CHAPTER Eleven
There was silence in the room. Even Pile seemed stunned. “Did we get a trace?” Kenton asked, easing his grip on her.
The cop glanced up. Kenton recognized him right away. Jess Tyler. He’d retrieved the computer visitor log from Meadows Rehab, a log that had turned up jack shit.
Michael Randall’s mother hadn’t even bothered to visit the kid while he was in rehab.
Jess nodded quickly. “I, uh, we got hits from the cell towers. I think we can correlate it to about two hundred feet.”
“Do it.” Kenton stepped back from Lora. He had to, because the job waited. Dammit. “I heard trains. There’s an old train yard on the west side of town, right?”
Jess gave another fast nod. “Yes, sir, and that’s where the signal seemed to cor—”
That was all Kenton needed to hear. “Ramirez, let’s go.”
Lora grabbed his arm, holding Kenton back. “He’s been watching us. He knew I was here because he’s been watching.”
Kenton nodded grimly. He’d planned to attract the bastard’s attention. He just hadn’t planned on getting the perp to fixate on Lora. But now wasn’t the time for explanations. He needed to move, fast. “Stay with Davenport,” he told Lora as he spun away from her. This time, she let him go.
And though he wanted to, so badly, he didn’t glance back. Not once.
The killer waited.
I’m coming, asshole.
Her heartbeat wouldn’t slow down. Lora paced the small control room and watched the cops fiddle with their equipment. She watched Davenport call someone, probably Hyde, and tell him that she wanted more tech support, ASAP.
And she heard that bastard’s voice in her head. Over and over.
Do you like the fire, Lora? Do you like the way it burns?
The plan had been to hunt him. To stop him.
But he was watching her? Hunting her and Kenton? Hell, no.
“Do you have family you want to stay with?” Monica asked, her voice breaking the silence.
Lora’s brows rose. “You think this guy is coming for me?” Let him. She’d love to get that bastard in her sights.
Monica gave a small shrug. “He’s brought you into his game, addressed you specifically. If you wish to change your location, no one would—”
“I’m not running from him.” She wouldn’t run when she’d been spending so much time searching for this guy.
Yeah, she had plenty of family. Family who’d love to take her in. Any of her brothers—
Oh, damn, but when her brothers found out about this…
She wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without them. They’d want to be with her every minute.
No, no, she couldn’t tell them. They could not find out. Because there was no way that she’d put them at risk. Ryan especially.
She shook her head. “My family is staying out of this.” She really wasn’t the running and hiding type. Besides, she had her dad’s gun. Ryan had given it to her three years ago. She’d be keeping Old Faithful close, too.
Rage burned through Lora. “He’s the one that should be hunted. He’s the one that needs to be put down.”
Not arrested. Not given therapy. Taken out.
Like he’d taken out his victims.
“Do you believe in an eye for an eye, Lora?” Monica asked.
“Yeah, I do.” When it came to the ones she loved—you hurt them, you paid.
“Why do you think he’s focusing on you?” Monica asked as she cocked her head.
“Because he’s a sick freak with nothing better to do?” Because we both know the fire. We know how she feels. Not like a lover but like the devil, biting you, licking you with a tongue that burned your flesh away.
“He knows about you and Kenton,” Monica said.
Lora’s hand trembled as she shoved back her hair. “I picked up on that.” Which explained why Ramirez had been hiding in her bushes. Following Kenton, because he had been the bait. Now it looked as if she’d gotten added to the menu.
She wiped her sweaty hands on the front of her jeans. “You think Kent and Ramirez will find him?”
Monica glanced back at the cops, then her stare darted to the station manager, who was trying to act like he wasn’t listening to every word they said. After a moment, she shook her head. “He was gone the second the call ended, but maybe, just maybe, he left something behind. Something we can use.” Her lips curved, the faintest bit, as her bright eyes turned back to Lora. “All it takes is one mistake, and we’ve got him.”
Just one.
A team searched the railyard. Cops swarmed, running with flashlights, their weapons drawn. They searched every abandoned car and every shed. The cops shoved their lights into every shadow.
They found the phone smashed into pieces on the ground. Kenton tagged and bagged every part and hoped they’d get lucky with some prints, but his gut told him their guy hadn’t been so careless.
But you never knew…
He turned around and stared at the long line of old railway cars.
Phoenix had come here so no one would see him. Away from the city. Away from the lights.
He’d picked the perfect place. The guy knew the city so well.
“Lake! We got something!” Jon’s voice boomed in the night.
Kenton whirled around and took off running, the thudding of his heart filling his ears. He jumped over the tracks and shot around an old engine.
Jon stood with two uniforms. Another man was between them, older, with his head bent. The scent of alcohol hung in the air all around him.
“Not something,” Jon said, softer now. “Someone.”
The guy’s head lifted. Kenton shone his flashlight on him and the man winced, rocking back. He wore oversized clothes that hung on this too-thin body. His shoes—one was a tennis shoe, the other a boot—shuffled on the ground.
“This is Bob.” Jon had a hand clenched in the guy’s jacket. “Bob lives here.”
“My h-home!” Bob took a few stumbling steps forward, and Kenton realized Jon was holding his jacket to stop the guy from getting away. “Why’s so many… comin’ in my h-home?”
Kenton’s eyes met Jon’s. One mistake. That was Hyde’s mantra, a mantra he’d taught to them all. “Bob, was there another man here tonight?”
Bob’s head rolled a bit. Kenton dropped the light so it didn’t shine right into Bob’s bloodshot eyes.
“L-lot of ’em…” His hands made big circles. “All over.” His right hand slapped into Jon’s chest. “One… h-here…”
“Before we came.” Kenton kept his voice low and steady. “Was there another man here? Did you see anyone here tonight before the police arrived?”
Silence.
Kenton’s back teeth ground together. Christ. The guy was barely on his feet. If Jon hadn’t been holding him, he’d probably be on the ground, right next to the brown bag that he must have dropped.
“Y-yeah… seen ’im.” Bob grinned, showing a missing front tooth, and started singing. “Take me out to the ballgame… take me out…”
Fuck. Kenton exhaled on a rough sigh.
So much for a mistake.
Kenton turned away, then stopped. A memory tugged at him. He glanced over his shoulder. “Bob, why are you singing that song?”
“’Cause he’s fuckin’ crazy,” one of the cops whispered.
Bob’s grin vanished. “I-I wanted that h-hat.” Angry.
Kenton’s heart slammed hard into his ribs. “What hat?”
Bob’s shaking hand rose and touched his head. “Saw it… when he walked under… the light.” His bony fingers pointed to the lone light on the right side of the station. The only light not busted out or broken. “Take me out with the crowd…”
Kenton walked closer to him. “You saw a man under that light? Is that what you’re saying? A man wearing a hat?” Come on, come on…
“I p-played once… was a p-pitcher.” He shot his arm out as if he were tossing a ball.
A baseball cap. It could be a damn coincidence.
Larry Powell had described a man in a baseball cap. He’d seen him fleeing the fire that killed Jerome.
“Bob, was anything on the hat? Bob, Bob?” Kenton caught his shirtfront when Bob slipped. “What was on the hat?”
Bob just blinked.
“What was the guy wearing? What were his clothes like? What was—”
“Nice ph-phone…” Bob’s lips turned down. “Broke it, though. Broke a g-good phone…”
“Our guy,” Jon whispered.
Yeah, their guy all right. And they had a witness.
“P-pretty truck, too…” Another smile from Bob. “I like trucks.”
Kenton’s gaze met Jon’s.
“Hot damn,” Jon muttered. “Hot damn.”
“Get him sober. Get him in a room for an interview, and let’s get this bastard.”
Lora glanced out of her bedroom window and saw the patrol car circling her block. Great. Well, considering that phone call, she wasn’t surprised that the FBI had ordered an extra patrol to cruise through her neighborhood.
The phone rang, and the shrill cry made her jump. “Dammit.” She turned away from the window and grabbed the phone. “Hello.”
Do you like the fire, Lora? That whisper rolled through her head again, and she tensed.
“Lora? It’s Kenton.”
Like she’d ever mistake that voice.
Lora’s breath eased out in a soft sigh that she knew he’d hear. “Did you find him?” Monica had said there was no chance, but she still had to ask. And hope.
“No.” Voices rose behind him. “But we got a witness.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right there… Ah, Lora, I got to go, we’re bringing him in now…”
A witness. “Wait! Wh-what does Phoenix look like? What is he—”
“Don’t know yet. We’re getting the guy into Interrogation. We’ll see what Monica can do.” More voices and the ring of phones in the background. “I wanted to check on you.” His voice was gruff, hesitant.
She glanced back toward the window. The patrol car was at the end of the street. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Just get the bastard, okay? Find out who we’re looking for and let’s plaster his face all over this town.” Nowhere to run, asshole.
“Okay. But your doors are locked, right? You’re good?”
Aw, the guy was worried about her. “The doors are locked.”
“If you need me—”
“You’ll be in Interrogation.” She understood his priorities and knew he’d be busy.
“Fuck it. If you need me, call me.”
Lora blinked. “I–I will. And… you stay safe, too, got me, GQ? This guy wants you, so don’t drop your guard for a minute.”
“I won’t.”
More voices, calling his name.
“Night, Lora.”
“Good night, Kent.”
The phone clicked. Her fingers tightened around the handset, and she tried real hard not to think of the monsters in the world.
She hung up the phone and opened her nightstand drawer. The gun was there. She’d put it in the drawer less than thirty minutes before.
Revenge. She’d thought of it for so long. But when it came right down to it, would she be able to take a life?
Carter’s face flashed before her. Not the perfect, grinning face she’d loved but the face after the fire.
Her fingers picked up the cold metal.
He watched the cop car circle around the block. That guy was really taking his time.
Was he supposed to be scared because some guy with a badge was driving down the street? Was that supposed to scare him off?
When were they going to realize that nothing scared him? He was the one people feared.
Her light was still on. He’d even glimpsed her, standing at her window, leaning forward, and peering down to watch the cop.
All alone tonight. Her lover was gone.
Lora was alone and—
Looking for me.
Looking in the wrong place.
He glanced down at his watch. He’d have to monitor the cop. A couple of drive-arounds, just to make sure that he had the timing down right.
And he had to give Lora a chance to sleep. Not like he could go in when she was awake and aware. No, that would never work. Lora would be better taken during a weak moment.
So he’d wait, just a bit. Wait and watch.
The match rolled between his fingertips.
“We gave the guy four cups of coffee, three hamburgers, and an order of fries.” Jon leaned against the wall near the interrogation viewing window. “You think he’s starting to sober up now?”
Well, Bob’s eyes weren’t rolling back in his head anymore, so that seemed like a definite improvement.
Monica sat across the table from him in Interrogation, her head cocked. “Mr. Kyle, I need to ask you some questions.”
Robert “Bob” Kyle. Vietnam vet. Alcoholic. They’d gotten his records from the veterans’ hospital in Charlottesville. The guy heard voices and had been diagnosed as schizophrenic almost twenty years ago—right before his wife died of ovarian cancer. A few months after her death, Bob had started living on the streets.
“You know he’ll never make it in a courtroom. Schizophrenic…” Jon shook his head. “The defense attorney would just say he imagined the whole thing.”
“I’m not worried about a defense attorney right now,” Kenton told him. They’d cross that bridge later. “I just want to find the bastard hunting out there.”
Kenton kept his gaze on the interrogation. Bob wasn’t talking, just rubbing his fingers over the top of the table. This was gonna take all night. “And the order went through for a cop to patrol Lora’s neighborhood?” His order.
Jon nodded. “A cop’s cruising her neighborhood, and he’s scheduled to do constant sweep-throughs all night.”
So Lora would have an extra pair of eyes on her. Good, but—
Not good enough. Because he wanted to be there with her, watching over her and making damn sure that she was safe.
“When you were at the train station, I want to know what you saw.” Monica pushed another cup of coffee toward Bob. “Before the cops arrived.”
“Right, before the blue lights, I want to know about the man who was there.” She offered him a smile. “You told the other agents he was in a truck.”
A couple of fast nods.
“You like trucks, don’t you?”
Another nod.
“What color do you like best on your trucks?”
“B-blue.”
“I like that, too.” A beat of silence. “What color was the truck you saw tonight?”
Bob scratched his head. “Dark. Couldn’t see.”
Because that area had been piss black.
“But you were able to see… someone, right?”
His tongue swiped over his lips. “Heard ’im talkin’. Laughin’.”
“And when you heard him, you went closer, didn’t you?”
A nod. “H-he was close to the light.”
“That’s what you told Agent Lake.” She smiled again. Weird seeing that big, fake-friendly smile on Monica. “And you saw a man?”
“With a hat—” Bob said in a rush. “A baseball h-hat. Cathy and me—we… we always liked the games.”
Cathy, his dead wife.
“She got me a cap like that once.” He reached for the coffee, and some of the dark liquid jostled over the side. “But I don’t like the Braves.”
Monica leaned forward. “Did that guy like the Braves?”
“Big A.” Another nod. “That’s what was… on his c-cap. Big A.”
“I don’t…” Bob trailed off.
“Was he tall? Short?”
But Bob just shook his head now.
“Thin? Was he about your size, Bob?”
Bob wasn’t answering now. Just staring down into the coffee.
Kenton exhaled. One long damn night.
“You think old Bob even knows where he is?” Jon asked, scratching his chin.
But just then, Bob looked up. “I want to see C-Cathy—tell ’er to come in. I want to go to a game…”
Kenton’s fist hit the wall. “Probably not.”
Kenton marched into Interrogation, closed the door, and waited.
“Bob.” Monica touched his hand.
He flinched.
“Bob, look at Agent Lake.”
His gaze darted to him.
“The man you saw, the man in the baseball cap…” Her voice was soft and easy. “Was he bigger than Agent Lake?”
Kenton stared back at him, keeping his face expressionless.
“N-no.”
“Good. That’s good.” Her hand withdrew. “Smaller?”
“N-no.” Bob licked his lips. “H-his s-size.”
“Did you see the man’s face?” She paused a beat, letting the guy think, then asked, “Can you tell me—”
“Cap… low… didn’t see…”
Monica cocked her head. “You saw his phone, didn’t you?”
“I want you to think about his phone for me, Bob. Think about his hand. You saw him holding the phone, right?”
A quick nod.
“Good. That’s good.” She waited another beat. “What did his hand look like? Was i—”
“White.” He stared at his own hand. “Like… mine.”
So they were looking for a Caucasian, about six foot two, one-eighty to two hundred pounds. A guy who liked to wear a Braves ball cap and liked to drive a truck. But judging by the number of trucks Kenton had seen since arriving in town, a lot of men in this area liked to drive them.
Certainly not the best description, but better than nothing.
They’d already checked all the traffic cameras located in the fire zones, but their perp had been smart. He hadn’t shown up once, probably because the bastard knew exactly where those cameras were placed.
He’s sticking to the back roads and alleys. The guy knows this town.
“I want to go h-home.” Bob’s fist suddenly slammed into the table. “Cathy! I want to go home!”
Monica’s lips tightened. “I know you do.”
Tears leaked from his eyes. “Where’s Cathy?”
Monica shoved back her chair. “Kenton, let’s go outside.”
Bob put his head down and covered his ears. His shoulders shook.
Monica waited until the door closed behind them and then started shaking her head. “He can’t handle any more. We push again, the guy is just going to break.”
Reality had a way of doing that to a man. The longer Bob stayed sober and coherent, the more he realized what the hell had happened to him.
And that Cathy wasn’t coming to take him home.
“I’ve got a call in to the VA. They’ll be here, probably around eight tomorrow. We’ll get his doctor, see about getting him medicated, contact any family he’s got…” She shrugged. “Maybe we’ll be able to get more then.”
Or maybe not.
Kenton sighed. It was closing in on 2:00 A.M. They might as well pack it in. Their witness was sure done.
He rubbed the thick knot of tension in the back of his neck. “We’ll come back after the doc checks him out tomorrow.” After they gave him the care that the guy obviously needed.
Monica reached for Kenton’s arm. Her fingers brushed against him. “We have more now.”
“We just have to make sure this witness stays alive,” Kenton snapped. Not like the last one. I should have done more for Powell.
“He’ll stay under police protection,” Monica assured him. “I’ll make sure that he doesn’t get out of their sight. Nothing will happen to him.”
“Uh, guys…” Jon’s voice was tense. Kenton glanced up and saw the guy hurrying toward them. “I think you’d both better fucking get outside, right now.”
Kenton turned toward him.
Jon stood, eyes slits, jaw locked. “One of the cops just told me that Captain Lawrence is out there talking to some reporters that have been staking out the place.”
“What?” Kenton took off. No, oh, hell, no, this was the last thing they needed right now. He heard the tap of Monica’s high heels as she ran behind him.
He turned a hard right at the corner, shot through the quiet bullpen, and headed fast for the entrance to the station. Christ, he could see the camera outside.
No one had given Lawrence the all-clear to talk to the press, and if that guy so much as mentioned their witness…
Kenton’s hands slammed down hard on the door handle, sending the glass door flying open and the captain—
“We are confident that the witness we currently have in custody will be instrumental in the apprehension of the perpetrator known as Phoenix.” Lawrence’s voice was loud and too confident.
“Shit.” Monica’s whisper from right behind Kenton.
Growling, he hurried to the captain’s side. Did Lawrence have any idea just what he’d done?
“Our witness saw Phoenix. We’ll have his description up and—”
“I’m afraid the interview is over,” Kenton said, amazed that his voice came out cool and halfway calm when rage pumped through his blood so hard and fast. He grabbed Lawrence’s arm, harder than necessary, but so what, and pulled the guy back. Then he stepped in front of him, deliberately using his larger body to block the idiot.
“What are you doing?” Lawrence demanded, voice low. “This is my—”
“Don’t say another word.” Kenton caught Monica’s order to the captain.
Kenton didn’t glance back at them. He stared at the group. A cameraman and a reporter from Channel Five. And the guy on the right—his press badge listed his name as Thomas Jones. He was a reporter for the Charlottesville Times. They all stared at him with eager, hungry expressions on their faces. Like a pack of wolves. “We have no further comment on the Phoenix case tonight.”
“But what about the witness?” The reporter from Channel Five, Elle Shaw, pressed forward.
“What does Phoenix look like? If you’ve got it, then give us his description,” Jones demanded.
“The SSD is currently following multiple leads on this case,” Kenton said smoothly, offering them a smile while he shoved down his anger. “And, yes, we are confident that we will be making an arrest in this case.” He wouldn’t leave town until they did.
“When?” Jones wanted to know.
Kenton’s glance drifted over them. “We are collecting evidence at this time.”
“Evidence supplied by your witness?” Shaw asked.
Now this was the dicey part. He needed to work some serious damage control. “I don’t want the witness’s name mentioned in your reports.”
Silence.
“Uh, excuse me?” Shaw blinked a few times. Right. Like she’d never been asked to sit on a story before. She knew this game.
“Turn off the camera,” Kenton ordered, still with a casual smile on his face. Letting the reporters see your fury was never a good idea. They needed finesse and charm.
Lawrence swore behind him. That guy had no charm.
The camera light blinked off.
“At this juncture, the SSD would like for you to refrain from running any story about a possible witness to the arsons.”
“What the hell?” Elle exclaimed. “The captain just told us about—”
“And I’m telling you—the SSD would consider it a personal favor if this information wasn’t aired, at least not until we’ve had a chance to follow up on our new leads.” Sweat trickled down his back, but Kenton kept his pose loose and easy.
Elle’s eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for us?”
His gaze swept between her and Jones. “The two of you will get the first call when we catch the bastard.”
Elle smiled.
Jones narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t talk about the witness yet, and you’ll both get the best interviews in town.” He offered another smile. “Or you can run the story as is and rest assured that you will not be privy to any more discoveries or statements from the SSD.”
He let that sink in, and after a moment, Shaw gave a grudging nod. Kenton’s stare centered on Jones. “Do we have an agreement?”
Jones smiled, flashing too many teeth. “Sure we do.”
And Kenton was sure that he didn’t believe the guy.
“Then we’ll be talking soon.”
He turned away, grabbed Lawrence’s arm, and tried to make the hold look friendly. But he failed and pulled the guy away with him.
When he passed Jon, Kenton leaned toward the other agent. “Until Lawrence goes home, make sure no other reporters get inside tonight. The SSD needs to keep control of the media.”
Jon nodded and immediately headed to guard the door.
Kenton didn’t speak again and didn’t answer Lawrence’s blustering questions until they were back in the captain’s office. Monica shut the door behind them. Very, very quietly.
“What the hell is your problem?” Lawrence demanded, his hawkish face tight. “You don’t interrupt me when—”
“Who the hell gave you permission to discuss the witness with the press?” Kenton cut right through his words.
The guy’s mouth hung open. Then closed. Then opened. Fish-style. But then the captain’s hand slapped against the desk. “I don’t need permission. This is my PD, and I can—”
Kenton clenched his fists. “Listen up, Captain. Listen real good. This isn’t your case. I told you that already. The SSD is in charge of the Phoenix investigation now.”
“This is my city—”
“And this is my killer,” Kenton tossed right back. “And we don’t need some piss-for-brains cop screwing up our investigation.”
Lawrence went red. “You can’t—”
“We can,” Monica told him quietly. “We have the authority here.”
Lawrence’s shoulders hunched. “Just… an interview… little one for the press… knew f-folks would want to know—”
About the witness.
“Tell me, Captain,” Kenton said, “do you know what happened to the last man who tried to give us a description of Phoenix?”
The cop’s eyes widened.
“Larry Powell,” Kenton supplied. “He was here, right in this damn station, and he saw Phoenix, too.”
Monica stepped back and let him close in for the kill.
“Now he’s in the morgue,” Kenton told him, jaw tight. “Or what’s left of his burnt and charred body is.”
“Phoenix doesn’t seem to like leaving witnesses alive,” Monica added.
The captain’s face bleached of that fiery red. “I-I d-didn’t…”
“You didn’t read the report that Dr. Jennings sent to you?” Kenton’s voice snapped.
Lawrence flinched.
The captain had just put a target on Bob. And all because Lawrence had wanted his own face splashed on the news.
“What do you think Phoenix will do when he sees this piece on the news?” Monica asked softly.
Fury heated Kenton’s blood. “Who do you think will be next on the guy’s list?”
Lawrence sagged against the front of his desk. The hair he’d slicked back on the sides glinted in the light. “I-I just didn’t—”
Think. Yeah, they knew that.
“You’re giving Bob Kyle protection,” Kenton ordered. “Twenty-four-seven protection, you understand?”
Because he was not going to let another witness die. Powell already haunted him.
“They won’t run the story, right?” Lawrence asked, swiping a hand over his forehead. “You told them… they won’t run the story.”
Kenton sighed. The cop really didn’t understand this game. “If they don’t, we’ll be damn lucky.” And he’d never counted on luck.
Lora’s lights were out.
He inched along the edge of her property, keeping to the shadows near the tree line.
The cop and his partner were taking six minutes to circle.
Six minutes.
So much could happen in six minutes.
Fire. Death.
He smiled. Six minutes. So much time.
His fingers tightened around the can of gasoline. Then he tipped the can over and started to pour.