Deadly Heat (Deadly #2)(42)

Kenton stood at the edge of the fire line, staying just past the perimeter that had been established by Garrison’s team. He watched that dark door, unable to tear his gaze away from the flames and smoke.

Come out, Lora. Get your ass out.

“What? What?” Garrison shook his radio as he snarled into it. “Fuck, answer me!”

Screw the line. Kenton ran toward him. “What’s going on? How long should this take before—”

“Did you hear?” Detective Malone jumped in front of him. “That bastard called. He said this one was for you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kenton grabbed the detective’s shirt and hauled him close. “What call?”

Malone’s blue eyes narrowed. “Phoenix called in the fire. Same f*cking MO. Said for us all to ‘f*ck off.’ ” His eyes shot to the side. To Davenport, who watched the madness of the flames in silence. “And he said that this one was for the Bureau bastards.”

“Get out! Get out!” Garrison screamed. “Get—”

Kenton looked back at the house—and the world exploded.

? ? ?

Lora dragged him out. She kept her grip strong and certain even though she wanted to stumble. The flames blazed around her, close enough to touch, as she dragged him.

Shadows moved in front of her. Her eyes were foggy. The fog could be from the sweat. Maybe the blood.

Lora didn’t glance down. She didn’t want to see…

She stumbled onto the porch and fell hard. Other hands were there, reaching for her. And that voice was still in her ear. Screaming for her to get out.

Her hands slapped against the old wood as she tried to crawl forward.

“Lora!” Another voice. She looked up and crawled some more.

“Get her, get her now!” Frank. That was Frank screaming in her ear.

“Shit, Spade, what the hell happened?” Gloved fingers lifted her and took her away from the burning house.

The mask was pulled off her head. She sucked in fresh air and swiped at her eyes. Oh, Christ, what about—“Rick?”

“We got him.” Max stared down at her, face tight, eyes fierce. “He came out right before you.” He lifted her and pushed her onto a gurney. Another mask came at her. “Breathe, Spade.”

“Lora!” Kenton’s voice. Her head turned, and she could see him now as Kenton shoved cops aside and raced toward her.

Her hands trembled. She sucked in air, good, clean air.

“Sweetheart, what the f*ck?” He was there, right behind Max. Kenton lifted his hands as if he’d touch her, and she really wanted him to touch her. To hold her and stop the ache in her heart because she knew that they’d lost a man.

She lowered the mask and glanced back at Max. “W-Wade?” She hadn’t let him go. He’d been heavy with all that gear, and those flames, but she’d held on, just like before. Just like…

Max’s lips trembled. His hands clenched, and his eyes darted to the ambulance on the right. The one that was shooting out of the lot and down the road as its siren shrieked. “H-he’s… bad, Lora, I—I don’t—”

Her eyes darted away. Tears trickled down her cheeks. From the wind, from the smoke, the fire. From the f*cking pain cutting her apart.

Just like before.

More firefighters were attacking the house with long hoses, blasting water.

Such a good trap this time. With the perfect bait.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart?” Kenton’s voice.

She shook her head. That boy hadn’t gone after her. She’d been too close to the door. The flames had streaked across the floor, he’d lit himself—then launched right at Wade. Wade. He’d been forced to head for the boy. The kid had blocked his path so there was no other way out.

“Spade!” Frank charged toward her with red cheeks and wild eyes. “What the hell happened? What the hell—”

“That f*cking pyro, Mike Randall!”

She blinked, turned her head, and saw Rick beside her. He’d pulled off his oxygen mask. “Saw him—when the—” He broke off, coughing hard. “F-f*ck did he get back out?”

Mike Randall. The kid’s face flashed before her. That smile…

She knew she’d seen it before. The boy’s life—his file—clicked before her.

Michael Randall. Age sixteen. Of course, she’d known that smile. He’d given her that same smile two years ago, when she dragged him out of the flames. This time, she hadn’t been able to pull him out.

He hadn’t wanted freedom. Just death.

And to take her man with him.

“S-set himself on fire.” Her voice came out rusty. The suit felt heavy. But she was cold. So cold.

Kenton watched her, his hands clenched into fists.

Touch me.

She needed him right then. So half the fire department was right there, crowding around. Screw them.

Touch me.

Her eyes held his, and Kenton stepped forward.

“That pyro brat? When the hell did he get out?” Frank roared. “Malone, shit, you’re supposed to tell us when those bastards get loose!”

Peter was there, too?

Everyone was there, watching.

She raised her chin, and her gaze shot across the field. Bystanders, dozens of them, stared up at the flames. Police cruisers littered the road. Two fire trucks still had their lights flashing, and even as she stared, a news crew filmed her. “Watching,” she whispered.