Deadly Heat (Deadly #2)(47)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Rage burned through Lora. “He’s the one that should be hunted. He’s the one that needs to be put down.”

Not arrested. Not given therapy. Taken out.

Like he’d taken out his victims.

“Do you believe in an eye for an eye, Lora?” Monica asked.

“Yeah, I do.” When it came to the ones she loved—you hurt them, you paid.

“Why do you think he’s focusing on you?” Monica asked as she cocked her head.

“Because he’s a sick freak with nothing better to do?” Because we both know the fire. We know how she feels. Not like a lover but like the devil, biting you, licking you with a tongue that burned your flesh away.

“He knows about you and Kenton,” Monica said.

Lora’s hand trembled as she shoved back her hair. “I picked up on that.” Which explained why Ramirez had been hiding in her bushes. Following Kenton, because he had been the bait. Now it looked as if she’d gotten added to the menu.

She wiped her sweaty hands on the front of her jeans. “You think Kent and Ramirez will find him?”

Monica glanced back at the cops, then her stare darted to the station manager, who was trying to act like he wasn’t listening to every word they said. After a moment, she shook her head. “He was gone the second the call ended, but maybe, just maybe, he left something behind. Something we can use.” Her lips curved, the faintest bit, as her bright eyes turned back to Lora. “All it takes is one mistake, and we’ve got him.”

Just one.

A team searched the railyard. Cops swarmed, running with flashlights, their weapons drawn. They searched every abandoned car and every shed. The cops shoved their lights into every shadow.

They found the phone smashed into pieces on the ground. Kenton tagged and bagged every part and hoped they’d get lucky with some prints, but his gut told him their guy hadn’t been so careless.

But you never knew…

He turned around and stared at the long line of old railway cars.

Phoenix had come here so no one would see him. Away from the city. Away from the lights.

He’d picked the perfect place. The guy knew the city so well.

“Lake! We got something!” Jon’s voice boomed in the night.

Kenton whirled around and took off running, the thudding of his heart filling his ears. He jumped over the tracks and shot around an old engine.

Jon stood with two uniforms. Another man was between them, older, with his head bent. The scent of alcohol hung in the air all around him.

“Not something,” Jon said, softer now. “Someone.”

The guy’s head lifted. Kenton shone his flashlight on him and the man winced, rocking back. He wore oversized clothes that hung on this too-thin body. His shoes—one was a tennis shoe, the other a boot—shuffled on the ground.

“This is Bob.” Jon had a hand clenched in the guy’s jacket. “Bob lives here.”

“My h-home!” Bob took a few stumbling steps forward, and Kenton realized Jon was holding his jacket to stop the guy from getting away. “Why’s so many… comin’ in my h-home?”

Kenton’s eyes met Jon’s. One mistake. That was Hyde’s mantra, a mantra he’d taught to them all. “Bob, was there another man here tonight?”

Bob’s head rolled a bit. Kenton dropped the light so it didn’t shine right into Bob’s bloodshot eyes.

“L-lot of ’em…” His hands made big circles. “All over.” His right hand slapped into Jon’s chest. “One… h-here…”

“Before we came.” Kenton kept his voice low and steady. “Was there another man here? Did you see anyone here tonight before the police arrived?”

Silence.

Kenton’s back teeth ground together. Christ. The guy was barely on his feet. If Jon hadn’t been holding him, he’d probably be on the ground, right next to the brown bag that he must have dropped.

“Y-yeah… seen ’im.” Bob grinned, showing a missing front tooth, and started singing. “Take me out to the ballgame… take me out…”

Fuck. Kenton exhaled on a rough sigh.

So much for a mistake.

Kenton turned away, then stopped. A memory tugged at him. He glanced over his shoulder. “Bob, why are you singing that song?”

“’Cause he’s f**kin’ crazy,” one of the cops whispered.

Bob’s grin vanished. “I-I wanted that h-hat.” Angry.

Kenton’s heart slammed hard into his ribs. “What hat?”

Bob’s shaking hand rose and touched his head. “Saw it… when he walked under… the light.” His bony fingers pointed to the lone light on the right side of the station. The only light not busted out or broken. “Take me out with the crowd…”

Kenton walked closer to him. “You saw a man under that light? Is that what you’re saying? A man wearing a hat?” Come on, come on…

“I p-played once… was a p-pitcher.” He shot his arm out as if he were tossing a ball.

A baseball cap. It could be a damn coincidence.

Larry Powell had described a man in a baseball cap. He’d seen him fleeing the fire that killed Jerome.

“Bob, was anything on the hat? Bob, Bob?” Kenton caught his shirtfront when Bob slipped. “What was on the hat?”

Bob just blinked.

“What was the guy wearing? What were his clothes like? What was—”

“Nice ph-phone…” Bob’s lips turned down. “Broke it, though. Broke a g-good phone…”

“Our guy,” Jon whispered.

Yeah, their guy all right. And they had a witness.

“P-pretty truck, too…” Another smile from Bob. “I like trucks.”

Kenton’s gaze met Jon’s.

“Hot damn,” Jon muttered. “Hot damn.”

“Get him sober. Get him in a room for an interview, and let’s get this bastard.”

Lora glanced out of her bedroom window and saw the patrol car circling her block. Great. Well, considering that phone call, she wasn’t surprised that the FBI had ordered an extra patrol to cruise through her neighborhood.

The phone rang, and the shrill cry made her jump. “Dammit.” She turned away from the window and grabbed the phone. “Hello.”

Do you like the fire, Lora? That whisper rolled through her head again, and she tensed.

“Lora? It’s Kenton.”

Like she’d ever mistake that voice.