That stopped the screaming.

“Uh, sir, you need to sit back—”

He shook his head, hard, and the EMT quieted. “Tell me what’s going on, Jerome. Tell me what’s happening with these fires, tell me why you called—”

“N-name’s… not… Jerome.” Hoarse. Either from the fire or from the screaming. “Larry. Larry… Powell. Don’t know… who the… f**k you are.”

Kenton’s body tensed. The words didn’t sound like a lie. Those eyes didn’t look like the guy was lying either. After so many years of tracking criminals, Kenton was good at finding the lies.

Kenton reached for his phone, but his pocket was empty. He must have dropped it during the fall. Dammit. He needed to run a check on this guy, Larry Powell.

Because if this wasn’t his informant…

Then where’s Jerome?

“Prick.” Lora Spade watched the ambulance pull away in a flash of lights and shook her head. Those Bureau boys always thought they ruled the world.

God’s gift.

Okay, yeah, he had been hot, and not just because of the flames around him.

But still… a prick.

She glanced back at the building. They’d contained the fire, a damn good thing. In this part of Charlottesville, Virginia, the buildings were slammed right next to each other. The situation could have gone bad, too quickly.

“Spade!” Chief Frank Garrison roared her name. “Spade, get over here!”

The man rarely bothered using his radio. After all, why bother? Despite twenty-plus years of fighting fires, his lungs were plenty strong enough for good yells.

She hightailed it toward him. He’d stationed himself near the front of the smoking building, and his hands were in hamlike fists on his hips. A pose that she knew meant trouble.

“We got a damn body.” He spat on the ground. He did that when he was upset. She’d learned to watch her toes around him. “Or what’s left of one.”

Lora sucked in a sharp breath. A victim? But they’d done a primary and secondary sweep, they’d searched all possible rooms—and gotten the other two men out.

She adjusted her gear and followed the captain inside. Her boots pressed into the puddles on the floor and sank into the ash.

They went down two winding hallways and up one flight of stairs to the back of the building. Place was supposed to be empty. Giant “No Trespassing” signs were posted at the front. The building had been condemned.

But three victims had been inside.

Her heart slammed into her ribs and bile rose in her throat. Three victims.

And they’d only gotten two out.

Then she saw the door, or what was left of it. The fire had burned up most of the wood, and she could see the man, slumped inside.

Blisters and burns covered his body, but…

The smoke got to him first. The freaking unbelievable heat. Because the wounds weren’t enough to kill him.

What the hell? She inched closer. The guy was in some kind of closet. Two feet by four feet, why was he—

Then she saw the padlock. On the outside of the charred remains of the door. Still hanging on, despite the fire.

Locked in.

Left to die.

Her eyes met the captain’s, and she read the dark knowledge there.

Another one.

Dammit.

The poor bastard never had a chance.

He liked to watch the fire. When it danced, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Sensual, like a lover.

The firefighters had battled his blaze with all their strength. But, in the end, the fire had won—and claimed her prize.

And, to make things interesting, he’d even gotten a bonus during the show. Two bonuses, really. Two more victims.

Like the fool who’d rushed in… He hadn’t counted on that. He’d underestimated the man.

But he’d been saved. So had the addict.

Not that they mattered. They weren’t really part of the game.

Well, not yet.

But they’d tasted the fire tonight. They wouldn’t soon forget that taste.

After all, you never forgot your first.

The smoke was in the wind. When he opened his mouth, he tasted it on his tongue.

She came out then. Jerking off her helmet. Pacing back and forth too quickly.

Ah, she found my body.

Lora Spade understood the game. Perhaps better than anyone else. She knew what he was doing.

Did she know why?

Tonight, the firefighters had lost. They hadn’t searched hard enough. Hadn’t responded fast enough.

The dead… he was on their hands. Her hands.

More bodies would come. Because when you fought the fire, you learned, fast, that the fire fought back.

CHAPTER Two

Lora curled her fingers around her offering, glanced to the left, the right, then crept down the long, white hallway.

Hate this place. She could already smell the death hanging in the air. Every step she took just brought her closer and closer to the dead, and she didn’t want to be there.

But sometimes a girl had to pony up.

The coroner’s office waited for her, just a few feet away. She could too easily remember the last time she’d been in that office. A little over six months ago. But then, she’d been numb. No pain. No fear.

That sweet numbness hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.

Just past the funeral, then the agony had hit.

“What do you mean, the guy didn’t die from smoke inhalation? He was in a burning building, for Christ’s sake.”

Ah, wait. She knew that voice. Lora paused outside the door, a door that Heather had conveniently left partially open.

“There was no smoke in the victim’s lungs.”

Lora’s fingers snaked inside the box. Curled around the delicious gift.

“No smoke—that means he—”

“Died before the fire began. See, if you look here…”

Lora pulled out her treat. Took a few fast bites.

Don’t need the bribe anymore. Not when the people inside were shouting out the information she needed.

“You can see that the victim suffered cerebral damage. The damage was extensive enough that he would have died shortly after the attack—”

“The killer hits him, tosses the body into a closet, then what? Sets the fire to cover his tracks?”

My cue. Lora pushed open the door. “Sounds like it.”

GQ didn’t look particularly surprised to see her. Those gunmetal-gray eyes didn’t widen a bit, but that hard, square jaw clenched.

He was perfect today. Fancy suit that probably cost way too much money. He’d clipped his ID on his left lapel. His hair—brutally short and jet black—framed a face that was handsome, with those tough, rugged looks some women went for.

Me, dammit. She’d always been a sucker for a rugged guy.

That jaw… those eyes… that deep brown tan…

“Uh, Lora? What are you doing here?” Heather asked, crossing her arms.

Heather Jennings. The no-nonsense ME with the weakness for…

Lora held up her box. “I was in the area. I picked up doughnuts. I thought you might like some.”

GQ snorted. “Who the hell has doughnuts in a morgue?”

But Heather had already snatched them away and—“Oh, why are there just eleven?”

Because someone had skipped lunch.

Lora forced a smile and kept her eyes away from the cold lockers in the back of the room. Her knees were knocking together, and to the right—oh, jeez, that was a body beneath that sheet.

Like before… “Lora, I’m so sorry…”

“Lora? Lora, are you all right?”

She’d stumbled back. Weakness, in front of the Bureau boy. Lora sucked in a sharp breath and tasted chlorine, disinfectant, and death.

Damn.

“Why are you really here, Lora Spade?” The drawl came from GQ.

Her brows lifted, and she fought to keep her control steady. “Heather and I are friends—a girl can visit her friend whenever she wants.”

But she never visited Heather here, never.

And Heather’s eyes said she knew it.

After a moment, Heather put down the doughnuts. “I, uh, was in the middle of briefing Agent Lake regarding the victim’s COD from that fire on LeRoy…”

“Oh, really?” Her shoulders lifted and fell in a casual shrug. Her knees kept knocking. “I was curious about him… I thought I—when I came in, I thought I heard you say he’d been attacked.” She let her eyes widen.

“Uh-huh.” Heather’s light blue eyes never left Lora’s face. Heather knew her too well to be fooled by the bribe. “Your guy was attacked, Lora. He was dead, long before the fire.”

The tension in her body eased a bit.

Not him.

“Right. Well, I’ll… ah, let you get back to work.” She’d gotten the info she needed.

Didn’t fit the pattern.

“Lora, will I see you tonight at Mickey’s?”

Lora gave a quick nod. Where else would she go? No way was she staying at home again with the memories. Besides, Mickey’s was the best bar in town, if you were a cop, a firefighter, or an ME. Mickey knew how to cater to his clientele.

Heather turned away and reached for the sheet. “If you look here, Agent Lake—”

No, she wasn’t going to look. Lora grabbed for the door, heading out quickly into the hallway. A few more steps and she’d be able to breathe again without tasting—

“Do you always follow up on the victims like this?” His voice froze her in the middle of the hallway.

Lora glanced back. He shut the door behind him, crossed his arms, and watched her with eyes that seemed too focused, too knowing.

She swiped her tongue over her lips and tried to pretend that her hands weren’t sweating. “I like to be thorough.” Wasn’t he supposed to be in there, looking at the body? And not looking at her?

His eyebrows rose. “I couldn’t help but notice that you looked relieved when the M.E. said the vic didn’t die in the fire.”

“It’s not my fault he’s dead.” She shoved her hands into her back pockets. She’d been up nearly all night, thinking about that guy, wondering, worrying, seeing him, over and over. “Now I know. Even if we’d realized he was there, it would have been too late for him.”

“That why you’re here, Lora Spade? The guilt got to you?”

Her face heated. She didn’t have to explain herself to GQ. Not today, not any day. “Why are you here, Special Agent?” Though she had a suspicion, and it was enough to make her stomach clench. “Why’s the FBI getting involved in a local murder? I wouldn’t think the big boys would be interested in that.”

Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and stalked toward her. Yeah, stalked, that was a pretty good description. “I’m always interested in murder.”

He stopped a foot away. She smelled him now, a crisp cologne, the hint of soap, man.

She turned her head toward the left. The police department was stationed in the building next door. “We’ve got a whole building full of cops who’d be happy to investigate a Charlottesville murder. Don’t really see why they’d need you.” Her gaze slid to him.

His lips started to curl. “You might be surprised.”

Or she might not be.

“You’re kind of a smartass, aren’t you?” he asked.

She blinked. “And you’re a real charmer, aren’t you?” Lora fired right back.

He smiled then. A flash of his perfect white teeth and—

Dimples.

Figured.

Heaving out a frustrated breath, Lora turned away.

He caught her arm, his fingers closing tight just beneath the sleeve of her T-shirt. “Not so fast.”

His breath blew against her ear, and her heart raced, thrumming way too fast right then. No, no, this could not be happening. Not with him.

“I need to talk with you about some… cases in the county.”

Okay, she hadn’t expected that line, and her flush deepened because she had expected him to hit on her.

Guess not.

She glanced back at him. “What cases?” Suspicion was heavy in her voice.

“Jennifer Langley.”

She tried real hard not to flinch.

“Tom Hatchen. Charlie Skofield.”

Holding his stare, she waited for the next words to come, and she knew he was gonna say—

“And Carter Creed. Creed—he was one of your fellow firefighters at—”

Lora knocked his hand away. “I damn well know who he was.” Can’t do this.

“I have some questions about those deaths. I need to know—”

“You’re SSD.” She nearly spat the words at him. How? How had this happened? “You’re the one they sent?”

The guy wasn’t perfect at schooling his expression. She was watching, closely, and didn’t miss the slight rising of his eyelids.

The SSD. One of the—supposedly—most elite divisions in the FBI. Newly formed, the Serial Services Division was the only unit in the Bureau specifically formed to track and apprehend serials. Serial killers, r**ists, arsonists…

Like the serial fire freak that she was sure hunted in her city.

“You’re the one who called Hyde.” Certainty in that voice. Underscored with some shock.

“And you’re the superagent they sent.” Wonderful. Lora shook her head. “At least they sent someone,” she said, voice tight, “and didn’t just—”

“Something you should know, sweetheart.” Ah, some heat there. Okay, not just heat. The edge of fury. “I’m damn good at my job.” Steel backed his words.