Jennifer Langley. The Critical Care Unit nurse. Twenty-nine. He’d read the report on her, no criminal record, a woman who seemed to be well-liked by her neighbors, if not her coworkers. Apparently, they hadn’t thought the woman had the best bedside manner.
Yeah, he’d read the facts, and seen what was left after the fire…
Not much.
“She was alive when the fire started. Her neighbors heard her calling for help.”
Hell.
“She tried to break her windows out—there was glass all over the scene, but on the second floor—” Lora shook her head. “She would have fallen right to concrete, not that she ever had the chance.”
“The fire burned too fast.”
“It came right for her. We hauled ass to get there, Kent, knocked down that door…”
But they’d been too late.
Her gaze dropped to the table.
“You know about the fire triangle?”
He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see the movement of his head. “For fires to burn, they need air, fuel, and heat.”
“This guy manipulates the triangle, and he’s damn good at that manipulation. He punched holes in her roof so that more air would get in—and so the flames would burn faster.”
And so that Jennifer Langley would have less chance of surviving.
“For the fuel, well, he’d poured turpentine in three of the rooms in her place.” She bit her lip.
“Turpentine?” It’d been in the report, but… “How’d you know that?”
“We could tell he’d used an accelerant because of the way the floor was charred.” She exhaled slowly. “We ripped up some of the floorboards and baseboards, and we found a sample of the liquid. Seth sent it for analysis.”
Right. Turpentine. “And the second victim?”
“Tom.” She shook her head. “Tom Hatchen. He owned a garage here in town.” Lora glanced around the bar, then back at him. “Hatchen was working alone one night, late. Somehow,” her lips quirked, but there was no humor in her eyes, “the equipment he was using malfunctioned and an engine fell on his legs, breaking them. Pinning him.”
Shit. This wasn’t going to be pretty.
“The killer did that. He set up the whole f**king scene.” Her voice heated. “He left the guy caught like a rat in a trap, then used Hatchen’s own supplies—motor oil and gas—to soak the joint.” Her fingers drummed on the table. “But before he lit the match, the sick f**k called 911.”
Kenton stilled. He knew this, but hearing the fury boiling in Lora’s husky voice froze him.
“He told us that we had ten minutes or Tom would burn.” She licked her lips. “We were there in eight but the fire was already burning strong.”
And a man was dying.
• • •
He snapped the handcuff onto Larry’s wrist. Larry would wake up soon enough. He closed the other cuff around a pipe connected to an old radiator.
Perfect.
Time for a quick trip to the truck.
As he hurried out, he glanced at his watch. How long would he give them this time? The fire station was close by, but he planned to make this fire burn fast.
His gaze swept the street. Deserted.
He grabbed the container that he’d carefully prepared and loped back toward the building.
He poured some lighter fluid just inside the doorway. This line would ignite later. He’d start the fire in the center. Give Larry a nice show.
The fire was so beautiful, especially up close.
“Wh-what the hell?” Larry’s scream.
He glanced up and smiled.
“What are y-you doin’?” Larry wrenched at the handcuff. “Why the f**k you got m-me cuffed? What the f**k—”
He threw a stream of lighter fluid onto him.
Larry choked and sputtered.
Now he hefted the red container he’d retrieved from the truck. He lifted the container higher, and the gasoline spilled out in fat waves.
“Stop! Please, f-fuck, stop! Let me go, man, let me g-go—”
Some people couldn’t die fast enough. He kept a tight hold on his container—he’d be taking that with him—and yanked out the disposable cell he’d purchased.
Nine. One. One.
“Let me go!”
No.
“Charlie Skofield.” Her shoulders tensed a bit when she said his name. “He’d been in a car accident about four months back. Christ, it was one of the worst ones I’ve seen.”
He hadn’t realized that she’d been there.
“The driver—she never had a chance. When I got there, she was already bleeding out, slipping away even as she asked for her kids.” Lora’s breath was ragged. “We had to use the jaws of life to pry out Skofield. Some people didn’t think it was fair that he survived.”
Kenton’s eyes narrowed. “Not fair? Why?”
“There was no official ruling but…” Her lips tightened. “I know an alcohol-related crash when I see one.”
Yeah, he bet she did.
“He survived and a mother of two died, but Skofield… he was paralyzed from the waist down.”
The crowd had begun to thin. Final rounds were being called as more folks headed for the door.
“When we broke the door in at Charlie’s place, the first thing I saw was his wheelchair, just sitting right there.”
Kenton bet poor Charlie had been somewhere else. Somewhere much closer to the fire.
“We searched and finally found him. Charlie was on the floor. He wasn’t moving, but the flames hadn’t touched him yet. He’d poured a line of accelerant to circle Charlie.” Her eyes glinted. “This guy knows how to work the fire. He lets those flames rage, and he sets up his victims so that the smoke doesn’t kill them.”
Kenton knew smoke inhalation was often the cause of death at a fire scene.
“He sets up a burn line with his accelerants. He controls the fire and makes it burn just where he wants.”
The better to make his victims suffer.
“With Skofield, the fire—orange gold and so hot—was rolling near the ceiling above him. I knew that roof was gonna fall. We didn’t have much time to pull him out of that room.”
He knew how the story ended. Charlie hadn’t made it out alive.
Neither had Carter Creed. “You went in anyway.”
Her tongue swiped over her lips, a quick move that had his body tightening when he shouldn’t be thinking about sex. About fire and death, yeah, but not sex. Not now.