Deadly Heat

by Cynthia Eden

  The other agent glanced up at him.

  “Our witness is gone.”

  “Fuck.”

  Yeah, that about summed things up.

  As Bob Kyle staggered out of the liquor store, he lifted a bottle to his mouth. Liquid dropped down his chin and spilled on his clothes.

  Figured. The guy needed his fix.

  Where had he gotten money? Maybe from the cops. The idiots probably hadn’t even noticed when he’d swiped it. Or maybe they’d given it to him. Payment for ratting him out.

  Kyle staggered down the street, drinking, guzzling as fast as he could.

  Phoenix followed him. Not too close. Though it probably wouldn’t have mattered. But, no, not too close. Not yet.

  That guy was spilling booze all over himself. The bitter scent filled the air.

  Kyle stumbled over the broken road and wandered back into the alley. And Phoenix followed.

  The match rolled between his fingers. He wouldn’t need an accelerant. The fool had provided it for him. Hell, he didn’t even have to pour this time. Just light ’im and watch the fire burn.

  Too easy.

  “Cathy!” Kyle’s bellow had him freezing, then glancing back over his shoulder. A scream like that would alert too many people. It was daylight, and cars were buzzing down the street.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Talk to me! Cathy, t-talk to me!”

  What the hell? Was someone else with him?

  Phoenix hurried his steps. Kyle had disappeared behind a garbage bin. A big, green, stinking bin.

  Glass shattered.

  Phoenix yanked off his cap and shoved it into his backpack. If this was some kind of trap, he wasn’t falling for it.

  “Comin’ home… comin’ home, C-Cathy…” Kyle mumbled. The words were so faint that he almost didn’t catch them.

  Then a gasp, choked off.

  He hurried around the bin.

  A gurgle rattled in the air and had him tensing. “Buddy, are you—”

  Kyle’s body shuddered as it slammed into the wall. Kyle’s muddy eyes were open wide, with streaks of bloodshot red in the white. His hand was still at his throat, and he was still holding the broken bottle of whiskey that he’d shoved into his neck.

  Blood poured down from the wound, soaking his shirt, mixing with the alcohol, and clogging the air.

  The guy wheezed, twitched, and slid down to the ground. His eyes were still open.

  Still looking right at him.

  Some days, this shit was so easy.

  Kyle’s chest rose, then slowly fell. And the blood kept coming.

  How long would the guy last? Not more than a few more minutes.

  Guess he didn’t have to worry about the witness anymore.

  Phoenix reached into his bag and pulled out his cap. As he settled it on his head, he said, “You just saved me some trouble.”

  Kyle’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Of course not, the guy had ripped his throat to hell. No way to scream now.

  He pulled out his match.

  That alcohol was strong. The thick stench of booze was stronger than the scent of blood.

  Kyle only had a few minutes left, maybe not even that long.

  “But I do like my fire, and since you’ve made it so easy…” He struck the match on the brick wall above his prey and watched that little flame flare to life.

  Then he smiled and dropped it into the pool of whiskey right between Bob Kyle’s legs.

  He jumped back as the flames shot up, catching Kyle, and greedily following the trail of that booze. The fire blazed right up his soaked chest and right over his skin.

  For a moment, he just watched and enjoyed that sweet burn.

  Kenton paced inside the safe house. He glared at the plainclothes cops who’d been on duty. “You’re telling me the guy just walked out of here?”

  The short cop with the thinning red hair jerked his thumb toward the window. “Climbed out. Man, we were here to keep him safe, not to keep him locked in. I didn’t know he was a runner!”

  “The man is schizophrenic, just back on his meds. He could have done anything.” Kenton clenched his teeth and gritted out, “And Officer Daniels, you knew that. I briefed you myself.”

  The guy’s eyes dropped as he glanced down at the floor.

  Dammit! “We’ve got to find him. Now.” Before Bob disappeared for good. Either of his own volition, vanishing into the streets—the guy had to know places to hide in this city. Or if Phoenix happened to find him, well, then he’d be disappearing into the flames.

  No, his identity was protected. Phoenix couldn’t know.

  But Malone had known about Bob Kyle. Half a precinct full of cops had known. They’d all been there when he was brought in and put in Interrogation.

  “We’ve got cruisers searching the streets.” Not from Daniels. These words came from the other cop there. The guy with the thin, craggy features and the direct gaze. “We’re combing the streets, sir. We’re gonna find him.” He sounded confident.

  If only.

  “Has anyone checked the train yard?” Kenton asked as he rubbed the back of his neck. That was across town, but maybe—

  “Kenton.” Jon stood in the doorway. “We think we found Bob.”

  “Thank Christ. All right, let’s get him secured, set up in a new house, and—”

  But Jon just shook his head, and the hard punch in Kenton’s gut told him the news wasn’t going to be good.

  • • •

  The stench hit him. Even before Kenton rounded the corner and crossed into the dark alley, the smell had already clogged his nostrils.

  A uniform ran out of those dim recesses. His shaking hand covered the lower half of his ashen face. The cop took two steps away from the alley entrance and vomited.

  Dammit.

  Kenton’s shoulders stiffened as he hurried forward.

  Monica appeared before him as she skirted around a garbage bin. “We’re going to need dental records to determine for sure…”

  An image of Kyle, shaking at the Interrogation table, flashed through his mind. Where’s Cathy?

  Kenton stalked forward and gazed over the tech’s shoulder.

  Christ.

  His eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Another image he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

  Fuck.

  “I think it’s safe to assume that we’re looking at Phoenix’s work.” Monica’s voice was as cool as you please. They were standing over a body that had been savaged to hell and back, cops were puking all around them, and the woman sounded as if she was talking about the weather.

  Control. He was supposed to have it.

  Monica’s hand brushed against his arm. “Kenton, are you okay?” Her question was whisper quiet so the others wouldn’t hear. She’d never let a team member look weak.

  He opened his eyes and stared into her blue gaze. How do you do it? His lips pressed together, and he bit back the question.

  Monica had worked some of the most gruesome cases out there. She’d nearly lost her lover to the last killer they’d tracked, but she still did the job. Day in and day out, she got into the minds of killers.

  And, somehow, she stayed sane.

  More than that, she acted like the killers never touched her.

  “Kenton?” Worry threaded her voice.

  “He fucking slaughtered him, Monica.” Bob Kyle hadn’t deserved this. No one did. Kyle had gotten one raw deal after another. Losing his wife, losing his mind…

  Now his life.

  “We’re going to get Phoenix,” she promised. But he was tired of talking about catching the freak.

  He wanted him locked behind bars, thrown so far into a hellhole jail that he’d never see daylight.

  And never hurt anyone again.

  He swung away from the body. Can’t see it anymore. There was a red fire extinguisher on the ground, lying just a few feet away. A tech snapped pictures of it. Somebody had tried to help Kyle.

  Too little, far too late.


  “You’re sure it was this man?” Jon asked, and Kenton’s eyes glanced toward him. He had a photo in his hand, had to be of Kyle, and he was flashing it to a jittery-looking guy in shorts.

  “H-he was in my s-store… bought wh-whiskey.”

  Kyle had left the safe house to get booze?

  Kenton bent, stooping under the yellow police tape, and hurried toward the guy talking to Jon. “Kyle paid for the whiskey? He didn’t steal it?”

  “P-paid with a twenty.” The guy—in his early fifties with graying hair and a grizzled goatee—swallowed a couple of times. “I was taking a cig break and saw the smoke.”

  “Mr. Dumont here grabbed his fire extinguisher and raced over,” Jon explained.

  “Th-thought garbage was on fire.” He took a deep breath, fumbled, and yanked out a cigarette. “Didn’t expect to see no person.” He flashed his lighter, sparking the flame, and he lit the tip of the cigarette with trembling fingers. “Jesus fucking Christ, I can still smell him.”

  Not like it was a smell you could easily forget. “Mr. Dumont, when you came into the alley, did you see anyone else?”

  “I–I just saw the fire, man.” Dumont took a long drag on his cigarette. “Somebody else could have been there—fuck if I know—I just saw the fire.” That cigarette was burning down fast.

  “When the victim was in the store,” Kenton pressed, “was he alone? Did you see anyone with him?”

  Dumont gave a hard shake of his head. “Nah, nah, he was alone.” The cigarette dangled from his nicotine-stained fingertips. “If—if that’s him, in the alley, something was wrong with him.” His eyes skated to the alley, then back to the agents.

  “Wrong?”

  Dumont nodded. “Yeah, uh, he kept talkin’ to himself. Callin’ for some broad named Cathy.”

  Kenton exhaled. “Did he say anything else?”

  “Just—just that he wanted to go home.” Ash dropped to the ground. “He said he was goin’ home to Cathy.”

  Kenton glanced back at the alley. It looked as if Kyle was home now. And God willing, maybe he was even with his Cathy.

  “What kind of freak would do this shit?” Dumont’s lips twisted in disgust. “That poor bastard.”

  Kenton nodded curtly and turned away from the witness. That “poor bastard” hadn’t deserved to go out that way. He pulled out his phone and called Sam. She answered on the second ring, and he could hear the voices rising behind her at the police station. “Sam, any sign of Malone?”

  “No.” Her sigh rustled over the line. “The cops are patrolling for him but—”

  “But maybe they’re not looking hard enough.” His fingers tightened on the phone. Malone was one of their own, and sometimes, cops didn’t like to think a brother in blue could be a criminal.

  If the cops couldn’t find him, Kenton would. And if he had to, he’d rip apart the town.

  CHAPTER Sixteen

  Monica Davenport kept her shoulders back and her pace slow and steady as she walked toward the hotel off Highway 180.

  If there was anything she’d learned in her life, it was that you could never be too careful. Someone was always watching. Always.

  Her hand was rock steady as she slid the keycard into the lock. The light flashed green. She walked inside. Dark. Just the faintest hint of sunlight fell through the blinds.

  The bathroom door opened and spilled light into the room. Wisps of steam drifted into the air, and he was there. Chest wet, muscles gleaming, a white towel knotted around his waist.

  When he saw her, he tensed and his eyes narrowed. “Monica? What happened?”

  She dropped her bag and kicked the door closed. Shaking her head, Monica went to him. She didn’t give a damn about her clothes getting wet when she wrapped her arms around him and held tight. She just needed him. “We found Bob Kyle.” So Luke wasn’t officially working the case. He still knew every detail. Luke had made a point of knowing every detail.

  His arms closed around her. “How bad?”

  She took a quick breath. “One of the worst I’ve seen.” Holding it together, staring at that body, guiding the crime techs—so hard. She’d just wanted to turn away. To close her eyes and pretend that she didn’t see him.

  She was in the FBI to stop shit like that. Seeing it made her gut clenched. “He was sick. He didn’t deserve… hell, he couldn’t even tell us what Phoenix looked like.” Kyle had needed help.

  He’d gotten—no, she didn’t want to think about what he’d gotten.

  Luke’s fingers came up under her chin, and he gently tipped back her head. “How did Phoenix get to him?”

  She licked her lips. “He—Kyle ran from the safe house.” Because the demons had driven him out. Going back on the meds, the new environment, the cops around him—it had been too much for him. He’d broken. She’d worried he would. Just hours before, she’d been talking to his VA doc in an attempt to get more help for Bob. “I think Phoenix must have been watching. He followed him.” Phoenix found the perfect deserted spot, and he cut Bob’s throat so the guy couldn’t scream. Then Phoenix torched him.

  How long had it taken Kyle to die?

  Please not too long.

  “The guy didn’t even fit his pattern.” Her gaze held his. “Kyle hadn’t broken any laws. Hadn’t hurt anyone.”

  No, he hadn’t.

  “His crime was being in the wrong place.” Hardly something worth dying for. Her lips trembled, a tremble she’d never allow outside, in front of the others.

  She was the cold one. Ice. The Bitch.

  She could take the cases, take on the killers, and not flinch.

  On the outside.

  But with Luke, here, just the two of them, she didn’t have to pretend. He was the only one to see past the mask.

  He’d always seen.

  Monica rose onto her toes and caught the back of his head with her hands. She kissed him, hard and deep, as she crushed her mouth to his.

  His hands tightened on her. His body pressed against her. Every solid, strong inch reminded her that he was there. Real.

  And she wasn’t alone with the monsters anymore.

  But the stench of death was on her, and she didn’t want it coming between them.

  Monica eased back and took a quick breath. “I need to—”

  His eyes were so deep. “Let’s wash it away.”

  Because he knew her.

  He took her hand and led her into the steam-filled bathroom. This was a trick they used after their cases. They tried to wash away the memories of death.

  The trick didn’t really work, though. Nothing could wash them away. But she didn’t like touching him when death had been so close to her hands.

  Luke twisted the shower knob. When the water poured down, he dropped his towel.

  Her fingers lifted and went to work on the buttons of her shirt.

  “No, let me…” Gruff voice, gentle hands.

  Carefully, so carefully, he stripped off her shirt and tossed it to the floor.

  Instinct led Kenton back to Lora’s house. Yellow caution tape sectioned off the property. The sides of her white house were scorched black, and the lower windows had shattered.

  When he closed his eyes, he could still see Lora flying from that fire.

  And when he opened his eyes, he could see the man edging slowly around the right side of her house.

  Fuck.

  Kenton took out his weapon and eased under the tape. The old adage was true—some perps just had to return to their crime scenes. Some got off on seeing the pain they’d stirred, while others came back because they were afraid they’d left evidence behind.

  He wondered which reason had brought Detective Peter Malone back to the scene.

  Watching his step and easing carefully past the broken glass, Kenton crept up on his prey.

  Malone was bent low, and his gaze locked on the bottom of the house.

  Kenton aimed his gun dead center at the detective’s back. “Put your hands up, Malone. Nice and
slow.”

  Malone stiffened. “What the—Lake?” He started to turn around.

  “Hands up! I’d hate to put a bullet in you because you didn’t listen.” Lie. Right then, putting a bullet into the guy was a big temptation.

  Malone’s hands came up. He still faced the house.

  “Keep ’em there.” Kenton went in fast and took the guy’s weapon. “Now turn around.”

  Malone turned slowly. “What the hell is going on here, Special Agent?”

  Kenton stared back at the guy. “You tell me.” He wouldn’t let the fury break through, not yet.

  “I’m searching the crime scene! What the hell does it look like I’m—”

  “Why haven’t you been answering your cell phone today, Malone?”

  He blinked. “I don’t—” He glanced down at his waist and the phone secured to his belt. “The battery must be dead.”

  Right. “Must be.”

  Malone’s face flushed. “Stop pointing that damn gun at me!”

  No. “Your men have been searching for you all morning.”

  “For me?” His brows shot up. “Why?”

  “Because you’re a person of interest in a homicide investigation.”

  “Bullshit.” Malone dropped his hands.

  Kenton shook his head. “You don’t want to do that.”

  Those hands flew right back up. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here but—”

  “Bob Kyle is dead.”

  “What?”

  “Kyle is dead, and your name has appeared in our investigation as a link between the victims.”

  Malone didn’t speak, but his jaw fell a few inches.

  “Why are you really here?” Kenton didn’t let his gaze stray to Lora’s house. “Did you come back for a souvenir?” Serials and their souvenirs—they always liked to collect keepsakes.

  “Hell, no.” Rage burned in Malone’s words.

  But Kenton’s hadn’t expected an instant confession. “I’m going to need you to come down to the station and answer some questions.” Actually, he’d need a lot more than that.

  “You’re taking me in? You seriously think I’m a suspect here? This is bull—”

  “Bullshit. Right. I got it the first time.” Kenton kept his gun up. “But bullshit or not, you’re coming in and you will answer the SSD’s questions.”