CHAPTER Eight
Lora, wait!” Kenton grabbed her hand and spun her around. “Lora, dammit, I-I’m sorry.”
Her brows shot up. “Sorry for being an ass?”
“Sorry you had to come in there.” A muscle flexed along his jaw. “Look, it sucks, okay? The situation is shit.”
Agreed.
His voice lowered. “But Lora, the evidence is pointing to a firefighter, and we have to follow that trail.”
She shook her head. “I don’t—”
“You know the guy has insider knowledge.”
Yes, dammit. Those fires had been too perfect.
“He uses different accelerants,” Kenton continued, “and the fires all have different points of origin.” He shook his head.“Most arsonists have a pet accelerant and they stick to a standard point of origin.” He paused. “That’s not the case with this guy, and the fact that he knows how to successfully use so many accelerants in so many different locations…”
Kenton didn’t have to finish. She knew where he was headed. A firefighter would have knowledge like that. Any firefighter could walk into a house and immediately find the weak spots—those places that would burn so well.
Just like the arsonist was doing.
She swallowed the denial that wanted to rise in her throat. Hell, he was right and that part hurt her the most.
“It’s not personal,” he told her. “We’re doing our jobs.”
And his job had brought Kenton to her station to interview her and her friends. To dig into their pasts. Lora blew out a hard breath. “You know, don’t you? You investigated us all, and you know about me.” He’d already felt her scars, he’d touched them last night, so there was no reason for her to be feeling so—
Exposed.
Vulnerable.
No reason, but she did. And those feelings had driven her right out of that conference room. Why couldn’t she be more like Davenport? Why couldn’t she have more control?
Rick and Wade rounded the corner and nearly slammed right into them. “Hell.” Kenton shoved a hand through his perfect hair. “Where can we talk, alone?”
The guy didn’t get it. There were always eyes and ears at this place. But she took his hand and elbowed past them as she led Kenton up the narrow stairs, then to the right. To the room that had been reserved for her and Amanda.
He slammed the door shut behind them.
“Fine, we’re alone—” She turned back toward him, aware that her voice was shaking just a little. All my secrets. “Now you can—”
He grabbed her and kissed her and drove his tongue deep into her mouth like he had some kind of right to her.
Her nails bit into his arms. Her nipples tightened because, ah, damn, she might be pissed, but she still wanted him.
Last night was not enough. More like just an appetizer, and she was ready for the main course.
Kenton’s hands curled over her ass, and he pulled her up against his cock.
Full, thick and ready with lust, hunger, and need.
Not pity. Even though he had to know…
Her hands flattened over his muscled chest, and she shoved back. Her breath panted out, mixing with his.
“You know.” She didn’t make it a question because she was sure all the facts about her life were in that thin little manila file. All typed up, nice and neat, ready to see.
He didn’t let her go. His hands stayed locked on her ass, and that erection—it was all she could do not to arch against him. “I know about the fire when you were thirteen, if that’s what you’re asking about.”
Her chin lifted. “Let me go.” She couldn’t talk to him like this. Too close. His body too hot.
“This isn’t over.” It came out as a snarl. “We’re not.”
She blinked. “Uh, run that by me again?”
“You might be pissed, you might want to kick my ass out of the station, but that’s business. The case.”
The doorknob rattled. “Lora?” Amanda called. “You in there? The knob’s jammed—”
“Busy!” Kenton yelled.
Silence, and then they heard the quick thud of retreating footsteps.
Ah, great, now Amanda would think they were screwing, and Amanda had one big mouth.
Screwing at the station. Yeah, that was the gossip she wanted floating around her team.
Having sex with the agent on her own time, that was one thing. She’d take the ribbing from that, but at the station…
A dull throb began in her right temple.
“Maybe you wanted a screw to make you forget.”
His flat words had her chin lifting.
“Maybe you wanted to remind yourself that you are alive, even if he’s not.”
Okay, now he was getting damn personal. “Watch it, GQ.” She yanked away from him and paced in front of the window. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Really? I think I do. I think I’m learning a whole lot about you.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll keep working the case with you. You know I want to catch this bastard.” But the perp’s not here. Not at my station. Not on my team. She’d know.
“I want more than that.” The floor squeaked beneath him, and she knew he was stalking her.
She stopped moving. “I don’t have a lot to give right now.” True. He didn’t understand. Sex—that was all. Inside, she was too hollow.
I don’t want to hurt again. It was too easy to care, then it hurt too much when you lost the one you cared for.
He was right behind her now. She could feel him.
“You’re not the only one who’s lost someone.”
Her eyes stayed on the ground outside the window. Max was leaving, heading out, probably on a grocery run.
Kenton stood behind her, not touching her, but standing close, warm and strong. “When I was ten,” his voice rumbled, “a drunk driver hit me and my mom. We were driving home, on the way from soccer practice.”
She looked back at him. Had to. “I–I’m sorry.”
His eyes gazed at her, but she had a feeling the guy saw the past. “He hit the side of our car and slammed into her. For the longest time, I could hear the sound of that metal, crunching around us… and her crying. She cried a lot.” He swallowed. “Cried so much, because she didn’t die, not right away.”
Oh, God.
She whirled to face him. “Kent…”
“I couldn’t get to her. I was pinned in the back.” Cold and flat. She knew that voice. She’d used that voice before. “And that bastard—he ran and left us there.”
Lora could only shake her head.
“She kept telling me that everything was going to be all right. Not to worry. It’ll be all right.”
Lora’s brother had told her that, too. He’d been wrong.
“But I knew. I could smell her blood. See it on the broken windshield. I knew. And all I could do was sit there and wait for her to die.”
Lora’s eyes closed.
“By the time someone else came along that stretch of road, she wasn’t talking anymore.”
“Kenton…” Her eyes opened. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me—”
“I do.” His eyes glittered with fury and pain. “You’re not the only one who’s lost. You’re not the only one who sat there when death came, and you couldn’t do anything.”
She wanted to reach out and touch him. He was right there, so close, and—
He’s just like me.
Twisted by the past.
“What…” She stopped and cleared her throat. “What happened to that driver?”
“He went to prison. Vehicular manslaughter. Got five fucking years.”
Five years didn’t seem so long when balanced with a life.
“Six months after he got out, he hit a big rig, head-on. Bastard died at the scene.”
Was that justice? She wasn’t sure. These days, she didn’t have any idea what real justice was anymore.
“My dad never got over her death. Hell, for years it seemed like he could barely look at me. He shut himself off, all but crawled into the grave with her.”
Jesus. At least she hadn’t been alone after she lost her dad. With her brothers, she was never alone.
“Your mom—what happened to her—is that why you joined the SSD?” She’d asked before and he’d said… Because someone has to. She’d known that wasn’t the real answer then.
Now she knew the truth.
“It’s why I became a cop. But after a few years on the force, I worked a series of homicides where the perp took his time killing kids—little girls.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “That’s when I realized there were bastards out there a hell of a lot worse than the drunk asshole who’d taken my mother’s life. I knew what we were really up against, what was out there, waiting in the shadows.” A shrug. “And I decided to join the Bureau.” He caught her hand and stroked his thumb over the back of her palm.
Lora drew in a deep breath. “I became a firefighter because I wanted to stop folks from winding up like me.” Her home gone. Her father dead. And her brother hooked to a thousand machines with each breath agony.
“You know my past,” he said gruffly, and his long, strong fingers tightened around hers. “I know yours. Is that fair enough for you?”
“That why you told me?” She wet her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue. “So we’d be ‘fair’?”
“I told you because you had a right to know.”
“Kent—”
“I want to be with you, Lora. In your bed. Fuck, I want you naked now. I want you. I’m not walking away. Not from this case, and not from you.”
And she wasn’t either. The case would only end for her when the killer was caught, no matter what skeletons the SSD pulled from her closet.
She’d known the investigation would get rough. She was ready for whatever bumps came.
As for Kenton…
His left hand rose and cupped her jaw. “I want more,” he said, his voice so deep and dark that an ache lodged in her chest.
Because she wanted more, too.
It was dangerous. So dangerous…
“So do I,” she whispered.
As his lips took hers and stole her breath, Lora knew that she’d have him again. Wild and hard and strong.
She’d have him. And he’d have her.
“P-please… m-man… I–I did what you wanted…”
He took a long gulp from the tequila bottle in his hand.
“I–I want the fire… Man, I need it…”
He glanced at the kid—big eyes and a sweaty forehead, with a voice that kept trembling and breaking. The kid was rocking back and forth, his body shaking, a lighter in his hands.
A smile curved his lips as he watched Michael Randall. Poor Mike. He was jonesing bad.
Another gulp as the kid’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“You know what you’ve got to do?” It was a risk, using Mike. He knew it. But using Mike had been his only option. And even then, he’d known the guy would have to die the minute he made the call. He’d given Mike the distorter and told him what to say. So easy.
He leaned toward the kid. A white, puckered scar ran the length of the boy’s right cheek. “You like the fire, don’t you, Mike?”
Mike’s gaze darted to the back, sliding to the bottles of booze his mom kept lining the walls of her kitchen. The lady didn’t even bother to hide her habit. She hadn’t bothered in years.
Now she was passed out in the bedroom. Always was this time of day.
He tipped the bottle up and poured the tequila on the floor. “You set the last fire with mama’s booze, didn’t you?”
Mike liked the fire. Liked it so much he’d caught a twelve-year-old neighbor in the blaze. The girl hadn’t made it out, but Mike had.
He knew Mike’s secrets. He knew how the guy longed to watch the fire. How he wanted to touch the flames.
He knew everything.
“I did wh-what you wanted—”
“You did good, Mike, real good.”
A smile curved the kid’s thick lips. “You—you’ll take care of her for me?”
They’d made a trade. A fair agreement, really. He gave a nod. “She’ll go first. Don’t worry.” A life for a life. Because for this next trap, he would need very special bait.
He understood Mike. Mike wouldn’t betray him. He wouldn’t betray Mike.
They’d both get what they wanted from the flames.
He turned away from Mike and strolled down the hallway. The place reeked of stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. With a flick of his hand, he shoved open the bedroom door. The mother was there, with her arms thrown out, her skirt hiked up, her face smashed into the covers.
Still dead to the world.
Well, she would be soon enough.
She didn’t stir when he poured the tequila on her. Didn’t move when he soaked the sheets.
He reached for her cigarettes and lighter, shaking his head. So dangerous for her to keep them this close. Very, very dangerous.
He lit a cigarette, took a long pull, and let the nicotine fill his lungs. Not really his addiction of choice. Then he put the cigarette into her hand and positioned her fingers right above the tequila-soaked sheets.
Easy.
But just in case… and because he wanted the fire to burn fast…
He reached for one of the fat candles that sat on her dresser. The candles she used to hide the stink of her alcohol and cigarettes. A flick of his lighter and the candle was lit.
He put it on her right side and punched up the sheet next to it. Ah, there was a little tequila left.
A quick pour.
Not anymore.
The candle flame flickered, then flared higher. Ash dropped from the cigarette, burning bright orange.
He watched a few moments, waiting, waiting…
The smoke came first, pluming up into the air, light gray. Then the flames flared to life.
And the bitch didn’t stir. Those eyes wouldn’t open again.
His heart raced, and his breath came faster and harder.
The fire was so damn beautiful. Dancing, higher, higher…
He backed up to watch a little more—had to watch—before he turned away and hurried back into the living room.
There. He snatched up the cell phone on the coffee table. Couldn’t very well leave that behind.
Besides, he’d paid for it. That one and the other half-dozen disposable cells that he kept handy.
Mike had more bottles off the shelves: whiskey, cheap wine, gin. He was pouring them on the floor, swinging them in wide circles and letting the alcohol fly out.
He steered clear of Mike and headed for the door. The flames would travel fast. He knew better than to stay too long.
It was the kid’s show now.
“I’m gonna rise!” Mike’s high-pitched voice stopped him. He glanced back, his hand hovering over the doorknob.
“Rise from the flames!” Mike shouted.
His lips lifted in a smile. “Yes, you will.”
Mike’s blue eyes were so bright. That grin—so happy.
The last thing he saw was Mike, swinging those bottles, pouring the alcohol all over his mother’s house.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Outside, he inhaled as he tugged down his cap, taking in a quick gasp of air, already tasting the smoke.
He hurried away from the house and waited until he was safely in his car. Then he made the call.
“911. What is the nature of your emergency?”
Leaning forward, he glanced out of the window. The houses on this street were crammed pretty close. A fire in this neighborhood could spread fast. If the firefighters didn’t hurry, that nice Ms. Jenny Sue, the elderly widow who lived right next door to the Randalls, would get too hot.
He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out the small black box he kept handy. He’d bought the damn thing online. It worked so well. He pressed the black button on the side. “Tell the smoke eaters they’d better hurry,” he muttered into the distorter. “They’ve got a body burning at 408 Millway, and the houses over here, they’re so close… those flames… they’ll take out the whole street if they don’t move their asses.”
“Sir—sir, I need your name. Sir, sir, who are—”
“Tell ’em Phoenix said to fuck off—and that this one’s for the Bureau bastards.” Just a little taste.
They’d get the full show later when he brought hell right to their doors.
To that asshole Agent Lake’s door. When the fire came calling, he’d break. Beg and break.
He hung up the phone. He’d ditch the cell and switch to another for the next call.
So easy. He shoved the distorter back into the glove box and risked one more glance at the house. Ah, he could see the smoke now. Black and rising.
His fingers twisted as he cranked the truck. The truck had to be gone before the fire engines came.
How long would it take them? And how many would die when they went in?
He couldn’t wait to see.
Burn, bitch. Burn.
What the hell did I just do?
Kenton stared down into Lora’s eyes, his heart slamming into his chest. He’d fucking bared his soul to her. He never talked about his mom or that shit-forsaken night.
But he’d told her.
Because he’d wanted her to know that he understood what it was like to have death all around you. That cold air whispering over your skin when you couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Coming closer, closer…
The station’s alarm rang, the shrill cry echoing through the building. Lora jerked back. “I’ve got to go!” She pulled out of his arms and rushed past him as she sprang for the door.
But he was right on her heels.
When they hit the hall downstairs, they slammed into a swarm of uniforms. Lora shoved past the throng. He saw her grab her thick coat and her helmet.
The alarm was still ringing. Kenton spun around and came face to face with Monica.
“Is it our guy?” Her voice was quiet and calm, but it cut through the noise and for an instant, everyone froze.
Kenton glanced back and saw the dispatch clerk rise slowly. “A victim is trapped inside, and the cops are on their way—”
Trapped victim. Could be their arsonist playing another game. Could just be a terrible fire.
The firefighters were scrambling for the truck. Kenton turned, searching for Garrison, but he saw no sign of the chief.
He grabbed Monica’s arm. “Come on.” No way was he gonna let Lora out of his sight. “If it is him, that bastard will be there, watching.”
Monica ran with Kenton down the hall. Kenton saw Lora climb onto the fire truck. She looked back at him, her thick coat shielding her body.
His mouth dried.
The fire engine raced out with a scream of sirens.
“Lora!” Dammit, he should have told her. He should have said—
Be safe.
The firefighters walked into hell. Greedy flames, orange and red, were shooting for the ceiling, dancing and rolling.
“Preliminary sweep,” the chief’s voice thundered in her ear through the crystal-clear radio connection. Garrison had met them on the scene. He’d arrived in his gray county pickup, and she’d been damn glad to see him when she jumped off the engine.
Lora motioned with her right hand. Wade was by her side. Shit, those flames were high, moving fast, if there really was anyone inside—
Rick kicked open a door to the left, and smoke billowed out. Fire. So much fire.
She glanced down at the floor—a wooden floor. In the den, the fire hadn’t spread too far yet, but that wood, it looked darker in spots, stained…
Wet.
Her eyes swept around the room, following the marks as the stain made a big circle. The flames were all near the walls in here now, but, oh, Christ, she knew—
Wade marched down the narrow hallway. He kicked open a door, just as Rick had done, but she hadn’t seen him check the door. Rick had checked, tested first, you had to check before—
“Back!” She screamed into her radio.
Fire didn’t burst from the room. She’d expected flames.
She got a man. A man running out, right at Wade. No, not a man—a boy, laughing and screaming in the smoke.
Wade slipped and hit the floor. The bastard jumped over him, still laughing and screaming. Then he ran straight for her.
Lora stumbled back.
The boy stopped with his arms raised. Lighters. He had lighters in both hands, and he was soaking wet.
The flames from the walls had moved in. They hit the wet lines on the floor.
Shit, no! “Out! Pull out!” she yelled. Wade was still on the floor, but shoving up to his feet
Rick turned, then jumped forward.
The kid—that bastard—his eyes met hers, and he smiled.
I—I know him.
He smiled when he flicked those lighters—the flames danced—
And he set himself on fire.
Oh, God.
Then the kid ran right at Wade, slamming into the firefighter. They crashed through the wall, and the flames erupted.
Kenton stood at the edge of the fire line, staying just past the perimeter that had been established by Garrison’s team. He watched that dark door, unable to tear his gaze away from the flames and smoke.
Come out, Lora. Get your ass out.
“What? What?” Garrison shook his radio as he snarled into it. “Fuck, answer me!”
Screw the line. Kenton ran toward him. “What’s going on? How long should this take before—”
“Did you hear?” Detective Malone jumped in front of him. “That bastard called. He said this one was for you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Kenton grabbed the detective’s shirt and hauled him close. “What call?”
Malone’s blue eyes narrowed. “Phoenix called in the fire. Same fucking MO. Said for us all to ‘fuck off.’ ” His eyes shot to the side. To Davenport, who watched the madness of the flames in silence. “And he said that this one was for the Bureau bastards.”
“Get out! Get out!” Garrison screamed. “Get—”
Kenton looked back at the house—and the world exploded.
Lora dragged him out. She kept her grip strong and certain even though she wanted to stumble. The flames blazed around her, close enough to touch, as she dragged him.
Shadows moved in front of her. Her eyes were foggy. The fog could be from the sweat. Maybe the blood.
Lora didn’t glance down. She didn’t want to see…
She stumbled onto the porch and fell hard. Other hands were there, reaching for her. And that voice was still in her ear. Screaming for her to get out.
Her hands slapped against the old wood as she tried to crawl forward.
“Lora!” Another voice. She looked up and crawled some more.
“Get her, get her now!” Frank. That was Frank screaming in her ear.
“Shit, Spade, what the hell happened?” Gloved fingers lifted her and took her away from the burning house.
The mask was pulled off her head. She sucked in fresh air and swiped at her eyes. Oh, Christ, what about—“Rick?”
“We got him.” Max stared down at her, face tight, eyes fierce. “He came out right before you.” He lifted her and pushed her onto a gurney. Another mask came at her. “Breathe, Spade.”
“Lora!” Kenton’s voice. Her head turned, and she could see him now as Kenton shoved cops aside and raced toward her.
Her hands trembled. She sucked in air, good, clean air.
“Sweetheart, what the fuck?” He was there, right behind Max. Kenton lifted his hands as if he’d touch her, and she really wanted him to touch her. To hold her and stop the ache in her heart because she knew that they’d lost a man.
She lowered the mask and glanced back at Max. “W-Wade?” She hadn’t let him go. He’d been heavy with all that gear, and those flames, but she’d held on, just like before. Just like…
Max’s lips trembled. His hands clenched, and his eyes darted to the ambulance on the right. The one that was shooting out of the lot and down the road as its siren shrieked. “H-he’s… bad, Lora, I—I don’t—”
Her eyes darted away. Tears trickled down her cheeks. From the wind, from the smoke, the fire. From the fucking pain cutting her apart.
Just like before.
More firefighters were attacking the house with long hoses, blasting water.
Such a good trap this time. With the perfect bait.
“Are you hurt, sweetheart?” Kenton’s voice.
She shook her head. That boy hadn’t gone after her. She’d been too close to the door. The flames had streaked across the floor, he’d lit himself—then launched right at Wade. Wade. He’d been forced to head for the boy. The kid had blocked his path so there was no other way out.
“Spade!” Frank charged toward her with red cheeks and wild eyes. “What the hell happened? What the hell—”
“That fucking pyro, Mike Randall!”
She blinked, turned her head, and saw Rick beside her. He’d pulled off his oxygen mask. “Saw him—when the—” He broke off, coughing hard. “F-fuck did he get back out?”
Mike Randall. The kid’s face flashed before her. That smile…
She knew she’d seen it before. The boy’s life—his file—clicked before her.
Michael Randall. Age sixteen. Of course, she’d known that smile. He’d given her that same smile two years ago, when she dragged him out of the flames. This time, she hadn’t been able to pull him out.
He hadn’t wanted freedom. Just death.
And to take her man with him.
“S-set himself on fire.” Her voice came out rusty. The suit felt heavy. But she was cold. So cold.
Kenton watched her, his hands clenched into fists.
Touch me.
She needed him right then. So half the fire department was right there, crowding around. Screw them.
Touch me.
Her eyes held his, and Kenton stepped forward.
“That pyro brat? When the hell did he get out?” Frank roared. “Malone, shit, you’re supposed to tell us when those bastards get loose!”
Peter was there, too?
Everyone was there, watching.
She raised her chin, and her gaze shot across the field. Bystanders, dozens of them, stared up at the flames. Police cruisers littered the road. Two fire trucks still had their lights flashing, and even as she stared, a news crew filmed her. “Watching,” she whispered.
Kenton shoved Max out of his way and reached for her hand. He eased off her glove and touched her skin.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” His voice was hard, tight with fury, but his touch was light and gentle.
Lora nodded, but no, she wasn’t all right. Because Wade—
“A trap, sir.” More coughing from Rick. Blood trickled down his cheek. “The place was laced with accelerant. He waited… w-waited for us to come in…”
“Then he ignited himself.” Her voice was stronger now, but she felt like she was about to break into a thousand pieces. “He set himself on fire.”
And tried to take them all to hell with him.
“This wasn’t Phoenix.” Rick was adamant. “This was that sick-ass kid that we told you needed to get some help, Malone.”
“He got help!” Peter’s voice thundered back, but was she the only one that noticed the words shook? “Twenty-four months. Therapy twice every week.”
Therapy that obviously hadn’t worked—and Peter knew that. He’d once told her just how little he believed in what he called the “psychobabble bullshit.”
Kenton leaned toward Lora, blocking out the others as he brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “You scared me.”
She met his stare. He’d been watching, too. Watching those flames and staring at the house while she fought the fire. Helpless, outside.
Kenton wasn’t a man who liked to be helpless. Even if she hadn’t known about his past, she’d know that. But this was her job.
“W-wasn’t Phoenix,” Rick yelled again, pushing to his feet, but stumbling a bit. “Just that s-sick freaking kid!”
“Phoenix called this one in,” Pete’s voice cut through his fury. “This was him.”
“No,” Lora shook her head, and her body spasmed as she coughed. “This was… a messed-up kid. A boy who liked the f-fire and wanted to die.” More coughing. Aw, Christ, her chest hurt.
“Get ’em to the hospital! Both of ’em, now!” An EMT grabbed Rick’s arm.
“Man, let me go, the fire’s still—”
“Get in the bus, Rick.” A hard command from Frank.
Rick glared, but he got in because you didn’t ignore the chief.
Lora lifted the mask to her face and took another deep pull of oxygen. Then she climbed into the ambulance behind him. “Just a sick kid,” she whispered again.
Her eyes held Kenton’s until the EMT slammed the door. Then her shoulders slumped as the siren wailed to life.
“Wade… is he gonna make it, Lora?”
She glanced at Rick. Wade had gone through that wall, hard, and Mike had torn off his helmet, his mask, hell, half of Wade’s damn suit. The flames—they’d eaten at his skin before she could get to him.
“He’ll be fine,” she told Rick as the ambulance raced forward. “Just… fine.” She blinked. Her eyes were tearing—from the smoke.
She was such a fucking liar.
The ambulance turned at the corner, and its red brake lights flashed. As he watched the ambulance vanish, Kenton realized he felt cold. Odd, when he was surrounded by so much freaking heat.
“We’ll get a report from ’em, after they’re checked,” Peter Malone said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dammit! I got the all-clear on Randall from his doctors. He was supposed to be safe.”
Kenton glanced back at the house. More firefighters were running in, and the fire still burned.
Safe? Not hardly.
“Got a flashback in the den.” It was Frank’s voice on the radio. “Watch your asses, people! No one else is going down, got me?”
“Kenton, Kenton, are you listening to me?”
No, he hadn’t heard a damn thing that Monica had told him. He blinked and focused on her.
“If this really is Phoenix’s work,” she said, “he’s here. We have to do a thorough search. That bastard is here.”
Cops were there, already talking to the witnesses and taking down names. And the firefighters still surrounded the house. Cops, firefighters, and several gaping neighbors who stared with big eyes and open mouths.
“They saw who did it, Monica,” Kenton spoke quietly. “They saw him.” Lora’s voice had trembled when she talked about the boy. He’d lit up, right in front of her.
And Kenton had been outside, just staring at the flames.
“Phoenix called it in.” Malone was adamant.
“We’re gonna need to hear the recording of that call,” Kenton said automatically. Maybe the SSD could pick up some extra audio from the call that would help them to pinpoint the perp’s location.
Kenton’s gaze focused on the detective who was freaking sweating bullets. “When did Randall get out of jail?” he fired at Malone.
The cop blinked. Sweat trickled down his forehead. “Uh, about three weeks ago. He wasn’t in jail. He was in a treatment facility. The judge sent him to get therapy, his age—”
Kenton’s jaw clenched. If Mike Randall hadn’t been on the streets, there was no way that he could have set the fires six months back.
Not that he’d fit the damn profile anyway.
“He’s here,” Monica said again.
Kenton let his gaze sweep over the crowd once more.
“Watching,” Monica reminded him.
Watching—and taking aim at the firefighters. At Lora.
“He set the whole damn thing up,” Kenton said, voice low. The pieces were clicking into place. “He called because he wanted credit for this kill.”
But how the hell had he done it?
Fucking bastard. Kenton jabbed his index finger at the crowd. “Make sure those cops interview every person in the crowd. No one leaves the scene without getting clear from the uniforms.”
The broadcast had been designed to lure Phoenix to him, but the guy had screwed him. The killer had gone right after the rescue units.
This is for the Bureau bastards.
The perp had gone right after Lora.