“What? Is he twisting your arms? ’Cause I don’t see anybody holding ’em!”
She was fired up.
He thought Monica’s lips curved a bit.
“One minute till air…” came Travis’s panicked voice.
“I—he’s calling at the start of the show. We’ve got to—”
“Monica will talk to him,” Kenton said.
Harvey’s jaw dropped. “No, that’s not the deal, it’s—”
“Record the conversation. Every second. When this is all over…” He gave a shrug. “You can run it, after the FBI clears the tape.”
Harvey’s hand swiped over his eyes. “Only Channel Five?” Half a deal was better than none, and Kenton figured Harvey had been in the game long enough to realize that fact. “And we get a full-on exclusive when he’s caught?” Harvey pressed.
“Thirty seconds…” Travis was starting to shake.
Kenton nodded.
“All right—shit! Okay, let’s do this!” Harvey clapped his hands. “Places, people! Move, move!”
The staff scrambled.
Monica eased away from the door, just as it opened from the inside. Two more cops stood there. “You got the tracer set up?”
The first guy gave a slow nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What?” Harvey’s head jerked toward her. “You put something on our lines?”
Her smile was wide. “Of course I did. You didn’t think we’d let the call come through without a tracer?”
Not just any tracer. A special tracer designed by the techs at the Bureau.
“Ten seconds.”
Harvey shot into the control room.
“Kenton, you sure you want to do this?” Lora asked, her brows low. “This guy, it seems like you’re just playing into his hands.”
“We have to take the call.” They couldn’t throw away the chance to get in direct contact with the perp. Monica knew her monsters. She’d get him to talk. To make one mistake…
Just one. That’s all they’d need.
“Two people died after the last broadcast.” Her eyes were glinting with anger. “What’s gonna happen this time?”
“Maybe we get the sonofabitch,” Jon said.
“Or maybe not.” Lora’s gaze seemed very deep.
What did she expect him to do? This was his job, and they had to take the call.
Behind him, he heard the anchor take his cue and welcome viewers to another night of Channel Five Action News.
Monica hurried into the control booth, and Kenton followed right behind her. By the time everybody was through that narrow doorway, they were crammed in as tight as sardines.
One of the uniforms sat by the phone line, almost on top of the thing.
“We routed all the calls here,” Monica said. She’d been busy. “If he calls again, we’ll get him.”
The phone rang. Line one lit up.
Monica gave a quick nod, and the cop pressed a button. The speakerphone was on now, and the recording would start immediately.
The uniform answered the call. “Channel Five Action News.” His voice didn’t crack, but the guy’s hands sure shook.
“Get me Pile. Put the bastard on the line.”
Pile’s eyes filled his face.
But Monica shook her head and said, “I’m afraid Pile’s not available right now, but this is Special Agent Monica Davenport. Maybe I can help you.”
Silence.
Then laughter. “You move fast, bitch.” The voice was male, but distorted. Static crackled, and a train whistle blew in the distance.
“Do I?”
“Put me on the air. That was the deal. I call, I get on the air.” Rage was evident, shaking the words.
“Why? If you’ve got something to say, say it to me.” No rage, no tension, just that cool ice.
Lora shifted beside Kenton, rocking forward on the balls of her feet.
“I want to tell them who I am. They need to fear me. Fucking fear me.”
“Is that why you’re starting the fires? So people will be afraid of you?”
Silence.
“What is it that you want?” Monica pressed. “I mean, do you want your fifteen minutes of fame? Is that why you’re calling the station? Well, you’ve already had those fifteen. Your fires were splashed over every paper in the state today. You know that.”
More laughter and static rustled over the line. “You shouldn’t have fucked with me. You shouldn’t have gone on TV and told lies about me.” A brief pause. “You’re there, aren’t you, Agent Lake?”
Kenton tensed.
“And I bet you’ve got the pretty fire whore with you. You can’t seem to go any damn place without her at your side, can you? Hello, Lora. I loved watching you last night.”
“Asshole!” she yelled.
“Do you like the fire, Lora? Do you like the way it burns? When it touches you, does it feel like a lover?”
“No, you sick prick, it—”
Kenton caught her hand, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close. “Don’t,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t give him anything.” Rage had tightened every muscle in Kenton’s body. How the hell had he known Lora was there?
Sonofabitch. Not just the fires, he was watching them.
“She’s a wild one, isn’t she, Lake? Too much for you.”
His hold on Lora tightened.
“The fire touched you before, Lora. I know. Licked your skin and made you scream.”
Her chin lifted.
“But it’s not all pain, is it? When the fire lances your flesh…” A sigh. “Tell me, Lora, how much heat can you handle?”
Kenton could feel her body trembling in his grasp, but he didn’t speak.
“Why do you care about Lora?” Monica demanded.
A rush of air—no, wind—on the phone line. Then the caller said, “I don’t, but he does.”
Kenton’s gut clenched.
“Don’t you, Agent Lake? She matters to you.”
Monica shook her head, frantic. Don’t speak. She mouthed the words. Because speaking, snapping back, that would be exactly what the prick wanted.
“You want to talk to Agent Lake, then you come in. Come to the police station, and we’ll—”
“Time’s up.” No more rage. He spoke with a tone as flat as Monica’s voice. “And your tracer won’t work, Davenport. I’ll ditch this phone in the next five seconds.”
“You don’t—”
“Get ready. Hell’s coming.”
Another rush of wind, and then, nothing.
Lora’s shoulders slumped, and her body sagged against Kenton.
Over her head, Kenton met Monica’s glittering stare.
Hell’s coming.
CHAPTER Eleven
There was silence in the room. Even Pile seemed stunned. “Did we get a trace?” Kenton asked, easing his grip on her.
The cop glanced up. Kenton recognized him right away. Jess Tyler. He’d retrieved the computer visitor log from Meadows Rehab, a log that had turned up jack shit.
Michael Randall’s mother hadn’t even bothered to visit the kid while he was in rehab.
Jess nodded quickly. “I, uh, we got hits from the cell towers. I think we can correlate it to about two hundred feet.”
“Do it.” Kenton stepped back from Lora. He had to, because the job waited. Dammit. “I heard trains. There’s an old train yard on the west side of town, right?”
Jess gave another fast nod. “Yes, sir, and that’s where the signal seemed to cor—”
That was all Kenton needed to hear. “Ramirez, let’s go.”
Lora grabbed his arm, holding Kenton back. “He’s been watching us. He knew I was here because he’s been watching.”
Kenton nodded grimly. He’d planned to attract the bastard’s attention. He just hadn’t planned on getting the perp to fixate on Lora. But now wasn’t the time for explanations. He needed to move, fast. “Stay with Davenport,” he told Lora as he spun away from her. This time, she let him g
o.
And though he wanted to, so badly, he didn’t glance back. Not once.
The killer waited.
I’m coming, asshole.
Her heartbeat wouldn’t slow down. Lora paced the small control room and watched the cops fiddle with their equipment. She watched Davenport call someone, probably Hyde, and tell him that she wanted more tech support, ASAP.
And she heard that bastard’s voice in her head. Over and over.
Do you like the fire, Lora? Do you like the way it burns?
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 fuckin’ 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 roll
ed 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, asshole.
“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.