Deadly Heat (Deadly #2)(3)

She didn’t even glance down. “I think that’s debatable.”

A snicker came from behind him.

Great. An audience. He’d forgotten all about the EMTs.

His sexy savior—with the serious attitude—turned away. “Get him checked out, Harry,” she called out and marched away.

That was it?

His gaze dropped. Couldn’t help it. Even in that thick garb, she had a nice sway.

“You—you assaulted an officer!” It was all he could think of right then. She was heading for his informant, leaving him in her dust.

He didn’t want her to go. Not yet.

Her name was on the lower back of her uniform. Spelled out in big, reflective letters. L. SPADE.

She threw a vulgar gesture over her shoulder, but didn’t stop walking.

Well, well… He couldn’t fight the smile that lifted his lips.

“Dude, you better stop while you’re ahead.” From the EMT. What had she called him? Harvey? Harry?

Kenton tossed the oxygen mask at him. Spade was too close to his informant. No way was she getting first crack at him.

The guy was his. Once he stopped trying to cough up his lung, anyway.

“Hey—wait! You need to go to the ER. You can’t just—”

Kenton shoved his way through the crowd. There were gawkers lined up across the street, watching the fire begin to sputter. Smoke drifted lazily into the night air, the sirens wailed, and general chaos ensued.

Nice.

The informant reached the ground, and the paramedics immediately swarmed him.

“We need him taken to Langley General, stat!” Spade’s voice. “Sir, sir—you’re gonna be all right! You hear me? You’re safe!”

The guy coughed, shuddered, and seemed to pull in on himself. Then he broke free of the paramedics and ran right at L. Spade.

“Sir!”

Uh-oh, was she gonna punch him, too?

No, a coughing fit took him down.

Then it was a pile of bodies as the paramedics got to work. When the guy appeared again, he was strapped to a gurney, twitching, shouting, and spitting.

“You’re welcome.” Spade sighed, running a hand through her short hair. “Must be the night for *s,” she muttered.

Kenton came up close beside her. “Guess it must.”

Her head turned toward him. Those amazing eyes narrowed. Huh. Kinda like golden fire staring right back at him.

“Who the hell are you?” someone snarled.

Kenton glanced away from Spade, and up. Damn. A big guy, both in height and width, with a grizzled gray beard and beady moss-green eyes.

“Chief, this here’s an FBI agent…” Her drawl thickened, deliberately, he was sure.

A grunt. “You the fool Lora had to pull out of the building?”

What was with these people? Weren’t firefighters supposed to be helpful and kind?

“What were you doing here?” the chief demanded, jabbing a thick finger toward him. “This is a known drug area, and it’s—”

“That’s why I was here.” Ah, bullshit. He could do it so well. “Investigation, you know. Classified—can’t discuss it with you.” His prey was getting away. An EMT shoved the screaming man into the back of the ambulance. Great. He already knew the guy was a runner. If the fellow made it to the hospital, he’d vanish long before emergency personnel got hold of him.

The chief turned away. “Long, Suvalis—get those hoses over here! We still got flames…”

“You are so full of crap.” Ah, this from the sweet-tongued Lora Spade.

He blinked at her. “Sorry, I’m suddenly feeling… a little woozy.” He rubbed his jaw. “Could be from the blow I took. I think, I–I think I need to get to the hospital.”

Kenton took a step away, his eyes already on that ambulance.

She touched his arm. He felt the heat of that touch right through the sleeve of his dress shirt. “What’s your name, GQ?”

“Kenton. Special Agent Kenton Lake.” So she felt the connection, too, that hot zip of attraction.

“Thanks. I needed your name since I’ll be reporting your actions to your boss at the Bureau.”

What? She was reporting him? She was the one who should be— A siren screamed on. No, no, it can’t get away. “Talk to you later, sweetheart.” He broke into a run. No, don’t shut that door—“Wait!” The EMT glanced back. “I’m coming with you.” He dug out his mangled ID, waved it at the guy, then jumped inside.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Kenton tossed a hard grin at the man he suspected to be Louis Jerome, informer extraordinaire. “You didn’t think I’d miss our meeting, did you?”

That stopped the screaming.

“Uh, sir, you need to sit back—”

He shook his head, hard, and the EMT quieted. “Tell me what’s going on, Jerome. Tell me what’s happening with these fires, tell me why you called—”

“N-name’s… not… Jerome.” Hoarse. Either from the fire or from the screaming. “Larry. Larry… Powell. Don’t know… who the… f*ck you are.”

Kenton’s body tensed. The words didn’t sound like a lie. Those eyes didn’t look like the guy was lying either. After so many years of tracking criminals, Kenton was good at finding the lies.