Deadly Heat

by Cynthia Eden

  She adjusted her gear and followed the captain inside. Her boots pressed into the puddles on the floor and sank into the ash.

  They went down two winding hallways and up one flight of stairs to the back of the building. Place was supposed to be empty. Giant “No Trespassing” signs were posted at the front. The building had been condemned.

  But three victims had been inside.

  Her heart slammed into her ribs and bile rose in her throat. Three victims.

  And they’d only gotten two out.

  Then she saw the door, or what was left of it. The fire had burned up most of the wood, and she could see the man, slumped inside.

  Blisters and burns covered his body, but…

  The smoke got to him first. The freaking unbelievable heat. Because the wounds weren’t enough to kill him.

  What the hell? She inched closer. The guy was in some kind of closet. Two feet by four feet, why was he—

  Then she saw the padlock. On the outside of the charred remains of the door. Still hanging on, despite the fire.

  Locked in.

  Left to die.

  Her eyes met the captain’s, and she read the dark knowledge there.

  Another one.

  Dammit.

  The poor bastard never had a chance.

  He liked to watch the fire. When it danced, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Sensual, like a lover.

  The firefighters had battled his blaze with all their strength. But, in the end, the fire had won—and claimed her prize.

  And, to make things interesting, he’d even gotten a bonus during the show. Two bonuses, really. Two more victims.

  Like the fool who’d rushed in… He hadn’t counted on that. He’d underestimated the man.

  But he’d been saved. So had the addict.

  Not that they mattered. They weren’t really part of the game.

  Well, not yet.

  But they’d tasted the fire tonight. They wouldn’t soon forget that taste.

  After all, you never forgot your first.

  The smoke was in the wind. When he opened his mouth, he tasted it on his tongue.

  She came out then. Jerking off her helmet. Pacing back and forth too quickly.

  Ah, she found my body.

  Lora Spade understood the game. Perhaps better than anyone else. She knew what he was doing.

  Did she know why?

  Tonight, the firefighters had lost. They hadn’t searched hard enough. Hadn’t responded fast enough.

  The dead… he was on their hands. Her hands.

  More bodies would come. Because when you fought the fire, you learned, fast, that the fire fought back.

  CHAPTER Two

  Lora curled her fingers around her offering, glanced to the left, the right, then crept down the long, white hallway.

  Hate this place. She could already smell the death hanging in the air. Every step she took just brought her closer and closer to the dead, and she didn’t want to be there.

  But sometimes a girl had to pony up.

  The coroner’s office waited for her, just a few feet away. She could too easily remember the last time she’d been in that office. A little over six months ago. But then, she’d been numb. No pain. No fear.

  That sweet numbness hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.

  Just past the funeral, then the agony had hit.

  “What do you mean, the guy didn’t die from smoke inhalation? He was in a burning building, for Christ’s sake.”

  Ah, wait. She knew that voice. Lora paused outside the door, a door that Heather had conveniently left partially open.

  “There was no smoke in the victim’s lungs.”

  Lora’s fingers snaked inside the box. Curled around the delicious gift.

  “No smoke—that means he—”

  “Died before the fire began. See, if you look here…”

  Lora pulled out her treat. Took a few fast bites.

  Don’t need the bribe anymore. Not when the people inside were shouting out the information she needed.

  “You can see that the victim suffered cerebral damage. The damage was extensive enough that he would have died shortly after the attack—”

  “The killer hits him, tosses the body into a closet, then what? Sets the fire to cover his tracks?”

  My cue. Lora pushed open the door. “Sounds like it.”

  GQ didn’t look particularly surprised to see her. Those gunmetal-gray eyes didn’t widen a bit, but that hard, square jaw clenched.

  He was perfect today. Fancy suit that probably cost way too much money. He’d clipped his ID on his left lapel. His hair—brutally short and jet black—framed a face that was handsome, with those tough, rugged looks some women went for.

  Me, dammit. She’d always been a sucker for a rugged guy.

  That jaw… those eyes… that deep brown tan…

  “Uh, Lora? What are you doing here?” Heather asked, crossing her arms.

  Heather Jennings. The no-nonsense ME with the weakness for…

  Lora held up her box. “I was in the area. I picked up doughnuts. I thought you might like some.”

  GQ snorted. “Who the hell has doughnuts in a morgue?”

  But Heather had already snatched them away and—“Oh, why are there just eleven?”

  Because someone had skipped lunch.

  Lora forced a smile and kept her eyes away from the cold lockers in the back of the room. Her knees were knocking together, and to the right—oh, jeez, that was a body beneath that sheet.

  Like before… “Lora, I’m so sorry…”

  “Lora? Lora, are you all right?”

  She’d stumbled back. Weakness, in front of the Bureau boy. Lora sucked in a sharp breath and tasted chlorine, disinfectant, and death.

  Damn.

  “Why are you really here, Lora Spade?” The drawl came from GQ.

  Her brows lifted, and she fought to keep her control steady. “Heather and I are friends—a girl can visit her friend whenever she wants.”

  But she never visited Heather here, never.

  And Heather’s eyes said she knew it.

  After a moment, Heather put down the doughnuts. “I, uh, was in the middle of briefing Agent Lake regarding the victim’s COD from that fire on LeRoy…”

  “Oh, really?” Her shoulders lifted and fell in a casual shrug. Her knees kept knocking. “I was curious about him… I thought I—when I came in, I thought I heard you say he’d been attacked.” She let her eyes widen.

  “Uh-huh.” Heather’s light blue eyes never left Lora’s face. Heather knew her too well to be fooled by the bribe. “Your guy was attacked, Lora. He was dead, long before the fire.”

  The tension in her body eased a bit.

  Not him.

  “Right. Well, I’ll… ah, let you get back to work.” She’d gotten the info she needed.

  Didn’t fit the pattern.

  “Lora, will I see you tonight at Mickey’s?”

  Lora gave a quick nod. Where else would she go? No way was she staying at home again with the memories. Besides, Mickey’s was the best bar in town, if you were a cop, a firefighter, or an ME. Mickey knew how to cater to his clientele.

  Heather turned away and reached for the sheet. “If you look here, Agent Lake—”

  No, she wasn’t going to look. Lora grabbed for the door, heading out quickly into the hallway. A few more steps and she’d be able to breathe again without tasting—

  “Do you always follow up on the victims like this?” His voice froze her in the middle of the hallway.

  Lora glanced back. He shut the door behind him, crossed his arms, and watched her with eyes that seemed too focused, too knowing.

  She swiped her tongue over her lips and tried to pretend that her hands weren’t sweating. “I like to be thorough.” Wasn’t he supposed to be in there, looking at the body? And not looking at her?

  His eyebrows rose. “I couldn’t help but notice that you looked relieved when the M.E. said the vic d
idn’t die in the fire.”

  “It’s not my fault he’s dead.” She shoved her hands into her back pockets. She’d been up nearly all night, thinking about that guy, wondering, worrying, seeing him, over and over. “Now I know. Even if we’d realized he was there, it would have been too late for him.”

  “That why you’re here, Lora Spade? The guilt got to you?”

  Her face heated. She didn’t have to explain herself to GQ. Not today, not any day. “Why are you here, Special Agent?” Though she had a suspicion, and it was enough to make her stomach clench. “Why’s the FBI getting involved in a local murder? I wouldn’t think the big boys would be interested in that.”

  Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and stalked toward her. Yeah, stalked, that was a pretty good description. “I’m always interested in murder.”

  He stopped a foot away. She smelled him now, a crisp cologne, the hint of soap, man.

  She turned her head toward the left. The police department was stationed in the building next door. “We’ve got a whole building full of cops who’d be happy to investigate a Charlottesville murder. Don’t really see why they’d need you.” Her gaze slid to him.

  His lips started to curl. “You might be surprised.”

  Or she might not be.

  “You’re kind of a smartass, aren’t you?” he asked.

  She blinked. “And you’re a real charmer, aren’t you?” Lora fired right back.

  He smiled then. A flash of his perfect white teeth and—

  Dimples.

  Figured.

  Heaving out a frustrated breath, Lora turned away.

  He caught her arm, his fingers closing tight just beneath the sleeve of her T-shirt. “Not so fast.”

  His breath blew against her ear, and her heart raced, thrumming way too fast right then. No, no, this could not be happening. Not with him.

  “I need to talk with you about some… cases in the county.”

  Okay, she hadn’t expected that line, and her flush deepened because she had expected him to hit on her.

  Guess not.

  She glanced back at him. “What cases?” Suspicion was heavy in her voice.

  “Jennifer Langley.”

  She tried real hard not to flinch.

  “Tom Hatchen. Charlie Skofield.”

  Holding his stare, she waited for the next words to come, and she knew he was gonna say—

  “And Carter Creed. Creed—he was one of your fellow firefighters at—”

  Lora knocked his hand away. “I damn well know who he was.” Can’t do this.

  “I have some questions about those deaths. I need to know—”

  “You’re SSD.” She nearly spat the words at him. How? How had this happened? “You’re the one they sent?”

  The guy wasn’t perfect at schooling his expression. She was watching, closely, and didn’t miss the slight rising of his eyelids.

  The SSD. One of the—supposedly—most elite divisions in the FBI. Newly formed, the Serial Services Division was the only unit in the Bureau specifically formed to track and apprehend serials. Serial killers, rapists, arsonists…

  Like the serial fire freak that she was sure hunted in her city.

  “You’re the one who called Hyde.” Certainty in that voice. Underscored with some shock.

  “And you’re the superagent they sent.” Wonderful. Lora shook her head. “At least they sent someone,” she said, voice tight, “and didn’t just—”

  “Something you should know, sweetheart.” Ah, some heat there. Okay, not just heat. The edge of fury. “I’m damn good at my job.” Steel backed his words.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Guess we’ll see about that.” Time for full disclosure. “And, yeah, for the record, I’m the one who called Keith Hyde.” A real long shot, but she’d had to take it.

  She knew when a hunter was playing with fire.

  Lora was tired of finding the dead in the ashes of her fires.

  So she’d used her connection and gotten the direct line for Keith Hyde, the man who was, for all intents and purposes, the SSD. He’d started the team. Handpicked every agent. And he chose the cases they covered.

  “So you think you’ve got a serial arsonist in Charlottesville?”

  Think? “I know we do. When you start investigating, you’ll see the same thing.” But the lead county arson investigator refused to see what was right in front of his face. The guy didn’t want to admit that he couldn’t handle the investigation on his own, that it was bigger than his office could handle.

  Too bad. She was tired of seeing the bodies. So she’d gone over Seth’s head. Or rather, all the way around him to pull in the SSD.

  But she hadn’t gone without backup. The chief had been the one to give her Hyde’s number. Garrison knew the score, and he’d recognized they were being outgunned by a killer.

  A door opened down the hallway. A uniformed cop poked his head inside, his hazel eyes serious. “Sir, the suspect is waiting for you…”

  “Suspect?” Her brows rose and, yeah, that was hope hitting her in the chest like a fist.

  But Kenton’s lips thinned. “The junkie from last night. There’s a Detective Peter Malone—”

  Yeah, she knew him. Too well.

  “—he thinks Old Larry might have had something to do with the vic’s death.” One shoulder lifted. “I’m sitting in on the interrogation.”

  “Well, um…” Her left foot eased back. “Good luck with that.” Lora turned away.

  “I’ll be right there,” Kenton called out.

  “Yes, sir.” The door slammed shut.

  She kept walking. Another door waited for her, just a few feet away.

  “You don’t think this death is related to the others, do you, Ms. Spade?”

  If she did, Lora wouldn’t be walking away. She’d have been running to that interrogation room.

  “Why not?” he asked, voice rising. “Doesn’t this one fit your pattern?”

  Had the guy done any homework? Her fingers curled around the doorknob, and she glanced back at him. “No, it doesn’t.” His gaze seemed so watchful. “The fire junkie we’re after—” And, sure, she thought of guys like this as junkies. The fire was just as addictive as drugs. Lora swallowed over the lump that rose in her throat and managed, “H-he doesn’t kill the victims. He lets the fire do the killing for him.”

  “This is personal for you.” He shook his head. “You can’t let the cases get personal. You can’t—”

  A broken laugh rattled her chest. “It’s been personal for me… for months.” Her lips twisted. “Far too late to worry about distance now.”

  It had been too late from the moment that she’d pulled Carter’s body out of that inferno.

  “I ain’t killed nobody!” Kenton didn’t wince at the yell, and neither did the detective in the chair to his right.

  But Detective Peter Malone did lean forward and lock his bright blue gaze on their twitching subject. “He was locked in, Larry. Sealed in that closet and left to die. You were the only other person in that building…”

  Larry lifted his hands, and there was no way to miss their shaking. “I didn’t—I didn’t know anybody was there! Thought it was—was just me!”

  “Did you start the fire to cover the murder?” Peter demanded, not letting up. From what Kenton could tell, the cop liked to drill hard and fast in interrogation. Some cops worked that way. Others were slower, sneakier.

  One of the agents he worked with at the SSD, Monica Davenport, now she was one fine interrogator. She could make any monster spill his guts in five minutes or less.

  The lady had a talent—one that worked particularly well with serial killers.

  The guy in front of him was not a serial, and Kenton didn’t think he was an arsonist either.

  Just a man who’d let drugs eat his soul away.

  “You set the fire,” Peter said, “because you’d knocked the guy’s head in, and you were covering your tracks.” He shook his own head. “But then you got caught by
the flames. The fire messed up your exit, huh?”

  “What? No, man, no! I was just—just…” He inhaled, hard. “I had some—some drugs.” Whispered.

  Not a big surprise. The guy’s body language screamed user, and one look into the man’s eyes had shown the pinprick-sized pupils and the bloodshot gaze.

  “I swear, I didn’t s-start no fire! I didn’t kill nobody!”

  Larry’s rap sheet backed that up. Drug charges stretching for pages, but no assaults, nothing even hinting at violence.

  “Maybe you got high, and you got mean.” Peter stood and strolled around the table. “And the poor vic just got in your way.”

  “Nah, nah, it wasn’t—”

  “Tell us his name, Larry. He’s probably got a family out there, someone waiting for him to come home. Give us a name, help us out. And we’ll help you.”

  The cop was pretty good.

  Kenton watched the scene and waited.

  Larry’s head fell. “Don’t know,” he mumbled. “D-didn’t do it.”

  Same story, same verse—the one they’d gotten for the last hour. Larry had to be jonesing. His sweat soaked his clothes, and those twitches were just getting worse. But his story hadn’t changed.

  Because it was the truth. Kenton had seen more than his share of liars since joining the Bureau. When perps told lies, their stories always changed. They’d swap up details and forget the original facts. It was just harder to remember a lie, especially when you were riding high on drugs.

  Kenton stood, the chair legs screeching as he shoved his chair back. Larry’s head snapped up, and those bloodshot eyes widened. “Larry, what did you see last night?”

  The thick lines on Larry’s forehead deepened.

  The cop cut him a hard look, and Peter’s blue eyes narrowed. So? Kenton wasn’t in the mood for a pissing match. The cop had gotten his turn.

  Larry swiped sweat out of his eyes. “D-don’t know what—”

  “Before the fire started, did you see anyone else in the building? Hear anything?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Was… sleepin’…”

  More like passed out.

  “Woke up… s-smelled the smoke…” He sniffed. “Ran to the window…”