Deadly Heat (Deadly 2)

He lit a cigarette, took a long pull, and let the nicotine fill his lungs. Not really his addiction of choice. Then he put the cigarette into her hand and positioned her fingers right above the tequila-soaked sheets.

Easy.

But just in case… and because he wanted the fire to burn fast…

He reached for one of the fat candles that sat on her dresser. The candles she used to hide the stink of her alcohol and cigarettes. A flick of his lighter and the candle was lit.

He put it on her right side and punched up the sheet next to it. Ah, there was a little tequila left.

A quick pour.

Not anymore.

The candle flame flickered, then flared higher. Ash dropped from the cigarette, burning bright orange.

He watched a few moments, waiting, waiting…

The smoke came first, pluming up into the air, light gray. Then the flames flared to life.

And the bitch didn’t stir. Those eyes wouldn’t open again.

His heart raced, and his breath came faster and harder.

The fire was so damn beautiful. Dancing, higher, higher…

He backed up to watch a little more—had to watch—before he turned away and hurried back into the living room.

There. He snatched up the cell phone on the coffee table. Couldn’t very well leave that behind.

Besides, he’d paid for it. That one and the other half-dozen disposable cells that he kept handy.

Mike had more bottles off the shelves: whiskey, cheap wine, gin. He was pouring them on the floor, swinging them in wide circles and letting the alcohol fly out.

He steered clear of Mike and headed for the door. The flames would travel fast. He knew better than to stay too long.

It was the kid’s show now.

“I’m gonna rise!” Mike’s high-pitched voice stopped him. He glanced back, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

“Rise from the flames!” Mike shouted.

His lips lifted in a smile. “Yes, you will.”

Mike’s blue eyes were so bright. That grin—so happy.

The last thing he saw was Mike, swinging those bottles, pouring the alcohol all over his mother’s house.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Outside, he inhaled as he tugged down his cap, taking in a quick gasp of air, already tasting the smoke.

He hurried away from the house and waited until he was safely in his car. Then he made the call.

“911. What is the nature of your emergency?”

Leaning forward, he glanced out of the window. The houses on this street were crammed pretty close. A fire in this neighborhood could spread fast. If the firefighters didn’t hurry, that nice Ms. Jenny Sue, the elderly widow who lived right next door to the Randalls, would get too hot.

He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out the small black box he kept handy. He’d bought the damn thing online. It worked so well. He pressed the black button on the side. “Tell the smoke eaters they’d better hurry,” he muttered into the distorter. “They’ve got a body burning at 408 Millway, and the houses over here, they’re so close… those flames… they’ll take out the whole street if they don’t move their asses.”

“Sir—sir, I need your name. Sir, sir, who are—”

“Tell ’em Phoenix said to f**k off—and that this one’s for the Bureau bastards.” Just a little taste.

They’d get the full show later when he brought hell right to their doors.

To that ass**le Agent Lake’s door. When the fire came calling, he’d break. Beg and break.

He hung up the phone. He’d ditch the cell and switch to another for the next call.

So easy. He shoved the distorter back into the glove box and risked one more glance at the house. Ah, he could see the smoke now. Black and rising.

His fingers twisted as he cranked the truck. The truck had to be gone before the fire engines came.

How long would it take them? And how many would die when they went in?

He couldn’t wait to see.

Burn, bitch. Burn.

What the hell did I just do?

Kenton stared down into Lora’s eyes, his heart slamming into his chest. He’d f**king bared his soul to her. He never talked about his mom or that shit-forsaken night.

But he’d told her.

Because he’d wanted her to know that he understood what it was like to have death all around you. That cold air whispering over your skin when you couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Coming closer, closer…

The station’s alarm rang, the shrill cry echoing through the building. Lora jerked back. “I’ve got to go!” She pulled out of his arms and rushed past him as she sprang for the door.

But he was right on her heels.

When they hit the hall downstairs, they slammed into a swarm of uniforms. Lora shoved past the throng. He saw her grab her thick coat and her helmet.

The alarm was still ringing. Kenton spun around and came face to face with Monica.

“Is it our guy?” Her voice was quiet and calm, but it cut through the noise and for an instant, everyone froze.

Kenton glanced back and saw the dispatch clerk rise slowly. “A victim is trapped inside, and the cops are on their way—”

Trapped victim. Could be their arsonist playing another game. Could just be a terrible fire.

The firefighters were scrambling for the truck. Kenton turned, searching for Garrison, but he saw no sign of the chief.

He grabbed Monica’s arm. “Come on.” No way was he gonna let Lora out of his sight. “If it is him, that bastard will be there, watching.”

Monica ran with Kenton down the hall. Kenton saw Lora climb onto the fire truck. She looked back at him, her thick coat shielding her body.

His mouth dried.

The fire engine raced out with a scream of sirens.

“Lora!” Dammit, he should have told her. He should have said—

Be safe.

The firefighters walked into hell. Greedy flames, orange and red, were shooting for the ceiling, dancing and rolling.

“Preliminary sweep,” the chief’s voice thundered in her ear through the crystal-clear radio connection. Garrison had met them on the scene. He’d arrived in his gray county pickup, and she’d been damn glad to see him when she jumped off the engine.

Lora motioned with her right hand. Wade was by her side. Shit, those flames were high, moving fast, if there really was anyone inside—

Rick kicked open a door to the left, and smoke billowed out. Fire. So much fire.

She glanced down at the floor—a wooden floor. In the den, the fire hadn’t spread too far yet, but that wood, it looked darker in spots, stained…