Deadly Heat
Page 10
Max’s brows rose. “Uh, okay.” Surprise flashed over the hard lines and angles of his face.
Then Kenton pushed her in the office to the right. He slammed the door behind them, and she forgot about Max.
“You’ve still got blood on you.”
Ah, yeah, so she wasn’t pristine. “No time to change.” The guy might carry spare suits around with him, but she didn’t. “Not like I could—”
He kissed her. Drove those sexy lips right on hers and plunged his tongue deep.
Well damn.
Her fingers rose and clamped around his shoulders. Because she was tall, they stood almost chest to chest. Almost. Lora rose on her toes, held him tighter, and felt the heat from the hard ridge of his c*ck press against her.
Wow. No pity there. Need. Lust. Passion.
Pleasure.
Give me what I need. He could. She knew it. Lora sucked his tongue, pressed harder against him, and heard the growl in his throat. He liked that. Then he’d sure love everything else she’d do to him.
His hands locked on her ass. Curled and pulled her against the swell of his cock.
No mistaking that arousal.
Or her own. Because Lora knew her panties were getting wet. A dozen cops within shouting distance, and she wanted sex. Right now.
His tongue swiped against hers, and her ni**les pebbled.
Right now.
Her fingers dug into his upper arms, urging him closer. Needing more.
His mouth tore from hers.
Dammit, she’d been enjoying—
His lips pressed against her neck. Right under her ear. Her weak spot. Oh, Christ.
She trembled, and her sex creamed. Definitely wet panties.
Her nails bit harder into him. “Kent…” So not the right place. She could hear everyone outside, voices rising and falling, phones ringing. “Not… now.”
He tensed against her. His breath feathered over her neck, and a chill skated down her body.
Sex with him would be phenomenal. No doubt.
She’d scream. She’d come. She’d forget.
Is that what I want? Is he?
His head rose, and those gunmetal eyes met hers. She could see the lust on his face. Hard need.
Take him.
Didn’t she deserve something, someone for herself? Pleasure… just a few hours.
He wouldn’t be there forever.
He wouldn’t know her past.
He’d take her, she’d take him, and to hell with what others thought.
So very tempting.
“M-my house…” Did she just whisper that?
Yes.
His eyes widened, and the raw lust on his face had an ache shooting through her.
Her hands feathered over his chest. She rose, licked his lower lip, and heard the hitch of his breath. “I’m not into displays, so I’m not screwing here.” She sounded cocky. Confident. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that her knees were shaking. “Just me and you, Kent. My place. Tonight, when everything’s—”
A hard rap on the door. She glanced over and saw the blinds shaking beneath that pounding. What?
Kenton’s fingers clenched around her. “Someone has piss-poor timing.”
Right. Blame them. “Um, can you let go of my ass?” Her stare turned back to him.
His eyes narrowed, and his fingers pressed harder, but after a moment, he dropped his hands and stepped back. “For now.”
Ah, promises.
Kenton’s gaze dropped to her lips. “Have I told you that you taste like sin?”
Her knees shook harder. Another knock rattled the door.
“Come in!” Kenton barked.
The door shoved open, and a uniform stuck his head in. That same red-faced guy who’d asked the question in the briefing. “We got a call!” The man’s voice broke with excitement. “Agent Davenport wants you, now, says it’s him!”
Lora shook her head. No, the cop couldn’t mean—
“Fuck me.” Kenton ran out of the room.
Him.
Lora knocked the cop back when she torpedoed through the door.
The silence hit her first. No more rumbles of voices. No more whispers. All the cops in the bullpen stood at attention—and that attention, it was all on Agent Davenport. She stood near the front of the room, arms crossed, staring at the phone on the desk near her hip.
“I’m Phoenix.” A high, whispering voice.
A voice that filled every inch of the room.
Distorted, just like before, on the 911 tapes. Metallic, robotic, but whispering.
“Just called,” a cop whispered behind her. Some young guy with bright red hair and muddy brown eyes. “He called John at the front desk, asked to talk to the FBI bastards.”
Her brows rose. “Uh, what?”
“FBI bastards.” His face had flushed almost enough to match his hair. “He knew they were here.”
And that wasn’t good. Not good at all.
“I burn and I rise and the weak die.”
Peter stood beside Davenport. “Tracing,” he mouthed the word.
He’d called the station. Ballsy. She hadn’t expected that.
“And how do you decide who the weak are?” Davenport asked, inching closer to the phone. Static crackled over the speaker. “How do you pick who burns?”
“The fire burns. She kills. She judges the wicked.”
Lora’s heart shoved into her ribs. That voice… a whisper.
Makes him real. Not shadows and ash anymore. A real perp. A killer.
“No.” Davenport’s voice snapped out. “You judge. You trap the victims. You start the fire.”
“The heroes arrive too late. Can’t beat the flames. Can’t beat me.”
“You’re setting up a game—”
“I’m Phoenix. I burn and I rise and the weak die.” Laughter, hoarse and grating. “Time’s up, bitch.”
The sound of a dial tone filled the room.
Lora sucked in a hard breath. She looked up and found Davenport’s eyes locked tight on her. And over the agent’s shoulder, Carter’s image smiled at her.
“I guess the perp decided to come out of the closet.” Kenton led the way into the small office they’d been assigned and threw himself into the chair behind the desk. Wheels squeaked, and cheap leather groaned. “Hell, did you see those guys?” he asked Monica. “They aren’t gonna keep this quiet. Ten-to-one odds say at least two of them are running to the nearest news station right now.”
Monica closed the door. Her face was tense as she said, “Then I guess we’d better run faster.”
He stared at her, and, after a moment, a slow smile lifted his lips. He always got to handle the press. Sometimes he rather enjoyed that part of the job. Other times, not so much.
“He called because he wants attention,” Monica said, and he knew she was right. “The fires started small. The crimes not as obvious. But he just got bigger and bigger.”
Kenton rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that knotted his muscles. “He kept killing because he got hooked on the thrill.” And now the bastard wanted the world to know just what he was doing.
Monica walked toward the small window. “He wants everyone to know he has the control. It’s his game. He’s calling the shots. Calling us. He knew we were investigating, getting the teams ready. It would fit with his need for control.” She glanced back at him.
Kenton rose and straightened his clothes. “Then I guess it’s time I went out there and snatched that perp’s control away.” He’d slant the coverage before the press had a chance to splash their version of Phoenix’s story on all the TV stations and newspapers in the area.
“He’s not going to like this,” Monica warned. “He’ll see you as a threat.”
Kenton smiled. “Good.” That was exactly what he wanted. If Phoenix wanted to target someone, he could target Kenton. “We’re not gonna be dancing on his damn puppet strings.”
Monica’s lips curled. “No, we’re not.”
Lora flipped on the TV. When the black screen vanished and Tom Myers, always-perfect newsman for Channel Five, popped on the screen, she tossed the remote and tugged the towel from her head. She’d rushed through her shower, wanting to hurry in case—
“Tonight, we’re bringing you a very special, exclusive live report from our Channel Five studio.” Tom’s handsome, if bland face filled her screen. His deep green eyes were boiling with intensity. “Rumors have been flying around the city about a so-called Phoenix serial arsonist.”
The news already had the story? What? Had the cops run to the station? Not the firefighters, not her team, they wouldn’t have—
“I’m here with Special Agent Kenton Lake of the FBI. Agent Lake is a member of the elite Serial Services Division, and he’s here to tell us exactly what nightmare our city faces.”
The towel fell to the floor.
The camera panned back, and there he was. Sitting at the news desk with good old Tom. That still-perfect suit hugging his chest. His hair in place. A grim smile curling his lips.
“Agent Lake…” Tom turned to face him, giving his trademark profile shot. Figured. The guy was always flashing his best side. “Tell us, should the city be afraid? Are we in the sights of a calculating killer?”
Christ. Did the guy want to give old women heart attacks? Or just drive his ratings numbers up his own ass?
Kenton’s smile eased away. “Not a calculating killer, Tom. There’s an arsonist in the city, true. But he’s a sick individual, one whose fascination with fire has caused him to lose all touch with reality.”
Uh-oh.
“This man suffers from severe psychological problems. He’s not a criminal mastermind—no genius killer. He’s a guy who needs psychiatric help, and when we catch him—”
Lora’s knees gave way, and her butt hit the couch.
Kenton’s smile flashed again. “We’ll make sure that he’s given the opportunity to get counseling and medication in prison.”
The guy had just waved a red flag right in the bull’s face.
• • •
“Fucking bastard!” He picked up the television and slammed it into the wall. “You are f**king dead!” He’d been so careful with his phone call. Staging the scene so well…
Now this a**hole was in his face. Blasting his lies to the world.
Lake didn’t know what he’d done. That dick thought that he could lie about him? Take the spotlight? Get his face plastered all over the TV while the guy laughed at him?
Lake wouldn’t laugh when the flames came for him.
No, he wouldn’t laugh then.
But he might beg.
And then he’d burn.
Bastard.
“Cut! That’s a wrap, people.”
Kenton yanked the microphone off his lapel.
“Good job, Lake.” Monica emerged from the shadows. She hadn’t come on-camera during the shoot. The woman liked to leave the dirty work to him.
He grunted and pushed out of the chair, glad the camera was off. “Think our boy caught the show?”
“Oh, I’d count on it.”
The holster at Kenton’s side was a light weight against him. One he’d be keeping real close for the next few days. Until he had the pyro locked up. “So I guess I got his attention.”
Her gaze was steady. “You understand that you just made yourself a target?”
“No, I made myself the target. And that was our plan, right?” They stalked away from the set. “We wanted to piss him off, and I’d say we did.”
Monica smoothed back her hair. Not that it needed smoothing. “I’d say you did. You’re the one he saw. The one he’ll come after.”
But that had been their goal. To rile the perp and to throw him off his game. The rage would make him weak. Fury caused killers to get sloppy. “When he comes…” Not if, when. “I’ll be ready.”
“I know you will be.” Monica’s lips tightened at the corners. “Just—watch your back, okay?”
A warning Kenton didn’t need. “Always.”
Monica watched Kenton drive away. He wasn’t heading back to the hotel, and it didn’t take magical profiling skills to figure that one out. She’d seen the way that his eyes kept darting to the female firefighter. The one with blood on her cheek and fury in her eyes.
A whole lot of heat came from that one. Heat that seemed to be drawing Kenton right in.
And she hadn’t missed the red, swollen lips the woman had, either. No way those two had been discussing the case when they ran out of the office at the station.
“What do you want me to do?” The man’s voice came from the shadows. She didn’t jump, didn’t flinch. She’d known he was there.
Not many would have known, but she’d gotten pretty good at spotting Special Agent Jon Ramirez, ex-sniper and all-around spook. The guy could get into and out of almost any place without being seen.
He was also one hell of a tracker.
Monica glanced at her watch. “Wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”
A gruff laugh. “I like to keep you guessing, Davenport.”
And he did. Of all the agents she worked with, Monica had the least success in figuring out Ramirez. The guy laughed at death, hunted killers with a single-minded fury, and kept his emotions as closed as, well—
As I did.
Until Luke had come along and blown her control.
“Kenton didn’t realize you’d arrived.” He’d been too busy staring into the camera, delivering their message right to the killer.
Come on, let’s play.
She just hoped this game didn’t backfire on them. Monica knew it was dangerous. When you tried to manipulate a killer, the world could explode. Or, in this case, burn around you.
Then Kenton pushed her in the office to the right. He slammed the door behind them, and she forgot about Max.
“You’ve still got blood on you.”
Ah, yeah, so she wasn’t pristine. “No time to change.” The guy might carry spare suits around with him, but she didn’t. “Not like I could—”
He kissed her. Drove those sexy lips right on hers and plunged his tongue deep.
Well damn.
Her fingers rose and clamped around his shoulders. Because she was tall, they stood almost chest to chest. Almost. Lora rose on her toes, held him tighter, and felt the heat from the hard ridge of his c*ck press against her.
Wow. No pity there. Need. Lust. Passion.
Pleasure.
Give me what I need. He could. She knew it. Lora sucked his tongue, pressed harder against him, and heard the growl in his throat. He liked that. Then he’d sure love everything else she’d do to him.
His hands locked on her ass. Curled and pulled her against the swell of his cock.
No mistaking that arousal.
Or her own. Because Lora knew her panties were getting wet. A dozen cops within shouting distance, and she wanted sex. Right now.
His tongue swiped against hers, and her ni**les pebbled.
Right now.
Her fingers dug into his upper arms, urging him closer. Needing more.
His mouth tore from hers.
Dammit, she’d been enjoying—
His lips pressed against her neck. Right under her ear. Her weak spot. Oh, Christ.
She trembled, and her sex creamed. Definitely wet panties.
Her nails bit harder into him. “Kent…” So not the right place. She could hear everyone outside, voices rising and falling, phones ringing. “Not… now.”
He tensed against her. His breath feathered over her neck, and a chill skated down her body.
Sex with him would be phenomenal. No doubt.
She’d scream. She’d come. She’d forget.
Is that what I want? Is he?
His head rose, and those gunmetal eyes met hers. She could see the lust on his face. Hard need.
Take him.
Didn’t she deserve something, someone for herself? Pleasure… just a few hours.
He wouldn’t be there forever.
He wouldn’t know her past.
He’d take her, she’d take him, and to hell with what others thought.
So very tempting.
“M-my house…” Did she just whisper that?
Yes.
His eyes widened, and the raw lust on his face had an ache shooting through her.
Her hands feathered over his chest. She rose, licked his lower lip, and heard the hitch of his breath. “I’m not into displays, so I’m not screwing here.” She sounded cocky. Confident. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that her knees were shaking. “Just me and you, Kent. My place. Tonight, when everything’s—”
A hard rap on the door. She glanced over and saw the blinds shaking beneath that pounding. What?
Kenton’s fingers clenched around her. “Someone has piss-poor timing.”
Right. Blame them. “Um, can you let go of my ass?” Her stare turned back to him.
His eyes narrowed, and his fingers pressed harder, but after a moment, he dropped his hands and stepped back. “For now.”
Ah, promises.
Kenton’s gaze dropped to her lips. “Have I told you that you taste like sin?”
Her knees shook harder. Another knock rattled the door.
“Come in!” Kenton barked.
The door shoved open, and a uniform stuck his head in. That same red-faced guy who’d asked the question in the briefing. “We got a call!” The man’s voice broke with excitement. “Agent Davenport wants you, now, says it’s him!”
Lora shook her head. No, the cop couldn’t mean—
“Fuck me.” Kenton ran out of the room.
Him.
Lora knocked the cop back when she torpedoed through the door.
The silence hit her first. No more rumbles of voices. No more whispers. All the cops in the bullpen stood at attention—and that attention, it was all on Agent Davenport. She stood near the front of the room, arms crossed, staring at the phone on the desk near her hip.
“I’m Phoenix.” A high, whispering voice.
A voice that filled every inch of the room.
Distorted, just like before, on the 911 tapes. Metallic, robotic, but whispering.
“Just called,” a cop whispered behind her. Some young guy with bright red hair and muddy brown eyes. “He called John at the front desk, asked to talk to the FBI bastards.”
Her brows rose. “Uh, what?”
“FBI bastards.” His face had flushed almost enough to match his hair. “He knew they were here.”
And that wasn’t good. Not good at all.
“I burn and I rise and the weak die.”
Peter stood beside Davenport. “Tracing,” he mouthed the word.
He’d called the station. Ballsy. She hadn’t expected that.
“And how do you decide who the weak are?” Davenport asked, inching closer to the phone. Static crackled over the speaker. “How do you pick who burns?”
“The fire burns. She kills. She judges the wicked.”
Lora’s heart shoved into her ribs. That voice… a whisper.
Makes him real. Not shadows and ash anymore. A real perp. A killer.
“No.” Davenport’s voice snapped out. “You judge. You trap the victims. You start the fire.”
“The heroes arrive too late. Can’t beat the flames. Can’t beat me.”
“You’re setting up a game—”
“I’m Phoenix. I burn and I rise and the weak die.” Laughter, hoarse and grating. “Time’s up, bitch.”
The sound of a dial tone filled the room.
Lora sucked in a hard breath. She looked up and found Davenport’s eyes locked tight on her. And over the agent’s shoulder, Carter’s image smiled at her.
“I guess the perp decided to come out of the closet.” Kenton led the way into the small office they’d been assigned and threw himself into the chair behind the desk. Wheels squeaked, and cheap leather groaned. “Hell, did you see those guys?” he asked Monica. “They aren’t gonna keep this quiet. Ten-to-one odds say at least two of them are running to the nearest news station right now.”
Monica closed the door. Her face was tense as she said, “Then I guess we’d better run faster.”
He stared at her, and, after a moment, a slow smile lifted his lips. He always got to handle the press. Sometimes he rather enjoyed that part of the job. Other times, not so much.
“He called because he wants attention,” Monica said, and he knew she was right. “The fires started small. The crimes not as obvious. But he just got bigger and bigger.”
Kenton rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that knotted his muscles. “He kept killing because he got hooked on the thrill.” And now the bastard wanted the world to know just what he was doing.
Monica walked toward the small window. “He wants everyone to know he has the control. It’s his game. He’s calling the shots. Calling us. He knew we were investigating, getting the teams ready. It would fit with his need for control.” She glanced back at him.
Kenton rose and straightened his clothes. “Then I guess it’s time I went out there and snatched that perp’s control away.” He’d slant the coverage before the press had a chance to splash their version of Phoenix’s story on all the TV stations and newspapers in the area.
“He’s not going to like this,” Monica warned. “He’ll see you as a threat.”
Kenton smiled. “Good.” That was exactly what he wanted. If Phoenix wanted to target someone, he could target Kenton. “We’re not gonna be dancing on his damn puppet strings.”
Monica’s lips curled. “No, we’re not.”
Lora flipped on the TV. When the black screen vanished and Tom Myers, always-perfect newsman for Channel Five, popped on the screen, she tossed the remote and tugged the towel from her head. She’d rushed through her shower, wanting to hurry in case—
“Tonight, we’re bringing you a very special, exclusive live report from our Channel Five studio.” Tom’s handsome, if bland face filled her screen. His deep green eyes were boiling with intensity. “Rumors have been flying around the city about a so-called Phoenix serial arsonist.”
The news already had the story? What? Had the cops run to the station? Not the firefighters, not her team, they wouldn’t have—
“I’m here with Special Agent Kenton Lake of the FBI. Agent Lake is a member of the elite Serial Services Division, and he’s here to tell us exactly what nightmare our city faces.”
The towel fell to the floor.
The camera panned back, and there he was. Sitting at the news desk with good old Tom. That still-perfect suit hugging his chest. His hair in place. A grim smile curling his lips.
“Agent Lake…” Tom turned to face him, giving his trademark profile shot. Figured. The guy was always flashing his best side. “Tell us, should the city be afraid? Are we in the sights of a calculating killer?”
Christ. Did the guy want to give old women heart attacks? Or just drive his ratings numbers up his own ass?
Kenton’s smile eased away. “Not a calculating killer, Tom. There’s an arsonist in the city, true. But he’s a sick individual, one whose fascination with fire has caused him to lose all touch with reality.”
Uh-oh.
“This man suffers from severe psychological problems. He’s not a criminal mastermind—no genius killer. He’s a guy who needs psychiatric help, and when we catch him—”
Lora’s knees gave way, and her butt hit the couch.
Kenton’s smile flashed again. “We’ll make sure that he’s given the opportunity to get counseling and medication in prison.”
The guy had just waved a red flag right in the bull’s face.
• • •
“Fucking bastard!” He picked up the television and slammed it into the wall. “You are f**king dead!” He’d been so careful with his phone call. Staging the scene so well…
Now this a**hole was in his face. Blasting his lies to the world.
Lake didn’t know what he’d done. That dick thought that he could lie about him? Take the spotlight? Get his face plastered all over the TV while the guy laughed at him?
Lake wouldn’t laugh when the flames came for him.
No, he wouldn’t laugh then.
But he might beg.
And then he’d burn.
Bastard.
“Cut! That’s a wrap, people.”
Kenton yanked the microphone off his lapel.
“Good job, Lake.” Monica emerged from the shadows. She hadn’t come on-camera during the shoot. The woman liked to leave the dirty work to him.
He grunted and pushed out of the chair, glad the camera was off. “Think our boy caught the show?”
“Oh, I’d count on it.”
The holster at Kenton’s side was a light weight against him. One he’d be keeping real close for the next few days. Until he had the pyro locked up. “So I guess I got his attention.”
Her gaze was steady. “You understand that you just made yourself a target?”
“No, I made myself the target. And that was our plan, right?” They stalked away from the set. “We wanted to piss him off, and I’d say we did.”
Monica smoothed back her hair. Not that it needed smoothing. “I’d say you did. You’re the one he saw. The one he’ll come after.”
But that had been their goal. To rile the perp and to throw him off his game. The rage would make him weak. Fury caused killers to get sloppy. “When he comes…” Not if, when. “I’ll be ready.”
“I know you will be.” Monica’s lips tightened at the corners. “Just—watch your back, okay?”
A warning Kenton didn’t need. “Always.”
Monica watched Kenton drive away. He wasn’t heading back to the hotel, and it didn’t take magical profiling skills to figure that one out. She’d seen the way that his eyes kept darting to the female firefighter. The one with blood on her cheek and fury in her eyes.
A whole lot of heat came from that one. Heat that seemed to be drawing Kenton right in.
And she hadn’t missed the red, swollen lips the woman had, either. No way those two had been discussing the case when they ran out of the office at the station.
“What do you want me to do?” The man’s voice came from the shadows. She didn’t jump, didn’t flinch. She’d known he was there.
Not many would have known, but she’d gotten pretty good at spotting Special Agent Jon Ramirez, ex-sniper and all-around spook. The guy could get into and out of almost any place without being seen.
He was also one hell of a tracker.
Monica glanced at her watch. “Wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”
A gruff laugh. “I like to keep you guessing, Davenport.”
And he did. Of all the agents she worked with, Monica had the least success in figuring out Ramirez. The guy laughed at death, hunted killers with a single-minded fury, and kept his emotions as closed as, well—
As I did.
Until Luke had come along and blown her control.
“Kenton didn’t realize you’d arrived.” He’d been too busy staring into the camera, delivering their message right to the killer.
Come on, let’s play.
She just hoped this game didn’t backfire on them. Monica knew it was dangerous. When you tried to manipulate a killer, the world could explode. Or, in this case, burn around you.
