Deadly Heat (Deadly #2)(7)

“This is personal for you.” He shook his head. “You can’t let the cases get personal. You can’t—”

A broken laugh rattled her chest. “It’s been personal for me… for months.” Her lips twisted. “Far too late to worry about distance now.”

It had been too late from the moment that she’d pulled Carter’s body out of that inferno.


“I ain’t killed nobody!” Kenton didn’t wince at the yell, and neither did the detective in the chair to his right.

But Detective Peter Malone did lean forward and lock his bright blue gaze on their twitching subject. “He was locked in, Larry. Sealed in that closet and left to die. You were the only other person in that building…”

Larry lifted his hands, and there was no way to miss their shaking. “I didn’t—I didn’t know anybody was there! Thought it was—was just me!”

“Did you start the fire to cover the murder?” Peter demanded, not letting up. From what Kenton could tell, the cop liked to drill hard and fast in interrogation. Some cops worked that way. Others were slower, sneakier.

One of the agents he worked with at the SSD, Monica Davenport, now she was one fine interrogator. She could make any monster spill his guts in five minutes or less.

The lady had a talent—one that worked particularly well with serial killers.

The guy in front of him was not a serial, and Kenton didn’t think he was an arsonist either.

Just a man who’d let drugs eat his soul away.

“You set the fire,” Peter said, “because you’d knocked the guy’s head in, and you were covering your tracks.” He shook his own head. “But then you got caught by the flames. The fire messed up your exit, huh?”

“What? No, man, no! I was just—just…” He inhaled, hard. “I had some—some drugs.” Whispered.

Not a big surprise. The guy’s body language screamed user, and one look into the man’s eyes had shown the pinprick-sized pupils and the bloodshot gaze.

“I swear, I didn’t s-start no fire! I didn’t kill nobody!”

Larry’s rap sheet backed that up. Drug charges stretching for pages, but no assaults, nothing even hinting at violence.

“Maybe you got high, and you got mean.” Peter stood and strolled around the table. “And the poor vic just got in your way.”

“Nah, nah, it wasn’t—”

“Tell us his name, Larry. He’s probably got a family out there, someone waiting for him to come home. Give us a name, help us out. And we’ll help you.”

The cop was pretty good.

Kenton watched the scene and waited.

Larry’s head fell. “Don’t know,” he mumbled. “D-didn’t do it.”

Same story, same verse—the one they’d gotten for the last hour. Larry had to be jonesing. His sweat soaked his clothes, and those twitches were just getting worse. But his story hadn’t changed.

Because it was the truth. Kenton had seen more than his share of liars since joining the Bureau. When perps told lies, their stories always changed. They’d swap up details and forget the original facts. It was just harder to remember a lie, especially when you were riding high on drugs.

Kenton stood, the chair legs screeching as he shoved his chair back. Larry’s head snapped up, and those bloodshot eyes widened. “Larry, what did you see last night?”

The thick lines on Larry’s forehead deepened.

The cop cut him a hard look, and Peter’s blue eyes narrowed. So? Kenton wasn’t in the mood for a pissing match. The cop had gotten his turn.

Larry swiped sweat out of his eyes. “D-don’t know what—”

“Before the fire started, did you see anyone else in the building? Hear anything?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Was… sleepin’…”

More like passed out.

“Woke up… s-smelled the smoke…” He sniffed. “Ran to the window…”

Kenton didn’t tense. “And what did you see outside?”

“You.”

Great.

Kenton turned away. This wasn’t their guy.

“Other… b-bastard didn’t help, but you—you c-came in…”

Kenton glanced back. “What other bastard?”

“Th-the one in the baseball cap… running… running down the street.”

Not many joggers in that part of town.

“Did you see the man’s face?” Peter asked.

Ah, now that would be the big question.

Larry gave a sad shake of his head.

Fuck.


The music blared, the drinks flowed, and the come-ons, well, came, but Lora sat in the back, cradling her beer and knowing that she really didn’t fit in at Mickey’s.

She couldn’t laugh with the others anymore. Couldn’t flirt. Couldn’t tease. Because she always felt like she had to be on her guard.

So tired of feeling eyes on me.

Either she was going crazy—yeah, a possibility…

Or somebody was screwing with her.

Lifting the beer, she took a long swallow. Heather wouldn’t be showing up tonight. She’d gotten the text just moments ago, and Lora knew she’d be cutting out soon, too. Can’t be here alone.