Deadly Heat

Page 23

The plan had been to hunt him. To stop him.
But he was watching her? Hunting her and Kenton? Hell, no.
“Do you have family you want to stay with?” Monica asked, her voice breaking the silence.
Lora’s brows rose. “You think this guy is coming for me?” Let him. She’d love to get that bastard in her sights.
Monica gave a small shrug. “He’s brought you into his game, addressed you specifically. If you wish to change your location, no one would—”
“I’m not running from him.” She wouldn’t run when she’d been spending so much time searching for this guy.
Yeah, she had plenty of family. Family who’d love to take her in. Any of her brothers—
Oh, damn, but when her brothers found out about this…
She wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without them. They’d want to be with her every minute.
No, no, she couldn’t tell them. They could not find out. Because there was no way that she’d put them at risk. Ryan especially.
She shook her head. “My family is staying out of this.” She really wasn’t the running and hiding type. Besides, she had her dad’s gun. Ryan had given it to her three years ago. She’d be keeping Old Faithful close, too.
Rage burned through Lora. “He’s the one that should be hunted. He’s the one that needs to be put down.”
Not arrested. Not given therapy. Taken out.
Like he’d taken out his victims.
“Do you believe in an eye for an eye, Lora?” Monica asked.
“Yeah, I do.” When it came to the ones she loved—you hurt them, you paid.
“Why do you think he’s focusing on you?” Monica asked as she cocked her head.
“Because he’s a sick freak with nothing better to do?” Because we both know the fire. We know how she feels. Not like a lover but like the devil, biting you, licking you with a tongue that burned your flesh away.
“He knows about you and Kenton,” Monica said.
Lora’s hand trembled as she shoved back her hair. “I picked up on that.” Which explained why Ramirez had been hiding in her bushes. Following Kenton, because he had been the bait. Now it looked as if she’d gotten added to the menu.
She wiped her sweaty hands on the front of her jeans. “You think Kent and Ramirez will find him?”
Monica glanced back at the cops, then her stare darted to the station manager, who was trying to act like he wasn’t listening to every word they said. After a moment, she shook her head. “He was gone the second the call ended, but maybe, just maybe, he left something behind. Something we can use.” Her lips curved, the faintest bit, as her bright eyes turned back to Lora. “All it takes is one mistake, and we’ve got him.”
Just one.
A team searched the railyard. Cops swarmed, running with flashlights, their weapons drawn. They searched every abandoned car and every shed. The cops shoved their lights into every shadow.
They found the phone smashed into pieces on the ground. Kenton tagged and bagged every part and hoped they’d get lucky with some prints, but his gut told him their guy hadn’t been so careless.
But you never knew…
He turned around and stared at the long line of old railway cars.
Phoenix had come here so no one would see him. Away from the city. Away from the lights.
He’d picked the perfect place. The guy knew the city so well.
“Lake! We got something!” Jon’s voice boomed in the night.
Kenton whirled around and took off running, the thudding of his heart filling his ears. He jumped over the tracks and shot around an old engine.
Jon stood with two uniforms. Another man was between them, older, with his head bent. The scent of alcohol hung in the air all around him.
“Not something,” Jon said, softer now. “Someone.”
The guy’s head lifted. Kenton shone his flashlight on him and the man winced, rocking back. He wore oversized clothes that hung on this too-thin body. His shoes—one was a tennis shoe, the other a boot—shuffled on the ground.
“This is Bob.” Jon had a hand clenched in the guy’s jacket. “Bob lives here.”
“My h-home!” Bob took a few stumbling steps forward, and Kenton realized Jon was holding his jacket to stop the guy from getting away. “Why’s so many… comin’ in my h-home?”
Kenton’s eyes met Jon’s. One mistake. That was Hyde’s mantra, a mantra he’d taught to them all. “Bob, was there another man here tonight?”
Bob’s head rolled a bit. Kenton dropped the light so it didn’t shine right into Bob’s bloodshot eyes.
“L-lot of ’em…” His hands made big circles. “All over.” His right hand slapped into Jon’s chest. “One… h-here…”
“Before we came.” Kenton kept his voice low and steady. “Was there another man here? Did you see anyone here tonight before the police arrived?”
Silence.
Kenton’s back teeth ground together. Christ. The guy was barely on his feet. If Jon hadn’t been holding him, he’d probably be on the ground, right next to the brown bag that he must have dropped.
“Y-yeah… seen ’im.” Bob grinned, showing a missing front tooth, and started singing. “Take me out to the ballgame… take me out…”
Fuck. Kenton exhaled on a rough sigh.
So much for a mistake.
Kenton turned away, then stopped. A memory tugged at him. He glanced over his shoulder. “Bob, why are you singing that song?”
“’Cause he’s f**kin’ crazy,” one of the cops whispered.
Bob’s grin vanished. “I-I wanted that h-hat.” Angry.
Kenton’s heart slammed hard into his ribs. “What hat?”
Bob’s shaking hand rose and touched his head. “Saw it… when he walked under… the light.” His bony fingers pointed to the lone light on the right side of the station. The only light not busted out or broken. “Take me out with the crowd…”
Kenton walked closer to him. “You saw a man under that light? Is that what you’re saying? A man wearing a hat?” Come on, come on…
“I p-played once… was a p-pitcher.” He shot his arm out as if he were tossing a ball.
A baseball cap. It could be a damn coincidence.
Larry Powell had described a man in a baseball cap. He’d seen him fleeing the fire that killed Jerome.
“Bob, was anything on the hat? Bob, Bob?” Kenton caught his shirtfront when Bob slipped. “What was on the hat?”
Bob just blinked.
“What was the guy wearing? What were his clothes like? What was—”
“Nice ph-phone…” Bob’s lips turned down. “Broke it, though. Broke a g-good phone…”
“Our guy,” Jon whispered.
Yeah, their guy all right. And they had a witness.
“P-pretty truck, too…” Another smile from Bob. “I like trucks.”
Kenton’s gaze met Jon’s.
“Hot damn,” Jon muttered. “Hot damn.”
“Get him sober. Get him in a room for an interview, and let’s get this bastard.”
Lora glanced out of her bedroom window and saw the patrol car circling her block. Great. Well, considering that phone call, she wasn’t surprised that the FBI had ordered an extra patrol to cruise through her neighborhood.
The phone rang, and the shrill cry made her jump. “Dammit.” She turned away from the window and grabbed the phone. “Hello.”
Do you like the fire, Lora? That whisper rolled through her head again, and she tensed.
“Lora? It’s Kenton.”
Like she’d ever mistake that voice.
Lora’s breath eased out in a soft sigh that she knew he’d hear. “Did you find him?” Monica had said there was no chance, but she still had to ask. And hope.
“No.” Voices rose behind him. “But we got a witness.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right there… Ah, Lora, I got to go, we’re bringing him in now…”
A witness. “Wait! Wh-what does Phoenix look like? What is he—”
“Don’t know yet. We’re getting the guy into Interrogation. We’ll see what Monica can do.” More voices and the ring of phones in the background. “I wanted to check on you.” His voice was gruff, hesitant.
She glanced back toward the window. The patrol car was at the end of the street. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Just get the bastard, okay? Find out who we’re looking for and let’s plaster his face all over this town.” Nowhere to run, a**hole.
“Okay. But your doors are locked, right? You’re good?”
Aw, the guy was worried about her. “The doors are locked.”
“If you need me—”
“You’ll be in Interrogation.” She understood his priorities and knew he’d be busy.
“Fuck it. If you need me, call me.”
Lora blinked. “I–I will. And… you stay safe, too, got me, GQ? This guy wants you, so don’t drop your guard for a minute.”
“I won’t.”
More voices, calling his name.
“Night, Lora.”
“Good night, Kent.”
The phone clicked. Her fingers tightened around the handset, and she tried real hard not to think of the monsters in the world.
She hung up the phone and opened her nightstand drawer. The gun was there. She’d put it in the drawer less than thirty minutes before.
Revenge. She’d thought of it for so long. But when it came right down to it, would she be able to take a life?
Carter’s face flashed before her. Not the perfect, grinning face she’d loved but the face after the fire.
Her fingers picked up the cold metal.
He watched the cop car circle around the block. That guy was really taking his time.
Was he supposed to be scared because some guy with a badge was driving down the street? Was that supposed to scare him off?
When were they going to realize that nothing scared him? He was the one people feared.
Her light was still on. He’d even glimpsed her, standing at her window, leaning forward, and peering down to watch the cop.
All alone tonight. Her lover was gone.
Lora was alone and—
Looking for me.
Looking in the wrong place.
He glanced down at his watch. He’d have to monitor the cop. A couple of drive-arounds, just to make sure that he had the timing down right.
And he had to give Lora a chance to sleep. Not like he could go in when she was awake and aware. No, that would never work. Lora would be better taken during a weak moment.
So he’d wait, just a bit. Wait and watch.
The match rolled between his fingertips.
“We gave the guy four cups of coffee, three hamburgers, and an order of fries.” Jon leaned against the wall near the interrogation viewing window. “You think he’s starting to sober up now?”
Well, Bob’s eyes weren’t rolling back in his head anymore, so that seemed like a definite improvement.
Monica sat across the table from him in Interrogation, her head cocked. “Mr. Kyle, I need to ask you some questions.”
Robert “Bob” Kyle. Vietnam vet. Alcoholic. They’d gotten his records from the veterans’ hospital in Charlottesville. The guy heard voices and had been diagnosed as schizophrenic almost twenty years ago—right before his wife died of ovarian cancer. A few months after her death, Bob had started living on the streets.
“You know he’ll never make it in a courtroom. Schizophrenic…” Jon shook his head. “The defense attorney would just say he imagined the whole thing.”
“I’m not worried about a defense attorney right now,” Kenton told him. They’d cross that bridge later. “I just want to find the bastard hunting out there.”
Kenton kept his gaze on the interrogation. Bob wasn’t talking, just rubbing his fingers over the top of the table. This was gonna take all night. “And the order went through for a cop to patrol Lora’s neighborhood?” His order.
Jon nodded. “A cop’s cruising her neighborhood, and he’s scheduled to do constant sweep-throughs all night.”
So Lora would have an extra pair of eyes on her. Good, but—
Not good enough. Because he wanted to be there with her, watching over her and making damn sure that she was safe.
“When you were at the train station, I want to know what you saw.” Monica pushed another cup of coffee toward Bob. “Before the cops arrived.”
“Blue lights…” Bob whispered.
“Right, before the blue lights, I want to know about the man who was there.” She offered him a smile. “You told the other agents he was in a truck.”
A couple of fast nods.
“You like trucks, don’t you?”
Another nod.
“What color do you like best on your trucks?”
“B-blue.”
“I like that, too.” A beat of silence. “What color was the truck you saw tonight?”
Bob scratched his head. “Dark. Couldn’t see.”
Because that area had been piss black.
“But you were able to see… someone, right?”
His tongue swiped over his lips. “Heard ’im talkin’. Laughin’.”
“And when you heard him, you went closer, didn’t you?”
A nod. “H-he was close to the light.”
“That’s what you told Agent Lake.” She smiled again. Weird seeing that big, fake-friendly smile on Monica. “And you saw a man?”