If only.
“Has anyone checked the train yard?” Kenton asked as he rubbed the back of his neck. That was across town, but maybe—
“Kenton.” Jon stood in the doorway. “We think we found Bob.”
“Thank Christ. All right, let’s get him secured, set up in a new house, and—”
But Jon just shook his head, and the hard punch in Kenton’s gut told him the news wasn’t going to be good.
• • •
The stench hit him. Even before Kenton rounded the corner and crossed into the dark alley, the smell had already clogged his nostrils.
A uniform ran out of those dim recesses. His shaking hand covered the lower half of his ashen face. The cop took two steps away from the alley entrance and vomited.
Dammit.
Kenton’s shoulders stiffened as he hurried forward.
Monica appeared before him as she skirted around a garbage bin. “We’re going to need dental records to determine for sure…”
An image of Kyle, shaking at the Interrogation table, flashed through his mind. Where’s Cathy?
Kenton stalked forward and gazed over the tech’s shoulder.
Christ.
His eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Another image he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.
Fuck.
“I think it’s safe to assume that we’re looking at Phoenix’s work.” Monica’s voice was as cool as you please. They were standing over a body that had been savaged to hell and back, cops were puking all around them, and the woman sounded as if she was talking about the weather.
Control. He was supposed to have it.
Monica’s hand brushed against his arm. “Kenton, are you okay?” Her question was whisper quiet so the others wouldn’t hear. She’d never let a team member look weak.
He opened his eyes and stared into her blue gaze. How do you do it? His lips pressed together, and he bit back the question.
Monica had worked some of the most gruesome cases out there. She’d nearly lost her lover to the last killer they’d tracked, but she still did the job. Day in and day out, she got into the minds of killers.
And, somehow, she stayed sane.
More than that, she acted like the killers never touched her.
“Kenton?” Worry threaded her voice.
“He f**king slaughtered him, Monica.” Bob Kyle hadn’t deserved this. No one did. Kyle had gotten one raw deal after another. Losing his wife, losing his mind…
Now his life.
“We’re going to get Phoenix,” she promised. But he was tired of talking about catching the freak.
He wanted him locked behind bars, thrown so far into a hellhole jail that he’d never see daylight.
And never hurt anyone again.
He swung away from the body. Can’t see it anymore. There was a red fire extinguisher on the ground, lying just a few feet away. A tech snapped pictures of it. Somebody had tried to help Kyle.
Too little, far too late.
“You’re sure it was this man?” Jon asked, and Kenton’s eyes glanced toward him. He had a photo in his hand, had to be of Kyle, and he was flashing it to a jittery-looking guy in shorts.
“H-he was in my s-store… bought wh-whiskey.”
Kyle had left the safe house to get booze?
Kenton bent, stooping under the yellow police tape, and hurried toward the guy talking to Jon. “Kyle paid for the whiskey? He didn’t steal it?”
“P-paid with a twenty.” The guy—in his early fifties with graying hair and a grizzled goatee—swallowed a couple of times. “I was taking a cig break and saw the smoke.”
“Mr. Dumont here grabbed his fire extinguisher and raced over,” Jon explained.
“Th-thought garbage was on fire.” He took a deep breath, fumbled, and yanked out a cigarette. “Didn’t expect to see no person.” He flashed his lighter, sparking the flame, and he lit the tip of the cigarette with trembling fingers. “Jesus f**king Christ, I can still smell him.”
Not like it was a smell you could easily forget. “Mr. Dumont, when you came into the alley, did you see anyone else?”
“I–I just saw the fire, man.” Dumont took a long drag on his cigarette. “Somebody else could have been there—fuck if I know—I just saw the fire.” That cigarette was burning down fast.
“When the victim was in the store,” Kenton pressed, “was he alone? Did you see anyone with him?”
Dumont gave a hard shake of his head. “Nah, nah, he was alone.” The cigarette dangled from his nicotine-stained fingertips. “If—if that’s him, in the alley, something was wrong with him.” His eyes skated to the alley, then back to the agents.
“Wrong?”
Dumont nodded. “Yeah, uh, he kept talkin’ to himself. Callin’ for some broad named Cathy.”
Kenton exhaled. “Did he say anything else?”
“Just—just that he wanted to go home.” Ash dropped to the ground. “He said he was goin’ home to Cathy.”
Kenton glanced back at the alley. It looked as if Kyle was home now. And God willing, maybe he was even with his Cathy.
“What kind of freak would do this shit?” Dumont’s lips twisted in disgust. “That poor bastard.”
Kenton nodded curtly and turned away from the witness. That “poor bastard” hadn’t deserved to go out that way. He pulled out his phone and called Sam. She answered on the second ring, and he could hear the voices rising behind her at the police station. “Sam, any sign of Malone?”
“No.” Her sigh rustled over the line. “The cops are patrolling for him but—”
“But maybe they’re not looking hard enough.” His fingers tightened on the phone. Malone was one of their own, and sometimes, cops didn’t like to think a brother in blue could be a criminal.
If the cops couldn’t find him, Kenton would. And if he had to, he’d rip apart the town.
CHAPTER Sixteen
Monica Davenport kept her shoulders back and her pace slow and steady as she walked toward the hotel off Highway 180.
If there was anything she’d learned in her life, it was that you could never be too careful. Someone was always watching. Always.
Her hand was rock steady as she slid the keycard into the lock. The light flashed green. She walked inside. Dark. Just the faintest hint of sunlight fell through the blinds.
The bathroom door opened and spilled light into the room. Wisps of steam drifted into the air, and he was there. Chest wet, muscles gleaming, a white towel knotted around his waist.