Deadly Heat (Deadly #2)(43)

Kenton shoved Max out of his way and reached for her hand. He eased off her glove and touched her skin.

She flinched.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” His voice was hard, tight with fury, but his touch was light and gentle.

Lora nodded, but no, she wasn’t all right. Because Wade—

“A trap, sir.” More coughing from Rick. Blood trickled down his cheek. “The place was laced with accelerant. He waited… w-waited for us to come in…”

“Then he ignited himself.” Her voice was stronger now, but she felt like she was about to break into a thousand pieces. “He set himself on fire.”

And tried to take them all to hell with him.

“This wasn’t Phoenix.” Rick was adamant. “This was that sick-ass kid that we told you needed to get some help, Malone.”

“He got help!” Peter’s voice thundered back, but was she the only one that noticed the words shook? “Twenty-four months. Therapy twice every week.”

Therapy that obviously hadn’t worked—and Peter knew that. He’d once told her just how little he believed in what he called the “psychobabble bullshit.”

Kenton leaned toward Lora, blocking out the others as he brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “You scared me.”

She met his stare. He’d been watching, too. Watching those flames and staring at the house while she fought the fire. Helpless, outside.

Kenton wasn’t a man who liked to be helpless. Even if she hadn’t known about his past, she’d know that. But this was her job.

“W-wasn’t Phoenix,” Rick yelled again, pushing to his feet, but stumbling a bit. “Just that s-sick freaking kid!”

“Phoenix called this one in,” Pete’s voice cut through his fury. “This was him.”

“No,” Lora shook her head, and her body spasmed as she coughed. “This was… a messed-up kid. A boy who liked the f-fire and wanted to die.” More coughing. Aw, Christ, her chest hurt.

“Get ’em to the hospital! Both of ’em, now!” An EMT grabbed Rick’s arm.

“Man, let me go, the fire’s still—”

“Get in the bus, Rick.” A hard command from Frank.

Rick glared, but he got in because you didn’t ignore the chief.

Lora lifted the mask to her face and took another deep pull of oxygen. Then she climbed into the ambulance behind him. “Just a sick kid,” she whispered again.

Her eyes held Kenton’s until the EMT slammed the door. Then her shoulders slumped as the siren wailed to life.

“Wade… is he gonna make it, Lora?”

She glanced at Rick. Wade had gone through that wall, hard, and Mike had torn off his helmet, his mask, hell, half of Wade’s damn suit. The flames—they’d eaten at his skin before she could get to him.

“He’ll be fine,” she told Rick as the ambulance raced forward. “Just… fine.” She blinked. Her eyes were tearing—from the smoke.

She was such a f*cking liar.


The ambulance turned at the corner, and its red brake lights flashed. As he watched the ambulance vanish, Kenton realized he felt cold. Odd, when he was surrounded by so much freaking heat.

“We’ll get a report from ’em, after they’re checked,” Peter Malone said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dammit! I got the all-clear on Randall from his doctors. He was supposed to be safe.”

Kenton glanced back at the house. More firefighters were running in, and the fire still burned.

Safe? Not hardly.

“Got a flashback in the den.” It was Frank’s voice on the radio. “Watch your asses, people! No one else is going down, got me?”

“Kenton, Kenton, are you listening to me?”

No, he hadn’t heard a damn thing that Monica had told him. He blinked and focused on her.

“If this really is Phoenix’s work,” she said, “he’s here. We have to do a thorough search. That bastard is here.”

Cops were there, already talking to the witnesses and taking down names. And the firefighters still surrounded the house. Cops, firefighters, and several gaping neighbors who stared with big eyes and open mouths.

“They saw who did it, Monica,” Kenton spoke quietly. “They saw him.” Lora’s voice had trembled when she talked about the boy. He’d lit up, right in front of her.

And Kenton had been outside, just staring at the flames.

“Phoenix called it in.” Malone was adamant.

“We’re gonna need to hear the recording of that call,” Kenton said automatically. Maybe the SSD could pick up some extra audio from the call that would help them to pinpoint the perp’s location.

Kenton’s gaze focused on the detective who was freaking sweating bullets. “When did Randall get out of jail?” he fired at Malone.

The cop blinked. Sweat trickled down his forehead. “Uh, about three weeks ago. He wasn’t in jail. He was in a treatment facility. The judge sent him to get therapy, his age—”

Kenton’s jaw clenched. If Mike Randall hadn’t been on the streets, there was no way that he could have set the fires six months back.

Not that he’d fit the damn profile anyway.

“He’s here,” Monica said again.