Flames burst from the doorway of the house on Delaney. Voices rose and fell, and sweat trickled down Kenton’s back.
Come on, Lora. Come out. Come on…
“They have to pull back. Shit.” Garrison spat on the ground, and his finger hovered over the radio button. “I hate like hell to lose—”
A firefighter burst out of the flames, flying right out the front door.
No kid. Was that Lora? The firefighter looked to be the right height. He couldn’t tell, though, not for certain. Kenton couldn’t see the uniform clearly enough.
Another firefighter streaked out of the flames. Kenton’s breath choked out. This one ran out, arms up, held tight around—
The boy.
“Brian!”
The mother tried to lunge forward, but a paramedic and a firefighter held her back, even as EMTs swarmed around the kid. The EMTs took him away from his rescuer and pushed a mask over his face to give him oxygen.
That second firefighter shoved back his mask with a gloved hand. No, not his. Hers. Lora. Grimy face. Sweat-slick hair.
The most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.
Kenton lunged forward.
She took a deep breath and hurried to follow the kid.
“I’ll be damned,” Garrison whispered.
“Hell, yeah!” Rick shouted.
Then the firefighters were running toward her. They were laughing and shouting, and the mother was on her feet, the baby in her arms, and no one held her back now as she ran to her son.
Lora.
When the others surrounded her, she looked small. Weak, with the house burning behind her.
Others still worked on the flames. They held tight to hoses and shot water at the house.
A car slammed to a stop with its brakes screeching. Kenton looked over his shoulder and saw a man jump out. “Jennifer!” Fear there. No, terror was on the guy’s face as he stared up at the house. “Jennifer! Brian!”
The father.
Kenton hurried to him. “Everybody’s out.”
The guy staggered.
“They’re over there.” He pointed to the ambulance near the road. They’d loaded up the boy. His mother stroked his head, brushing back wet strands of hair and crying.
Crying, but also smiling very wide.
And Lora, she was there. She reached for the kid and ruffled his hair. The tilt of her lips was so beautiful that staring at it hurt.
Cameras flashed behind him. A news van hurtled up the street. The mother grabbed Lora and held her tight.
A cover story. That’s what this would be tomorrow. Just another story on the news.
But right then, it was a hell of a lot more.
“Our guy is scarred,” Monica said, and Ramirez raised his brows. “I could tell by the way he talked about the fire’s touch.” And she should have focused on this sooner. “He’s felt it. We’re looking for a perp who’s suffered burn wounds.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “That narrows the field.”
“It sure as hell does,” Luke said from behind Monica. “And if you’re right, it excludes the detective in there. Stripper boy is clear.”
She’d figured as much. “We need to check the hospitals. Get a listing of burn patients in the area.”
“Uh, you know there’s such a thing as doctor-patient confidentiality, right, Davenport?” Ramirez drawled.
Monica looked at Sam. Getting through a hospital’s security system would be a snap for her. “The records should go back for at least twenty-five to thirty years.”
“That long?” Luke brushed by her, squinting as he looked through Interrogation. Malone was dressed, sitting at the table again, and tapping his fingers. He looked pissed, but not scared.
Because the guy didn’t have anything to hide.
“That long,” she said, nodding, because most arsonists started when they were kids—when they were sloppy. So easy to make mistakes with small hands. So easy to burn. “Confine the search primarily to Charlottesville, maybe with a fifty-mile radius. No more, though, because our guy is local.” It fit. Every bit fit.
But why, why had he stopped killing for six months? Why stop, then start up again with such a vengeance all of a sudden? What had been the trigger?
Find the trigger, find the killer.
Seven A.M.
Kenton had stayed in the background. He’d watched Lora secure the scene and waited until the fire was only smoke and dust.
He’d watched the news crews leave. He’d seen the satisfaction on the faces of the firefighters and the desperate relief on the family’s faces.
Time had crawled by. Those hours… so very slowly.
They were back at the fire station now. He’d sent the two uniforms home because he planned to stay with Lora. The firefighters were wrapping up their reports. The new team was coming in, getting briefed, and Lora was about to slip away.
With him.
She wore a white T-shirt. Her blond hair had been washed, and it curled a bit around her face. No makeup, not here. Just clean, shining skin. The faintest traces of shadows lurked beneath her lashes because the woman was tired. Hell, she should be tired. Her lips were pale, but when she walked toward him, they curved, just a bit.
He took her hand and finally took a deep breath. The ache in his chest eased.
“You made the news,” he murmured as they passed the television in the lounge. There was Lora’s face, smudged, darkened, beautiful, as she leaned over Brian London and ruffled his hair. “They led with a hero story.” Not the sick kill left by Phoenix. Huh. Maybe Channel Five wasn’t as bad as he’d thought.
“You clear to leave?” The question came out too rough, but he was doing well to manage speech right then. He needed her.
She nodded.
“Then come with me.” Stay with me. Be with me.
Fucking bitch. He watched Lora and saw the smug smile on her lips. Why did she have to do this to him? Why?
She hadn’t learned a lesson from the fire at her house. Hadn’t even seemed to care. Was she out hiding somewhere? Fearing that he’d come after her?
Fearing the fire?
No, not her.
But then, she had the special agent hovering around her, watching her with greedy eyes and possessive hands.
Maybe she didn’t think that she needed to fear.
A fatal mistake.
She shouldn’t screw with him, shouldn’t take his time and walk away. She wasn’t the woman she pretended to be. Not loyal. Not true.
She was a f**king whore—one out to get him.
And Lora deserved just what she was going to get.
Burn, bitch, burn.
CHAPTER Eighteen