Deadly Heat

by Cynthia Eden

  “If you don’t have a car,” Ramirez’s deep voice floated from behind her, “how are you planning to get out of here?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat but didn’t glance back. “I thought I’d steal a patrol car.”

  His laugh came, quick and hard. She did look back then and saw that the darkness in his eyes had lightened a little. “You probably would,” he murmured.

  Hot-wiring was a talent that she’d picked up at sixteen, courtesy of Ben. The guy had been car crazy—which was probably why he owned two garages now.

  “Or,” Ramirez held up a set of keys, “you could take my car and let me come with you.”

  Those keys were tempting. Because when she’d stormed out, she hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly. Just get away.

  “I won’t ask questions. You won’t even know I’m with you.” But he would be with her. A guard.

  “Kenton sent you.” Her protective custody.

  No answer.

  She turned and stared at the street before her, barely seeing the swirl of traffic and all the black-and-white cop cars. Behind her, Ramirez just waited. “If I tell you no, you’re just going to follow me, aren’t you?”

  “Since you don’t have a car, that followin’ is gonna be real easy.” Wait—was that a Texas drawl?

  Lora sighed. “Fine. Come on, but I’m driving.”

  He jumped down the steps and tossed the keys her way.

  She snatched them out of the air.

  “Fair enough.” Dark eyes studied her. “Where we going?”

  Her fingers tightened. “I thought you weren’t asking questions.”

  “That was my only one.”

  Right.

  “I need to see someone.” She’d run because she had to talk to him. Kenton—Kenton was overwhelming her. She couldn’t see past him sometimes. She didn’t know what the future held, and the past was starting to get so blurry.

  She pressed the unlock button on the key chain. A black sedan flashed its lights. “Don’t worry, he’s not too far away,” she told him, but the words were such a lie. He’d gotten farther away every day.

  Kenton watched them through the glass. Lora and Jon climbed into the car. Lora was driving. Figured. And Jon, well, it was odd, but the guy was almost smiling.

  The sedan pulled away from the curb.

  “It’s a real bitch when the case gets personal, isn’t it?” Luke Dante murmured.

  Kenton ran a hand over his face and turned to study the blond agent. “Yeah, it is.” He tried to push back the fury. “I want him stopped.”

  Luke’s lips curled. “Nah, what you want is him dead. But we’re the good guys, so we’re not supposed to actually say that, are we?” His green eyes were a little too knowing.

  The guy had been spending way too much time with Monica. “I don’t need to be profiled.” Kenton stalked back into Interrogation.

  Of course, Luke followed him. “Why not? Sounds to me like that’s exactly what Phoenix has done to you.”

  That froze him.

  “He’s found your weak spot,” Luke continued. “He’s taunting you with it, with her. Putting her in danger—not killing her, because that would end the game, but letting you know that if he wanted, he could get to her.”

  Kenton’s stare met Monica’s. Her eyes had widened just a bit when she heard Luke’s voice.

  Kenton took a deep breath and shoved the image of tear-filled golden eyes from his mind. Focus. Control. He’d seen Monica do this dozens of time. Bring on the ice. Think about the case. Ignore the emotion.

  Sometimes, it was so damn hard to put on the mask.

  Kenton cleared his throat. “So our vics,” except for the firefighters, “were criminals.” Maybe not convicted, but the perp had still known. How? That was question one. How had the guy known the people were guilty?

  The door closed behind him with a soft click. He glanced at the faces around him. No emotion showed on Monica’s calm face, but Sam appeared to be teetering on the edge, struggling to hold her calm. Luke… ah, that guy was a puzzle. Sometimes he seemed wild on the outside, almost careless, but his real problem was that he cared too much.

  Maybe it was a good thing that Lora was gone. He wouldn’t have been able to tell her this part anyway.

  “I think we all know,” he said quietly, “that some cops can go bad.”

  Sam flinched.

  “The arresting officer,” for those who had been arrested, “I want his name. I want the names of all the officers involved in these cases.” Someone wanting justice? Yeah, that sure sounded like a cop to him. If the system fails, sometimes, you have to take justice into your own hands.

  “Th-there’s one name that came up a few times.” Sam’s voice was soft, but clear. “He was on the scene of Skofield’s drunk-driving accident, and he arrested Tom Hatchen.”

  “Who.”

  “Peter Malone.”

  Malone? Fuck. “He was right here.” In this very room. “When I questioned Larry Powell, he was right here.” And wasn’t it damn easy to eliminate a witness when you knew everything about the guy?

  Three connections.

  “Malone also busted Jerome a few years back, when he was working Vice.”

  Four.

  And they’d assigned the guy the task of digging into the victims’ lives. They’d wanted Malone to find the connection between them—when he was the fucking connection.

  Kenton’s fingers slowly unclenched. “Let’s get him in here.” It was time for the cop to sit on the other side of the table.

  • • •

  They stopped at the old wrought-iron gates of the cemetery. Lora hated this place. When she’d been younger, her mother had brought her here for every holiday. They’d come with red roses and her mother had put them on her father’s grave even as the tears trickled down her cheeks.

  Christmas. Valentine’s. Birthdays.

  “You can watch me from the car.” She killed the engine. “But don’t even think about following me any closer.”

  Ramirez didn’t say anything as she jumped out and slammed the door behind her.

  It was hot in Virginia at this time of the year, so why were goosebumps rising on her arms? She hurried past the gate and heard the groan of the iron when her shoulder brushed against the metal.

  In moments, she was beneath the big oak and sheltered under its wide branches. She stopped there and stared down at him.

  Carter smiled back at her. He was dressed in his uniform and a wide grin curved his lips. Frozen forever in that picture, he looked perfect, young, happy.

  The stupid tears came back, and she hated crying. Tears didn’t change anything. Never would.

  “I’m sorry, Carter.” Her whisper came on a sigh. He’d been her best friend. From the day she’d walked into station number eleven, he’d been there with his easygoing grin and laughing blue eyes. They’d been friends for so long, then slipped into being lovers. She’d loved him. No, the feelings hadn’t been wild and desperate, but there had been love. He knew it. He’d died knowing it.

  But now, when she closed her eyes, she didn’t see Carter anymore.

  She saw Kenton.

  And that scared the hell out of her.

  Because it forced her to accept that Carter was gone. It had taken some time, some long nights, but her heart was finally realizing that fact.

  “We’re going to stop him, Carter. We’re going to catch the bastard, and he won’t hurt anyone else.” A teardrop fell onto her clenched hands. “I–I miss you.”

  Silence.

  The rustle of leaves.

  Nothing more.

  Lora realized that there wasn’t anything else to say.

  Her shoulders straightened as she headed back to the vehicle. Ramirez watched her through his window.

  “No questions.” She climbed in beside him.

  His fingers drummed on the dashboard.

  Lora cranked the engine and shot the car into reverse.

  “Once upon a ti
me…” His voice came, without inflection, easy as you please. “The woman I loved went into a bank. When she came out, a man had a knife at her throat.”

  She slammed on the brakes and stared at him.

  He didn’t look at her.

  “He’d robbed the bank, but I bet you figured that.” His fingers drummed again. “I was the sniper. They—they put me on the roof, with orders to take him out. I looked through my scope, I saw her, and I hesitated.”

  “Jon…”

  “I could have taken the shot and blown the asshole’s brains right out, but I wasn’t expecting her.” There was still no inflection in his voice. “I hesitated, and he slit her throat. Her mouth was open, I saw her lips move—she said my name. The last thing she ever said was my name.”

  Lora sucked in a breath. “What did you do?”

  “I put a bullet between his eyes.” His fingers stopped drumming. “I took that fucking shot.” He turned his head and his eyes met hers. “But she was still dead.” A long sigh eased from him. “We can put a damn gun to our heads and pull the trigger and get in that grave with them, if that’s what we really want.”

  She’d never wanted that.

  “Or we can keep living. We can try to find something worth living for.”

  “What do you live for?” she asked him, almost afraid to find out.

  But he just smiled, a sad, twisted smile, and she knew there’d be no answer to that question.

  “You were living for revenge, weren’t you, Spade?” he tossed out instead. “But that doesn’t keep you warm at night, does it?”

  “I don’t want to crawl into the grave.” The cemetery waited in front of her. “But I just… I don’t want that pain again.”

  “Ah, babe, don’t you get it? There’s always pain. That’s how you know you’re living.”

  Maybe. But why did living have to hurt? “I’m not scared of fire. I’m not scared of putting my life on the line.” She did it every day, yet in the quiet of the car, she found that she could be brutally honest with this stranger as she said, “But I’m scared to death of Kenton.”

  Silence. Then he asked, “Are you really scared of him, or of yourself?”

  I’m scared of the way I feel. She was losing control. Getting in too deep. Caring too much.

  What if he just walked away? When the case was over, would he just go back to his job in D.C. and leave her behind?

  I’m scared of myself.

  Lora checked the road. She didn’t speak but she did start driving.

  Monica waited until Kenton had left the Interrogation room before she crept closer to Sam. “Are you all right?”

  Sam gave a quick nod. “Fine.”

  No, the woman was really far from fine. “You don’t have to be here. We can work this case without you. We have enough manpower.”

  “It’s my job.” Intensity filled her words. “I can do my job. I will do my job.”

  Monica wished Hyde had talked to her about this first. No way was Sam ready to be back in the field.

  Sam inched away. “If you’re worried about me messing up—”

  “I’m not.” Breaking, splintering beyond repair, that was more of a worry.

  “Don’t be,” Sam said, rolling right over the words, her voice trembling. “I made a mistake before, but it won’t happen again.”

  A mistake? “You didn’t make a mistake, Sam. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I won’t lower my guard.” Sam’s arm brushed back, revealing the butt of her weapon. “I’ll do my job.”

  It was more than just the job. “If you want to talk—”

  Sam headed for the door. “I don’t.”

  Monica stared after her. Way too soon. Couldn’t Hyde see? Sam was falling apart on the inside. She didn’t need the job right now. She needed to heal.

  Luke filled the doorway. His green eyes locked on hers and heated. He stepped inside the room, but he left the door open as he walked toward her.

  “I—I’m worried about Sam.” She kept her voice low.

  He gave a nod. “Me, too. That’s why I tagged along.” His hand lifted and skimmed lightly down her arm. “One of the reasons.”

  An innocent touch. If someone at the station saw it, it could be explained or ignored.

  But her blood heated and her breath caught, because there was nothing innocent between them, and there never had been.

  “I’m not working this case. I’m not on duty at all,” he told her, and she knew it was because Hyde had rules for them. She and Luke couldn’t be partners, not in the field.

  Away from the field, there was no one else she wanted.

  “I’ve missed you, baby.” His hand rose to her cheek and brushed back her hair.

  She’d missed him.

  His head dipped toward hers.

  Voices rose from the hallway.

  She wanted to rise onto her toes and press her lips against his. Right then, there was nothing Monica wanted more.

  But eyes and ears were everywhere.

  “Tonight,” she promised him as she put her hand on his chest.

  He gave the slightest of nods. “Tonight, you’re mine.”

  And he’d be hers.

  • • •

  Seth MacIntyre shoved open the front door of the station. He glanced around quickly and then his gaze zeroed in on Kenton.

  Kenton’s brows climbed as the arson investigator hurried toward him.

  “Who’s that?” Sam asked, her voice quiet.

  “Arson investigator.” He’d been waiting for Seth to come with his report. “Tell me you’ve got something on that fire.”

  But Seth shook his head. “Not damn much. The guy is good.”

  They had to be better.

  Seth handed Kenton a file. Seth’s long-sleeved shirt was wrinkled and stained with some dark soot. His hair stood up at odd angles, and his eyes were bloodshot. Yeah, it definitely looked like the guy had pulled an all-nighter at the scene. The scent of smoke clung to him as Seth said, “He used gasoline as the accelerant this time.”

  So Lora had already told him.

  “But I don’t—” Seth broke off, looking at Sam. “Uh, is it okay to talk with—”

  “This is Special Agent Samantha Kennedy,” Kenton said with a nod toward her. “From now on, she hears everything about the case. And, Sam, you’re looking at Seth MacIntyre, county arson investigator.”

  Seth inclined his head toward her as he cleared his throat. “I just… the way this fire was set… I don’t think the guy was going for a kill.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “This perp knows his fire, knows which accelerants to use, knows how to set the scene for optimum heat burst and explosion. If he’d wanted to burn Lora’s house, he could have poured the gasoline to connect with her gas system or hooked it to spark with the electric line.”

  “But he didn’t.” The fire had been circling her house.

  “He made a path with the accelerant. One that would burn tight, but not explode.”

  Lora had thought that the guy was just playing with her, and Seth was just confirming her theory. One deadly game.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have more.” Seth’s shoulders dropped. “No sign of an incendiary device. I’d hoped like hell to find more at the scene.” His lips tightened.

  Kenton had been hoping for a lot more, too.

  “But—but one of the guys from my team said he read in the paper that you’ve got a witness, right?” Excitement flickered in Seth’s gaze. “Did someone come forward who saw him at one of the scenes? Tell me you’re about to take this bastard down.”

  Not quite. “We’re following up on a few leads right now,” Kenton allowed carefully. “We’ve found a connection between the victims.” Kenton figured he could say that much. Now, where was Peter Malone? He needed to talk to the detective ASAP. An officer was supposed to be checking on him, but damn, how long did it take to find one cop?

  “A connection?” Seth’s gaze darted between him and Sam. “What kind of co
nnection? I never saw a link. I looked through the victims’ files—”

  “This link was a bit harder to find.” But not impossible to discover. At least, not if you knew how to slide into prison files and arrest records on a cyber trail.

  And, in the case of Jennifer Langley, not if you could find someone willing to talk about some dark deeds.

  “Is Lora connected to them?” Seth ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe he went after one of our own!”

  “He’s been going after firefighters for a while.” One of our own. The phrase stuck in his head. “Seth, what did you do before you became the arson investigator?”

  He straightened a bit. “I was a firefighter at the station on Bringham.”

  “With Lora?”

  A ghost of a smile lifted his lips. “Uh, yeah. I worked there until I transferred to arson.”

  Of course the guy had been a firefighter, but he hadn’t thought the man had worked with Garrison’s current crew. “Why’d you leave?”

  The smile faded away. “I couldn’t do the job anymore.” Seth’s gaze fell, and so did Kenton’s.

  The limp. Shit. Right.

  “You were injured on the job?” The soft question was Sam’s.

  Seth exhaled, hard, and the fingers of his right hand went to his long shirt sleeve. He rolled up the material with quick movements of his hand. “You could say that.”

  The flesh was smooth, tanned at first. Then…

  Rough. Red. Twisted and raised.

  He rolled up the other sleeve. That arm was scarred the same way. Christ.

  “Got caught in a building collapse. My leg was pinned, broken, the bone breaking out of the skin.” Seth shrugged his shoulders. “My arms really aren’t so bad. My back… it’s much worse.”

  “How’d you get out?” Sam asked. She’d barely escaped death herself. Actually, she hadn’t escaped. For a few precious seconds, death had held her in his grasp.

  Seth swallowed and looked away. He began to tug his left sleeve down, in hard, angry moves. “Carter Creed hauled me out. He found me and pulled me out of there when I figured I was as good as dead. I was screaming and choking on smoke and flames.”

  Kenton glanced at Sam and saw her lips tremble.