She trembled, and her sex creamed. Definitely wet panties.
Her nails bit harder into him. “Kent…” So not the right place. She could hear everyone outside, voices rising and falling, phones ringing. “Not… now.”
He tensed against her. His breath feathered over her neck, and a chill skated down her body.
Sex with him would be phenomenal. No doubt.
She’d scream. She’d come. She’d forget.
Is that what I want? Is he?
His head rose, and those gunmetal eyes met hers. She could see the lust on his face. Hard need.
Take him.
Didn’t she deserve something, someone for herself? Pleasure… just a few hours.
He wouldn’t be there forever.
He wouldn’t know her past.
He’d take her, she’d take him, and to hell with what others thought.
So very tempting.
“M-my house…” Did she just whisper that?
Yes.
His eyes widened, and the raw lust on his face had an ache shooting through her.
Her hands feathered over his chest. She rose, licked his lower lip, and heard the hitch of his breath. “I’m not into displays, so I’m not screwing here.” She sounded cocky. Confident. Good. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that her knees were shaking. “Just me and you, Kent. My place. Tonight, when everything’s—”
A hard rap on the door. She glanced over and saw the blinds shaking beneath that pounding. What?
Kenton’s fingers clenched around her. “Someone has piss-poor timing.”
Right. Blame them. “Um, can you let go of my ass?” Her stare turned back to him.
His eyes narrowed, and his fingers pressed harder, but after a moment, he dropped his hands and stepped back. “For now.”
Ah, promises.
Kenton’s gaze dropped to her lips. “Have I told you that you taste like sin?”
Her knees shook harder. Another knock rattled the door.
“Come in!” Kenton barked.
The door shoved open, and a uniform stuck his head in. That same red-faced guy who’d asked the question in the briefing. “We got a call!” The man’s voice broke with excitement. “Agent Davenport wants you, now, says it’s him!”
Lora shook her head. No, the cop couldn’t mean—
“Fuck me.” Kenton ran out of the room.
Him.
Lora knocked the cop back when she torpedoed through the door.
The silence hit her first. No more rumbles of voices. No more whispers. All the cops in the bullpen stood at attention—and that attention, it was all on Agent Davenport. She stood near the front of the room, arms crossed, staring at the phone on the desk near her hip.
“I’m Phoenix.” A high, whispering voice.
A voice that filled every inch of the room.
Distorted, just like before, on the 911 tapes. Metallic, robotic, but whispering.
“Just called,” a cop whispered behind her. Some young guy with bright red hair and muddy brown eyes. “He called John at the front desk, asked to talk to the FBI bastards.”
Her brows rose. “Uh, what?”
“FBI bastards.” His face had flushed almost enough to match his hair. “He knew they were here.”
And that wasn’t good. Not good at all.
“I burn and I rise and the weak die.”
Peter stood beside Davenport. “Tracing,” he mouthed the word.
He’d called the station. Ballsy. She hadn’t expected that.
“And how do you decide who the weak are?” Davenport asked, inching closer to the phone. Static crackled over the speaker. “How do you pick who burns?”
“The fire burns. She kills. She judges the wicked.”
Lora’s heart shoved into her ribs. That voice… a whisper.
Makes him real. Not shadows and ash anymore. A real perp. A killer.
“No.” Davenport’s voice snapped out. “You judge. You trap the victims. You start the fire.”
“The heroes arrive too late. Can’t beat the flames. Can’t beat me.”
“You’re setting up a game—”
“I’m Phoenix. I burn and I rise and the weak die.” Laughter, hoarse and grating. “Time’s up, bitch.”
The sound of a dial tone filled the room.
Lora sucked in a hard breath. She looked up and found Davenport’s eyes locked tight on her. And over the agent’s shoulder, Carter’s image smiled at her.
“I guess the perp decided to come out of the closet.” Kenton led the way into the small office they’d been assigned and threw himself into the chair behind the desk. Wheels squeaked, and cheap leather groaned. “Hell, did you see those guys?” he asked Monica. “They aren’t gonna keep this quiet. Ten-to-one odds say at least two of them are running to the nearest news station right now.”
Monica closed the door. Her face was tense as she said, “Then I guess we’d better run faster.”
He stared at her, and, after a moment, a slow smile lifted his lips. He always got to handle the press. Sometimes he rather enjoyed that part of the job. Other times, not so much.
“He called because he wants attention,” Monica said, and he knew she was right. “The fires started small. The crimes not as obvious. But he just got bigger and bigger.”
Kenton rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that knotted his muscles. “He kept killing because he got hooked on the thrill.” And now the bastard wanted the world to know just what he was doing.
Monica walked toward the small window. “He wants everyone to know he has the control. It’s his game. He’s calling the shots. Calling us. He knew we were investigating, getting the teams ready. It would fit with his need for control.” She glanced back at him.
Kenton rose and straightened his clothes. “Then I guess it’s time I went out there and snatched that perp’s control away.” He’d slant the coverage before the press had a chance to splash their version of Phoenix’s story on all the TV stations and newspapers in the area.
“He’s not going to like this,” Monica warned. “He’ll see you as a threat.”
Kenton smiled. “Good.” That was exactly what he wanted. If Phoenix wanted to target someone, he could target Kenton. “We’re not gonna be dancing on his damn puppet strings.”
Monica’s lips curled. “No, we’re not.”
Lora flipped on the TV. When the black screen vanished and Tom Myers, always-perfect newsman for Channel Five, popped on the screen, she tossed the remote and tugged the towel from her head. She’d rushed through her shower, wanting to hurry in case—