Deadly Heat (Deadly #2)(81)

For a moment, he just watched and enjoyed that sweet burn.


Kenton paced inside the safe house. He glared at the plainclothes cops who’d been on duty. “You’re telling me the guy just walked out of here?”

The short cop with the thinning red hair jerked his thumb toward the window. “Climbed out. Man, we were here to keep him safe, not to keep him locked in. I didn’t know he was a runner!”

“The man is schizophrenic, just back on his meds. He could have done anything.” Kenton clenched his teeth and gritted out, “And Officer Daniels, you knew that. I briefed you myself.”

The guy’s eyes dropped as he glanced down at the floor.

Dammit! “We’ve got to find him. Now.” Before Bob disappeared for good. Either of his own volition, vanishing into the streets—the guy had to know places to hide in this city. Or if Phoenix happened to find him, well, then he’d be disappearing into the flames.

No, his identity was protected. Phoenix couldn’t know.

But Malone had known about Bob Kyle. Half a precinct full of cops had known. They’d all been there when he was brought in and put in Interrogation.

“We’ve got cruisers searching the streets.” Not from Daniels. These words came from the other cop there. The guy with the thin, craggy features and the direct gaze. “We’re combing the streets, sir. We’re gonna find him.” He sounded confident.

If only.

“Has anyone checked the train yard?” Kenton asked as he rubbed the back of his neck. That was across town, but maybe—

“Kenton.” Jon stood in the doorway. “We think we found Bob.”

“Thank Christ. All right, let’s get him secured, set up in a new house, and—”

But Jon just shook his head, and the hard punch in Kenton’s gut told him the news wasn’t going to be good.

? ? ?

The stench hit him. Even before Kenton rounded the corner and crossed into the dark alley, the smell had already clogged his nostrils.

A uniform ran out of those dim recesses. His shaking hand covered the lower half of his ashen face. The cop took two steps away from the alley entrance and vomited.

Dammit.

Kenton’s shoulders stiffened as he hurried forward.

Monica appeared before him as she skirted around a garbage bin. “We’re going to need dental records to determine for sure…”

An image of Kyle, shaking at the Interrogation table, flashed through his mind. Where’s Cathy?

Kenton stalked forward and gazed over the tech’s shoulder.

Christ.

His eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Another image he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

Fuck.

“I think it’s safe to assume that we’re looking at Phoenix’s work.” Monica’s voice was as cool as you please. They were standing over a body that had been savaged to hell and back, cops were puking all around them, and the woman sounded as if she was talking about the weather.

Control. He was supposed to have it.

Monica’s hand brushed against his arm. “Kenton, are you okay?” Her question was whisper quiet so the others wouldn’t hear. She’d never let a team member look weak.

He opened his eyes and stared into her blue gaze. How do you do it? His lips pressed together, and he bit back the question.

Monica had worked some of the most gruesome cases out there. She’d nearly lost her lover to the last killer they’d tracked, but she still did the job. Day in and day out, she got into the minds of killers.

And, somehow, she stayed sane.

More than that, she acted like the killers never touched her.

“Kenton?” Worry threaded her voice.

“He f*cking slaughtered him, Monica.” Bob Kyle hadn’t deserved this. No one did. Kyle had gotten one raw deal after another. Losing his wife, losing his mind…

Now his life.

“We’re going to get Phoenix,” she promised. But he was tired of talking about catching the freak.

He wanted him locked behind bars, thrown so far into a hellhole jail that he’d never see daylight.

And never hurt anyone again.

He swung away from the body. Can’t see it anymore. There was a red fire extinguisher on the ground, lying just a few feet away. A tech snapped pictures of it. Somebody had tried to help Kyle.

Too little, far too late.

“You’re sure it was this man?” Jon asked, and Kenton’s eyes glanced toward him. He had a photo in his hand, had to be of Kyle, and he was flashing it to a jittery-looking guy in shorts.

“H-he was in my s-store… bought wh-whiskey.”

Kyle had left the safe house to get booze?

Kenton bent, stooping under the yellow police tape, and hurried toward the guy talking to Jon. “Kyle paid for the whiskey? He didn’t steal it?”

“P-paid with a twenty.” The guy—in his early fifties with graying hair and a grizzled goatee—swallowed a couple of times. “I was taking a cig break and saw the smoke.”

“Mr. Dumont here grabbed his fire extinguisher and raced over,” Jon explained.

“Th-thought garbage was on fire.” He took a deep breath, fumbled, and yanked out a cigarette. “Didn’t expect to see no person.” He flashed his lighter, sparking the flame, and he lit the tip of the cigarette with trembling fingers. “Jesus f*cking Christ, I can still smell him.”