“Carter went in.” Pain there. “Carter was lead; he ran in first.” He heard the hard click of her swallow. “Then the roof fell in.”
She stared right at him, but Kenton didn’t think she saw him. Not at all. “Lora.” There was more there. It was personal.
“We got them both out.” One shoulder lifted, then fell. “But it was too late.” He saw her blink, real fast.
Aw, hell, he’d never been good with a woman’s tears.
But Lora wasn’t crying. She was shoving that pointed chin up, narrowing those incredible eyes. Glaring at him. “I don’t like losing victims to the fire, and I sure as shit don’t like burying members of my team.”
“No.” He’d almost lost an agent on his last big case, so he damn well knew the pain that could come from a hit like that.
Kenton touched her because he wanted to. A quick press of his hand against hers.
When the woman didn’t jerk right back, he was surprised.
And glad.
“I buried Creed. I stood over his grave. I put flowers down, and I cried, like everybody else.” Her hand knotted into a fist beneath his. “All because some sick freak out there likes to get off playing with fire.”
“Tell Chief Garrison a fire’s burning on Byron.”
“Sir?” the female voice said. “Are you at the scene? I need a direct address, I need—”
“Garrison can follow the smoke.” The fire would light up the sky. He’d see to it.
“Sir?” Hesitant with fear. Good. She should be afraid. They should all be afraid.
“The victim’s still alive—”
“Let m-me go!” Larry’s broken scream.
“But not for long,” he murmured. “Garrison’s men had better hurry.”
The men… and lovely Lora.
But she wasn’t on duty tonight. Pity. But there was no choice. Powell had to die tonight.
He disconnected the call.
“Please, m-man, I-I’ll do anything…”
He tucked the phone back into his pocket, shook his head, and walked out without saying a word.
“Don’t leave me! Don’t l-leave—”
The night air was thick and hot when he went outside. He glanced around, scanning the streets. He couldn’t take any chances. When he was sure the area was clear, he hurried back to his truck.
He knew better than to leave any evidence behind. The container went into the bed of his pickup. He ditched his gloves and changed into a fresh shirt.
When he went back inside, Larry’s sobs filled the air. Loud. Wet. Desperate.
He pulled out his match and lit it with a quick swipe against the wall. The flame flickered in front of him. So small.
He grabbed the brown bag he’d brought from his truck. Smiling, he ignited the top of the bag.
Fire could grow so fast.
As fast as Larry’s hope faded.
“Don’t, p-please…”
He bent toward the line of pooled fluid. “Maybe they’ll save you.” He tossed down the burning bag and stepped away as the flames grew.
“Don’t! Fuck, n-no!”
“And maybe they won’t.” He hurried back as the flames flared fast and raced across the trail of accelerant. Soon enough, the flames would drown out Larry’s screams.
He’d have to hurry so he could get to his hiding spot and enjoy a nice, clear view of the show.
Because it was gonna be good.
“So that’s his game,” Lora said, easing back. “He traps the victims, lights the fires, lets them watch death come—”
“And he calls in the firefighters.” Why? Because he wanted them to save the victims? That didn’t make sense. Kenton shook his head. He’d need Monica on this. She could work up a profile and help him figure out what the hell was driving the guy.
“You don’t get it.” Bitterness coated her words. “He sets it up as a race, but there’s no chance for us to win. Even if we get the vic, he won’t let everyone survive. In his fires, someone dies. Someone always has to die—that’s just the way he plays.”
A death game.
Sick f**k.
CHAPTER Three
Kenton followed Lora outside. She kept her keys gripped tightly in her hand, and she walked with quick, long strides.
But then she stopped and turned to face him.
A few other folks were in the parking lot. A guy had his date up on the hood of his Vette. His arms were locked around her, and his mouth crushed hers. Kenton caught the flash of a badge. Figured, the place had smelled of cops.
A car door slammed. Two men strode toward the bar.
A woman eased out of the heavy doors.
“There’s something you should know…” Lora began, voice grim.
His brows raised.
“Carter and I—”
He waited, because he’d known this was coming. It was the way she said the guy’s name. The softness that whispered in her voice. It told him they’d been—
“We were involved.”
“Lovers.” His voice was flat.
Her eyes widened, reflecting the moonlight. “Yeah, yeah, we were.”
She’d buried her lover. Lost him to the fire.
And gone back to battle the flames.
“It’s been six months, and the guy hasn’t struck again. Could be he’s moved on or could be he’s lying low, waiting for his next strike.” Lora rocked forward on her heels. “But I was tired of waiting for this case to break. Carter needed justice.”
Carter? Or her? “What makes you so sure the fire on LeRoy wasn’t set by your guy?”
“At first, I thought it might be him, even though there was no 911 call. A liquid accelerant was used, and the vic was locked in the closet. But my guy—the guy we’re after—he doesn’t kill first. He lets the fire do the dirty work for him.”
Yeah, he’d been thinking about that, and he’d realized… “He’d kill if he wanted to make damn sure the victim didn’t survive.” Jerome had called the Bureau with a tip about an arson fire in Charlottesville. Jerome had lived near Charlie Skofield, and the guy had said he wanted to cash out on what he’d seen the night of that fire.
Jerome had been ready to cash out, all right; then the poor bastard had been trapped in a blaze.
Kenton didn’t believe in coincidences.
“Why? Why that guy?” Lora demanded. “I don’t—”
He wasn’t going to tell her. Not yet. Because while he needed her knowledge, he didn’t trust her.