“Your mom—what happened to her—is that why you joined the SSD?” She’d asked before and he’d said… Because someone has to. She’d known that wasn’t the real answer then.

Now she knew the truth.

“It’s why I became a cop. But after a few years on the force, I worked a series of homicides where the perp took his time killing kids—little girls.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “That’s when I realized there were bastards out there a hell of a lot worse than the drunk a**hole who’d taken my mother’s life. I knew what we were really up against, what was out there, waiting in the shadows.” A shrug. “And I decided to join the Bureau.” He caught her hand and stroked his thumb over the back of her palm.

Lora drew in a deep breath. “I became a firefighter because I wanted to stop folks from winding up like me.” Her home gone. Her father dead. And her brother hooked to a thousand machines with each breath agony.

“You know my past,” he said gruffly, and his long, strong fingers tightened around hers. “I know yours. Is that fair enough for you?”

“That why you told me?” She wet her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue. “So we’d be ‘fair’?”

“I told you because you had a right to know.”

“Kent—”

“I want to be with you, Lora. In your bed. Fuck, I want you na**d now. I want you. I’m not walking away. Not from this case, and not from you.”

And she wasn’t either. The case would only end for her when the killer was caught, no matter what skeletons the SSD pulled from her closet.

She’d known the investigation would get rough. She was ready for whatever bumps came.

As for Kenton…

His left hand rose and cupped her jaw. “I want more,” he said, his voice so deep and dark that an ache lodged in her chest.

Because she wanted more, too.

It was dangerous. So dangerous…

“So do I,” she whispered.

As his lips took hers and stole her breath, Lora knew that she’d have him again. Wild and hard and strong.

She’d have him. And he’d have her.

“P-please… m-man… I–I did what you wanted…”

He took a long gulp from the tequila bottle in his hand.

“I–I want the fire… Man, I need it…”

He glanced at the kid—big eyes and a sweaty forehead, with a voice that kept trembling and breaking. The kid was rocking back and forth, his body shaking, a lighter in his hands.

A smile curved his lips as he watched Michael Randall. Poor Mike. He was jonesing bad.

Another gulp as the kid’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

“You know what you’ve got to do?” It was a risk, using Mike. He knew it. But using Mike had been his only option. And even then, he’d known the guy would have to die the minute he made the call. He’d given Mike the distorter and told him what to say. So easy.

He leaned toward the kid. A white, puckered scar ran the length of the boy’s right cheek. “You like the fire, don’t you, Mike?”

Mike’s gaze darted to the back, sliding to the bottles of booze his mom kept lining the walls of her kitchen. The lady didn’t even bother to hide her habit. She hadn’t bothered in years.

Now she was passed out in the bedroom. Always was this time of day.

He tipped the bottle up and poured the tequila on the floor. “You set the last fire with mama’s booze, didn’t you?”

Mike liked the fire. Liked it so much he’d caught a twelve-year-old neighbor in the blaze. The girl hadn’t made it out, but Mike had.

He knew Mike’s secrets. He knew how the guy longed to watch the fire. How he wanted to touch the flames.

He knew everything.

“I did wh-what you wanted—”

“You did good, Mike, real good.”

A smile curved the kid’s thick lips. “You—you’ll take care of her for me?”

They’d made a trade. A fair agreement, really. He gave a nod. “She’ll go first. Don’t worry.” A life for a life. Because for this next trap, he would need very special bait.

He understood Mike. Mike wouldn’t betray him. He wouldn’t betray Mike.

They’d both get what they wanted from the flames.

He turned away from Mike and strolled down the hallway. The place reeked of stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. With a flick of his hand, he shoved open the bedroom door. The mother was there, with her arms thrown out, her skirt hiked up, her face smashed into the covers.

Still dead to the world.

Well, she would be soon enough.

She didn’t stir when he poured the tequila on her. Didn’t move when he soaked the sheets.

He reached for her cigarettes and lighter, shaking his head. So dangerous for her to keep them this close. Very, very dangerous.

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 a**hole 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…

Wet.

Her eyes swept around the room, following the marks as the stain made a big circle. The flames were all near the walls in here now, but, oh, Christ, she knew—

Wade marched down the narrow hallway. He kicked open a door, just as Rick had done, but she hadn’t seen him check the door. Rick had checked, tested first, you had to check before—

“Back!” She screamed into her radio.

Fire didn’t burst from the room. She’d expected flames.

She got a man. A man running out, right at Wade. No, not a man—a boy, laughing and screaming in the smoke.

Wade slipped and hit the floor. The bastard jumped over him, still laughing and screaming. Then he ran straight for her.

Lora stumbled back.

The boy stopped with his arms raised. Lighters. He had lighters in both hands, and he was soaking wet.

The flames from the walls had moved in. They hit the wet lines on the floor.

Shit, no! “Out! Pull out!” she yelled. Wade was still on the floor, but shoving up to his feet

Rick turned, then jumped forward.

The kid—that bastard—his eyes met hers, and he smiled.

I—I know him.

He smiled when he flicked those lighters—the flames danced—

And he set himself on fire.

Oh, God.

Then the kid ran right at Wade, slamming into the firefighter. They crashed through the wall, and the flames erupted.

Kenton stood at the edge of the fire line, staying just past the perimeter that had been established by Garrison’s team. He watched that dark door, unable to tear his gaze away from the flames and smoke.

Come out, Lora. Get your ass out.

“What? What?” Garrison shook his radio as he snarled into it. “Fuck, answer me!”

Screw the line. Kenton ran toward him. “What’s going on? How long should this take before—”

“Did you hear?” Detective Malone jumped in front of him. “That bastard called. He said this one was for you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kenton grabbed the detective’s shirt and hauled him close. “What call?”

Malone’s blue eyes narrowed. “Phoenix called in the fire. Same f**king MO. Said for us all to ‘f**k off.’ ” His eyes shot to the side. To Davenport, who watched the madness of the flames in silence. “And he said that this one was for the Bureau bastards.”