Bet Your Life Read Free Page B

the ground, under a blanket, and the spreading pool of blood around his head. He was young, my age or so, and his face was battered beyond recognition. I stared for a long, horrified moment—short dark hair, and he’d be tall if he was standing—before a paramedic knelt down beside him and blocked my view. I went forward on wobbling legs, really, truly terrified that, somehow, it was Will who was lying on the paving slabs. As I edged sideways to see him, the boy on the ground moaned, and I felt a sting of relief as I realized it wasn’t Will. I felt guilty for being glad.
    Two policemen in uniform were crouching by a drain, trying to reach something that had been dropped in it, while another unrolled blue-and-white tape to cordon off the crime scene. I stood, unobserved for the moment. I couldn’t take my eyes off the boy on the ground.
    “It’s all right,” one of the paramedics said, holding his head steady while the other one prepared to put a neck brace on him. “Don’t worry, mate. We’ll look after you.”
    The boy groaned again and lifted a hand, as if he meant to push them away. His wrist was ringed with a red mark that was bleeding a little where the skin had been rubbed away. One of the paramedics gently pushed his arm back down by his side. The effort seemed to have exhausted the boy and he lay completely still while they treated him. If I hadn’t seen him move and heard him moan, I’d have thought he was dead. His skin was bleached white where it wasn’t marked with purple bruises or streaked with darkening blood.
    The paramedics were talking in low voices, scrawling notes on the backs of their gloves as they assessed him. They were obviously worried about his condition and in a hurry to get him into the ambulance. I made myself concentrate on his face and realized, with a shiver, that under the blood, despite the swelling around his eyes and mouth, I recognized him. I had met him before.
    The next minute I jumped out of my skin as someone grabbed my arm and held onto it, tightly enough to hurt.

 
    2
    “What are you doing here?”
    The voice didn’t sound friendly, which wasn’t a surprise, since it belonged to Dan Henderson, Port Sentinel’s police inspector.
    Will’s dad.
    Not my biggest fan.
    “I was just—” Looking for Will. The truth, but I couldn’t say it. It would be like throwing petrol on a bonfire. “Can you let go of me, please?”
    “Not until you tell me why you’re here.”
    “I was walking home from the fireworks. I took a short cut this way.”
    “On your own?” Dan frowned at me. His hand was still on my arm but his grip loosened a little. “What happened to your friends?”
    “I don’t know.” Mind your own business.
    “Did you see anyone you know at the fireworks?”
    “Lots of people.” I knew where this was going.
    “Did you see Will?”
    I shook my head.
    “Sure?”
    “Of course I’m sure.” I tried to pull my arm back and he held onto it for a second longer, his thumb stroking my skin, very lightly. Dan wasn’t stupid. He was standing between me and everyone else who was there so they couldn’t have seen it. I felt like throwing up.
    “You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you, Jess? You’re going to leave him alone.”
    “We’ve had this conversation before,” I said, and used my other hand to peel his fingers off me. “I don’t think we need to have it again.”
    “As long as you understand I won’t tolerate any sneaking around.” His eyes were bright with malice. He was enjoying this. “You know I’d find out. You know what would happen, and you know how that would make Will feel. If you really care about him—”
    “What if I don’t really care? What if I keep my distance from him because the whole thing bores me to tears?” I glared at him. “You’re the one who’s made this into a big deal. Just because you’ve spent years pining for my mother, you seem to think the two of us are head over heels in love. Newsflash: