“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 f**king 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 ass**le 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.