Monica brushed by him. “Then don’t keep us waiting, MacIntyre.” While Monica pretended to be all icy and controlled, deep inside, she was just human. And he’d seen the brief flinch from the corner of his eye when she’d caught a glimpse of those photos.
Her shell had cracked, just a bit.
Seth rummaged through the mountain of files on his desk. “The station logs…”
Kenton’s brows rose.
“I’ve been—I’ve been going back over every detail of these fires.”
“You know there was another arson last night.” Monica’s voice was smoother now. Her control was coming back. “Wade Copeland was injured. He’s in the burn unit at Memorial Infirmary.”
His face paled even as he gave a quick nod. “I–I know. I’ve got men working the scene right now.” He lifted a file, and his fingers trembled. “I’m heading down to the scene next, but I wanted to talk to you first.” He offered the file to Kenton. “Might be nothin’…”
That was what they had so far.
Kenton took the file and flipped through the pages. Monica sidled up next to him for a better look. Seth had circled a name, a firefighter who’d been present at the first three Phoenix fires.
Lora Spade. Yeah, they already knew about her, but—
“Frank—he rotates his teams,” Seth said. “But Lora, even with the rotation, she was on the scene for Langley, Hatchen, and Skofield’s deaths.”
Kenton lifted his gaze. “And you think this is important to the killer?” Having Lora there? Coincidence, nothing more. Not like the guy knew when she’d be on duty.
He stiffened.
Watching.
Sonofabitch.
Seth’s chin lifted. “I think it’s a link.” His voice came stronger now. The guy wasn’t backing down or getting intimidated. Good for him. “The only one I’ve found so far.”
“The victims are the link.” Kenton knew that. He closed the file but didn’t hand it back to Seth. “And we’re ripping their lives apart to find out why. Their deaths weren’t nice and neat, and I’m betting their lives weren’t either.”
Seth’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I think the killer’s watching the station,” Seth said, his voice firmer. “Lora Spade, Rick Suvalis, and Max Quint are the three most decorated firefighters at that station. They’ve been profiled in the papers.” His hands shoved back down and pulled up another file, one overflowing with computer-printed stories from newspapers. He shoved this file at Kenton, too. “They’re the ones people know. Hell, they even go to all the schools and talk to the kids. They’re the ones people see.”
Kenton glanced down at the file. Had they been the ones the killer saw?
“He uses liquid accelerants—gas, turpentine, alcohol… He soaks the fire zone, and then he traps the victims inside the fire—”
“Michael Randall wasn’t trapped,” Monica broke through Seth’s words. “He could have left on his own, gotten out any time.”
And not tried to take a firefighter down with him.
“Randall was trapped.” Seth’s hands hit the pile on his desk and sent papers flying. “I knew that kid. Hell, I worked with him.” His emotion broke through the surface and choked his words. “The minute the fire started, he wouldn’t have been able to leave. It was a compulsion for him; he had to watch the flames.”
“He didn’t just watch.” Kenton’s grip on the files tightened. “He lit himself on fire and went after Wade.”
Seth swallowed, the soft click audible.
“You worked with him?” Kenton asked carefully.
“Yeah. Garrison and me—we visited with him. Malone said his therapists thought talking with us might help him.”
Guess that didn’t work so well.
“How many more?” Monica asked.
The arson investigator blinked. “Uh, what? I’m not sure I understand—”
“The PD is pulling arson files to make sure no other firestarters are on the streets that we don’t know about but…” Her head cocked to the right. “You work these cases day in and day out. You know the arsonists, don’t you?”
A grim nod.
“How many more are living in the area?”
His eyes darted between them. “Uh, n-none that fit the MO here—”
“How many,” Kenton demanded.
“Three, that I know of.” Seth’s shoulders straightened. “A woman, Margie Dawson. She got out last May. But she’s—she was hurt real bad in the last fire. She can’t get around so good anymore.”
“Who else?”
“Sean Kennedy. Fifty-five, um, he likes to burn rental houses. He’s a scammer people try to use for insurance fraud. Sean likes the fires as well as the money, though.”
Kenton saw Monica’s brows rise. “And the last one?”
“Howard Tate. He’s into electrical fires. Rigging them, then watching the houses blow.”
Great. Just f**king great. These perps were out there, and Lora was walking right into their fires.
“We want all of your files,” Monica told him.
Seth glanced down at the chaos that was his desk. “Help yourself.” He grabbed his bag. “I got a scene to work.” Seth walked around the desk, his limp slowing him just a bit.
Kenton stepped in front of him. “I think I’ll come along.” So his last trip to an arson scene had ended with him on the ground and a roof nearly smashing his head in. This time, he’d stay on guard.
Every single minute.
The loud ringing of the phone woke her. Lora rolled over, tossed out her hand, and snagged the receiver. “Hello?”
“He’s awake, Lora.”
Frank’s voice.
She shot up in bed. “Wade? Wade’s up?” Her heart jumped in her chest.
“Yeah. Hot damn, he’s talking.” Excitement had his voice breaking. “You saved him! Docs say he’ll pull through! He’ll need some grafts, some therapy, but he’ll make it!”
There were voices in the background, laughing and talking. Their volume rising fast.
“We ain’t losing him, not like—” Frank broke off.
And right then, the silence was defeaning.
Like Carter.
She licked lips that felt numb. “I’m glad. Tell Sherri”—Wade’s wife of two months—“I’m glad he’s gonna make it.” Thank you, God.