by Cynthia Eden
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 fucking dead!” He’d been so careful with his phone call. Staging the scene so well…
Now this asshole 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.
“I think Lake had other things on his mind.”
A killer. A woman. Sex.
Kenton had always been easy for her to read. “Stay on him, okay? I don’t want this going down like the one in Jasper.” She could still see Sam’s pale face.
Samantha Kennedy. She’d been so carefree and happy before. Then a killer touched her. Broke her.
“Not like Jasper,” she said again. “You can tail anyone.” One of his specialties. “Make sure he’s safe.” She’d have to get another agent in for backup. Two sets of eyes on Kenton. And she’d keep working the profile.
Something would give. A mistake would be made and she’d find a link. It was just a matter of time. “Make sure he’s safe,” she said again.
And the sniper smiled. “He won’t even know I’m there.”
“It’s not him I’m worried about. I don’t want our killer to know.” Because if they could lure him out and catch him—
Game over, Phoenix.
The doorbell rang, and Lora’s heart slammed into overdrive. She rose, the robe shifting lightly against her thighs, and she hurried for the door. Lora pressed her eye against the peephole and saw her late-night visitor.
After one glance, she jumped back and flipped the locks. Eyes narrowing, she wrapped her fingers around the knob and yanked the door open.
“Are you insane?” she snarled, glaring at Kenton. “Or do you just have a death wish?”
His brows rose. “Guess you caught the news.” Then his eyes raked down her body, and his lips parted. A soft sigh. Then, “Damn.” Appreciation flavored the curse.
She grabbed his shirt and hauled him inside. “What were you thinking?” Lora slammed the door behind him, barely hearing the groan of the wood. “Were you thinking? Do you want the freak to target you because you pissed him off? Do you want—”
“Yes.”
Insane. The guy was certifiable. “Run that by me again,” she snapped, her voice cracking with anger.
“I want him coming after me.” His eyes lifted back to her face, and yeah, she recognized lust when she saw it. Her fingers shook a bit when she tightened the belt on her robe. Not that there was whole lot to the robe. “I want him coming after me”—his voice was gruff and deep—“instead of trapping some poor bastard in his fire and letting him burn.”
“Do you want to burn?” Lora asked. Kenton didn’t know what it was like. When the fire came and it kissed you, and the pain stole your breath even as you tried to scream.
“I know the game. He’s not going to get me.” His head lowered. She saw his nostrils flare. “But I’ll get him.”
She hoped. God, she hoped. But she’d already seen one lover die.
“I got your address from your records.”
Her eyes widened. Oh, right, she’d forgotten to tell the guy where she lived. Luckily for her, he was a special agent man.
“You said… Christ, you smell good.”
Raspberry body wash. It’d been a gift last Christmas from Amanda Adams, the only other female fighter at the Bringham station.
Kenton cleared his throat. “You said tonight… after…” His fingers tightened around her. “You said—”
Just me and you. My place. Tonight.
But that had been before. When the need was high and the lust was beating in her blood. Before—before he’d gone on TV and challenged a killer.
I won’t lose another lover.
Didn’t he understand what he’d done?
If she had to drag his body from the flames…
Their eyes held. His body pressed against hers. His lips were so close.
Dammit. Damn him.
She grabbed the back of his head and yanked him toward her. Their mouths met, no tentative touch. No light caress.
She was angry with him. Furious at the risk he was taking. She was angry and afraid, and she wanted him.
The press of her lips was hard against his. Demanding. And he met her—dead on. Lips, tongue, tasting, taking. His hands were on her, lifting her and shoving her against the wall. He pushed between her legs, his cock heavy and full and riding high at the top of his pants.
His fingers tangled in her robe and jerked it free while his mouth stayed locked on hers. He kept thrusting that tongue deep, even as his chest eased back, even as his fingers wrenched the robe away and left her—
Naked.
His head snapped back. “Fuck.”
They’d be getting there, soon.
His hands closed over her breasts, cupping the mounds, stroking the nipples, and her head tipped back against the wall. This, this was what she needed. The heat of her blood. The tight yearning in her sex.
“Bed… or I take you here.”
Tempting. Especially when his dark head lowered and his lips closed around her right breast. He took the nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking—
“The first room…” She choked back a moan when she felt the edge of his teeth. “Top of the s-stairs… right.”
He growled. Pulled back. Started stripping. Nice.
The jacket first. Then—
Weapon. Gun.
His hand went to the holster. He secured the weapon and seconds later, his shirt hit the floor.
Bare chest with muscles gleaming. A light covering of dark hair.
Better than nice.
She slid away from him. Being naked had never bothered her. So she lifted her head and smiled at him when he froze. She said simply, “Come get me.”
Then she was gone. He’d follow, she had no doubt. And she’d be waiting in bed.
Lora ran up the stairs, her feet thudding on the steps. She heard Kenton behind her, the rasp of his breath and the hungry whisper of her name.
The light from the hallway spilled inside her bedroom. She’d barely stepped over the threshold when he caught her. Kenton spun her around and yanked her up in his arms. Two steps, and they were on the bed. Crashing down. Falling hard into the soft mattress.
He caged her arms over her head, holding them with one hand even as he took her mouth.
That other hand—yes!—drifted down her stomach and pushed between her legs. He’d fi
nd her wet, she knew it. One kiss, and she’d been wet for him. Creamy, hot. Ready.
So long.
All those nights. Staring into the darkness. Wanting.
Alone. But not tonight. By God, not tonight.
It might be wrong. Might be too fast. Might be a million things—
She didn’t care. Screw reason. She’d tried to be a good girl and go that route. She’d never been into the whole good-girl scene.
His fingers parted the folds of her sex. His thumb pushed against her clit, and every muscle in her body tightened. “Easy.” His whisper in the darkness.
But she didn’t want easy. She wanted hard and fast. She wanted pleasure.
She shuddered against him. “No.”
Kenton stilled. “What? Lora, don’t—”
“Not easy.” She lifted her head and bit his shoulder. She tasted the salt on his skin. “Hard. Wild. Give me everything.” Because that was what she wanted.
He pushed up onto his elbows, and his eyes gleamed down at her. “Be careful what you ask for.”
“I know what I want…” His hand was between her thighs. That thumb pushing against her clit wasn’t enough, not even close. She wanted—
He drove two fingers into her. Then pulled them back and drove deeper.
Yes.
His mouth took her breast. Licking. Sucking. The peak was so sensitive that it almost hurt, but the pleasure, yes, it was there, pulsing through her, heating her, driving through her blood.
She tore her hands free of his hold and raked her nails down his back. He still had his pants on. She wanted them gone. Wanted his cock out, slamming into her while she held on for the ride.
“You’re tight… Damn, sweetheart, you’ll be—”
Those fingers plunged again. A slow swipe of his thumb over her clit.
“More!” Not a whimper. Not a plea. A demand.
The stubble on his cheeks rasped over her flesh as his mouth moved down her stomach. Wait, no, what was he—
He withdrew his fingers and parted her thighs. Wider. Opening her fully.
No, she didn’t want that. She just wanted sex. Hot. Dirty. Fast. Not—