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, ass**le.
“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?”
“With a hat—” Bob said in a rush. “A baseball h-hat. Cathy and me—we… we always liked the games.”
Cathy, his dead wife.
“She got me a cap like that once.” He reached for the coffee, and some of the dark liquid jostled over the side. “But I don’t like the Braves.”
Monica leaned forward. “Did that guy like the Braves?”
“Big A.” Another nod. “That’s what was… on his c-cap. Big A.”
“Tell me more about him.”
“I don’t…” Bob trailed off.