Page 49 of Last Ticket to Paradise

Chapter Ten

Black, acrid smoke scorched Georgette’s lungs. She pressed one of Jean-Claude’s T-shirts to her nose and mouth, her watering eyes frantically searching for Jake on the other side of the wall of flames.

“Georgette! Georgette, are you all right?”

She sobbed against the T-shirt, her legs almost collapsing beneath her. “I’m okay. Get out! Use the door and get out!”

His voice carried back to her through the roar of the fire. “There’s a window on the other side of the bed. Do you see it?”

Her gaze darted to the left, but the smoke obscured everything more than a foot in front of her. “N-no. I don’t see it. Leave, Jake!”

“It’s there, to the left of you. Head toward the window, Georgette. You can get out. It’s just a mosquito net over the window. Get through the window and drop to the water. Do it now before the thatch roof catches fire.”

She raised her eyes to the orange flames licking the ceiling and then inched to her left. The heat singed the hair on her arms, and panic pumped through her body as her hand reached toward the dark smoke billowing to her left. How could she be sure the fire wouldn’t meet her on the other side of that noxious cloud?

“I can’t. Just leave. I’ll figure it out once you’re safely out of here.”

She heard the front door open and close, and tears rolled down her face. At least Jake would be all right.

A second later, the door crashed open and a figure covered in wet clothing plowed through the flames. Jake caught her around the waist, almost yanking her from her feet. He clapped a wet cloth over her face.

As he half dragged, half carried her through the smoke, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to pull in small breaths of air through the damp T-shirt pressed against her nose.

She heard a ripping noise close to her ear, and then Jake hoisted her off her feet and pushed her toward an opening. As the warm, moist air hit her face, she gulped in a breath only to choke on the ash that must’ve been swirling through the air.

“It’s the window, Georgette. I’m gonna shove you into the water. Get ready.”

Georgette coiled her muscles and held her breath as Jake gave her a hard push through the opening. She hit the water in a belly flop, but a belly flop had never felt so good.

Salt water invaded her nose and mouth, and she blew it out before tilting back her head and gasping for air. The tide had come in enough that she couldn’t touch the ocean floor with her toes. Ash and smoke clogged the night sky, but it beat being on the inside of the hut with the inferno.

Jake landed next to her in a bigger splash and reached for her before he even surfaced. He popped up and spluttered. “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m fine...I think, but let’s get away from the bungalow.” They paddled away from the fire, and Jake nodded toward the shore. “We’ve been spotted...or at least the fire has been.”

Several people were gathered on the beach, arms waving, fingers pointing toward the blazing bungalow.

As Georgette lunged toward the shore, Jake caught her ankle. “Do we really want anyone to know we were in Jean-Claude’s room when it exploded in flames?”

“Exploded in flames?” Georgette dragged her hand across her runny nose. “You make it sound like spontaneous combustion instead of...arson.”

“Arson?” He sank farther down in the ocean, his chin level with the water. “I’d call that attempted murder. That was a Molotov cocktail someone tossed through the window.”

“Because he knew we were in there, or because he wanted to destroy anything Jean-Claude may have left behind?” Her legs felt like lead as she treaded water with the skirt of her dress clinging to her thighs.

“Maybe both.” He took her arm. “Let’s swim to the right where we can surface away from the hotel and the probing questions.”

“I can’t swim in this dress. It’s weighing me down.”

“Take it off.” He put a finger to her lips. “I won’t tell.”

Georgette reached back to untie the halter at the back of her neck. Then she gasped and pressed a hand to her midsection. “Do me a favor and put this in your pocket.”

“What is it?”

She pulled out the soggy postcard she’d taken from Jean-Claude’s bag before the bungalow erupted in flames. “It’s a postcard. I’ll explain later.”

Jake folded the card into a square and tucked it in the zippered pocket of his shorts.

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