.
    A volley of knocking on the door. I went and opened it, but I checked the view through the peephole first. These were the rules I lived by. Never open a door without knowing who’s on the other side of it. Never park somewhere dark and deserted. Never get into the car without checking the back seat and the boot. Know who’s walking behind you. Know who’s driving behind you. Know where you’re going. Never relax. Never forget there’s someone watching you.
    They were rules that had kept me alive, so far, but they made me feel as if I was dying a little more every day. I couldn’t ever allow myself to forget I was a target for someone else’s obsession. A creep named Chris Swain had been hunting me for years and he wouldn’t give up until I gave in to him.
    And that was never, ever going to happen.
    ‘What happened to you?’ Derwent demanded, shouldering his way in with all the finesse of someone on a dawn raid. ‘You look like hell.’
    ‘Mmph,’ I said.
I missed you too
.
    He closed the door. We both looked down at the mountain of junk mail that had built up over the two months I’d been living alone.
    ‘God almighty, Kerrigan, you could tidy up occasionally.’
    ‘I’m busy,’ I said through the toothpaste. ‘I have better things to do.’
    ‘Like what?’ He strode past me to the sitting room, where he whistled. ‘I hadn’t realised Rob was the tidy one. This place is a pigsty.’
    I took the toothbrush out of my mouth. ‘Shut up.’
    ‘Didn’t catch that.’
    I raised a middle finger, and my eyebrows. Derwent grinned. There wasn’t much he enjoyed more than getting a reaction from me. He stood in the middle of the living room and turned, taking in far more than I would have liked him to. The bin, overflowing. Untouched saucepans hanging in a neat row. Crumbs on the counter. Takeaway cartons stacked by the sink. Papers everywhere. My laptop, open on the sofa. The room said, more loudly than I could:
I can’t be bothered
. His eyes came back to me.
    ‘Nice outfit.’
    I looked down at myself and shrugged. Leggings and an old t-shirt of Rob’s. It wasn’t haute couture, but they were real clothes, not just pyjamas. I counted that as a victory.
    ‘Did you even leave the flat today?’
    I nodded vigorously. A trip to the corner shop counted as leaving the flat. I must have been out for all of five minutes.
    ‘Did you eat anything?’
    Another nod. I was sure I had. I couldn’t quite remember what.
    ‘For God’s sake, Kerrigan, I can’t talk to you like this.’
    I shrugged again.
That was basically my plan
.
    Derwent’s expression darkened. ‘Okay. Try this. You have ten minutes to get ready. If you’re not ready, you’re coming with me anyway. You can explain to DCI Burt why you’re inappropriately dressed at a crime scene.’
    I rolled my eyes but headed back to the bathroom.
    ‘And do something about your hair,’ Derwent yelled after me.
     
    In nine minutes and 59 seconds precisely I walked into the living room, suited, booted and with my hair tamed into a bun. Derwent was leaning against the kitchen counter, his hands in his pockets.
    ‘That’s better.’
    ‘I’m glad you think so.’
    ‘You need make-up.’
    ‘No one
needs
make-up,’ I snapped. ‘Especially not at a crime scene.’
    ‘
You
need make-up. Assuming you want to look human.’
    ‘Oh, great, thank you.’
    ‘Halloween was last month.’
    ‘I’m aware of that.’
    ‘So the zombie look isn’t really appropriate.’
    I opened my mouth to answer him and then shut it again. I held myself very still.
Do not throw up. Do
NOT
throw up.
    ‘Kerrigan.’
    I ignored him, staring at the floor until the wave of nausea receded. When I looked back at Derwent, the mocking smirk had disappeared.