Dead Heat by Caroline Carver

time
     we flew, fuel leaked into the engine bay, and with that engine so hot . . . It’s a miracle the plane didn’t explode before
     we landed.”
    There was a silence, then Lee took a long breath. “You know anyone who wants you dead?”
    She was speechless with disbelief.
    “Obviously not,” said Lee drily. “Wonder who they wanted to kill? Me, perhaps. Suzie. Bri.”
    Unable to make sense of it, she said, “Are you
sure
?”
    “Oh yes. I’m sure, all right.”
    “Have you reported it?”
    He looked amused. “I like that. Me going into the local cop shop to report my plane was sabotaged. Yeah. Right.”
    “But if it was, surely shouldn’t you—”
    “No.
You
should. They won’t listen to me.”
    “I didn’t see anything, let alone the . . . wire thingy.”
    “Wire-lock.”
    “I don’t see how I can report something I know nothing about.”
    “You’ve no interest in who nearly wiped you out?”
    “Of course I have! It’s just that . . . well, it’ll be difficult.”
    “Just call the insurance company. And the AAI. The Air Accident Investigators. They’ll find their evidence.”
    “I still think you should report it. And how can I not tell Daniel I’ve seen you after you’ve told me—”
    “So, it’s Daniel, is it?” He raised an eyebrow mockingly.
    “We were at school together.”
    “Ah.”
    Absently she offered him another oyster. When he’d finished it he said, “Tell Carter I told you about the sabotage at the
     crash site. But that you’d forgotten, with the shock and all of the incident.”
    She looked away from him at the whimbrel. It had inched its way out of the mangroves and was now pecking for crabs in the
     mud.
    “Did you find out where Suzie’s brother lives?” he asked.
    “No. Apparently the police have notified her employer, but I don’t know who it is. Do you?”
    Again, he ignored her question. “You’re saying you don’t know how to find her brother?”
    “Well, no. But if her employer can’t help, I’m going to send a letter to the address in her passport.”
    “Xian.”
    “Yes.” She took a breath and added, “The police asked me loads of questions about you. About why my name wasn’t on the flight
     plan, but someone else called Ronnie Chen was. Did you know he’s dead? His body was found washed up on Kee Beach.” She couldn’t
     bring herself to mention that the man had been murdered.
    “I heard.” He turned to stare at the steely flat sea.
    “Why are the police so interested in you?”
    He glanced down and withdrew a beeper from his front pocket, studied it. “Sorry,” he said. “I’d better go.” His expression
     had closed. Instinct told her that the interview, if that’s what it had been, was over.
    “I’ll go and see Bri, then.”
    “You do that. And be sure to tell him I said thanks. He did a good job there.”
    “I will.”
    As she walked away, greasy paper bag clutched in her hand, she could feel his eyes follow her along the beach. She felt them
     as she stepped over a handful of smooth pebbles the color of ash, her footsteps making no sound on the soft combination of
     mud and sand. All she could hear was the whine of a mosquito and the occasional splash of tires from the road. Nobody was
     on the beach today.
    She knew she was out of sight of Lee Denham when she turned onto the track that led to the rear of the National Hotel, and
     she felt the muscles in her back relax.

ELEVEN
    B ri had tubes up his nose, down his throat, in his arms, and was surrounded with machines that hissed, wheezed, and thumped.
     His legs and feet were covered in saline sheets and his head had been shaved; he had a black-clotted gash as thick as a worm
     across his scalp, which was studded with stitches like barbed wire. He seemed to have shrunk, become half his normal size,
     and Georgia stood there for a moment, trying to maintain a calm expression and hide her shock and alarm.
    “Will he be okay?”
    “They can do amazing things with burns