"Don't miss this romantic suspense; a real page-turner filled with heat and passion."
Reviewed by Viki Ferrell
Posted January 6, 2011
Romance Suspense
The FBI's Serial Services Division (SSD) is in action
again, this time in Charlottesville, Virginia. Kenton Lake
has been sent there to track down a serial arsonist. It's
been six months since the last fire, but the
arsonist/killer is at it again. Lora Spade made the call to
the SSD, with her boss' permission. No one else saw the
arsons as being connected, but she is convinced they are.
Lora is a firefighter in her hometown. And it is at the
scene of the latest arson that she meets Kenton Lake,
pushing him away from the burning building for his own
protection. She didn't anticipate the sparks that ignited
between them. As they work the case together, a fire of
romance burns brightly between them, a fire that neither
one of them particularly wants, but neither of them can
deny it.
More fires are started; more bodies burn and more agents
are sent to Charlottesville on this case. They begin
narrowing down the suspects and discover the arsonist may
be someone who has been right there amongst them all the
time.
Cynthia Eden gives us another riveting novel in the
second installment of her Deadly series. Old characters
return from her first book and new characters emerge as
heroes. This romantic suspense is a real page-turner filled
with plenty of "heat" and passion you will not want to
miss.
SUMMARY
She wants revenge . . .
Six months after her lover died in an arsonist's blaze,
firefighter Lora Spade calls in the FBI's elite Serial
Services Division to track the elusive killer. When Special
Agent Kenton Lake is lured into a violent inferno, Lora
pulls him to safety and is stunned - not by the fire, but
by her own searing attraction to Kent. For the first time
in months, she longs for something other than vengeance.
He wants her . . .
Kenton's interest in Lora should be purely professional.
But one fleeting kiss and he can't get her out of his mind.
Her combination of strength and vulnerability makes him
want to protect her, and that means solving this case - and
fast. For even the passion igniting between them can't hide
a terrifying truth: Lora is the next target in a murderer's
sadistic, fiery game.
A vicious killer wants only . . .
Deadly Heat
ExcerptChoosing to run into a burning building probably wasn’t
the smartest
decision he’d ever made. Then again, sadly, it wasn’t his
dumbest either.
Kenton Lake choked in a deep breath of air—already
tasted the smoke–then
lifted his arm over his mouth. Some jobs just sucked.
He went into the wall of smoke. Ah, hell.
His nostrils burned. Heat scored his flesh, but he heard
the voice calling,
the same voice that had lured him to the building, lured
him across the street
and into this inferno.
"H-help! Dammit—h-help me!"
His informer. Upstairs. In the middle of the flames and
fury.
He jerked off his jacket, covered his mouth, and tried
to stay as low to the
floor as he could.
His eyes burned, and the ash and fire singed his
nostrils. How the hell had
this happened? He was investigating arson, not supposed to
get drawn into—
Part of the ceiling fell behind him.
Kenton glared up at the long row of stairs. Ten-to-one
odds they’d fall away
before he got to the top.
Ten to one.
"H-help…"
Weaker.
He took the stairs. One. Two. Three.
And, yep, they gave way just when he reached stair
number four. Kenton went
down, hard. The broken wood bit into his arms and legs, and
the fire flew
toward him.
A blast of water shot out, hard and fast, slamming into
the flames.
Someone grabbed him, hauled him up, and a hand locked
tight around his arm.
Kenton found himself staring right at a firefighter.
He caught a smoky glimpse of narrowed eyes behind a
clear eye shield. Kenton
had a fast impression of a thick, black helmet and a brown
uniform—
The firefighter shoved him forward, obviously trying to
send him toward the
front of the building.
Hell, no.
More firefighters swarmed around him, battling the fire.
Some struck out
with axes, some scrambled into the rooms.
Couldn’t they hear the voice calling for help?
He tried to break free and jump for those stairs. There
was a gap, he could
make it, he might—
The firefighter who’d grabbed him before dragged him
right back and gave a
hard negative shake of that black helmet.
Screw that, he wasn’t leaving a victim behind—
He wrenched away.
Then the firefighter slugged him. Hard. Right in his
jaw. Damn, one hell of
a hit.
Kenton went down.
The firefighter’s arms wrapped around him. Another
grabbed him. Another.
Then they dragged his ass out of the flames.
***
"Idiot!" The snarl came at him the minute the oxygen
mask was shoved onto
his face. Kenton looked up, gaze narrowed against the smoke
that still burned
his eyes, and saw the firefighter—the asshole who’d slugged
him—jerk off his
helmet and mask—
Um, her helmet and mask. Not a man, there. No
way.
He swallowed and choked a bit.
He could make out her eyes better now. Gorgeous,
shimmering gold, so clear
and deep and—
He threw the oxygen mask aside and leapt to his feet.
"You left a man in
there!"
Those golden eyes widened. Very slowly, she lifted her
right hand, a fragile
hand that had packed a whole lot of punch, and pointed to
the left.
A fire truck ladder was lowering as it moved away from
the building. And a
man was on the ladder. Older, with stooped shoulders and a
soot-stained face. A
firefighter had him in a tight grip, and the guy appeared
to be coughing up a
lung.
"Got him," she said sweetly, her voice a slow drawl of
the south that
reminded him of a team mate at the Bureau.
His gaze flew back to her. He looked now, really looked.
Short blond hair,
wet from sweat and the heat, was molded to her head. Her
face was all strong
angles, with a sharp, pointed chin. Wide, golden eyes. Cat
eyes. Not
conventionally pretty. Not really.
But with those full lips, those cut-me cheekbones and,
damn, those
eyes–sexy.
Definitely sexy.
Her hands were on her hips now. He couldn’t tell a thing
about the shape of
her body, not in that thick uniform, but she was tall, just
a few inches shy of
his own six foot three.
Probably long and lean, and he usually liked them a bit
softer around the
edges and—
"Wanna tell me why you’ve got a death wish, GQ?"
GQ? He glanced down at his ruined suit. Right. So she
was funny. Or wanted
to be. "I heard…" He coughed and had to pause to clear his
throat and breathe.
"I heard…him calling for help." He wouldn’t tell her the
guy was his informant,
not yet. That was on a need-to-know basis. Bedroom eyes
didn’t need to know
that yet.
Those eyes. Impressive really. They were so big that he
was surprised she’d
gotten them to go so mean and small, so fast. "Firefighters
fight the flames."
Ice could have dripped from that drawl. Interesting. Ice in
a fiery hell. "Not
businessmen with a hero complex."
He rubbed his jaw. It hurt. So did his ego. "You always
punch out your
victims? That part of your complex?"
She shook her head. "I only punch when the guys are dumb
enough to fight
help when it comes."
Ah, now that was the second time she’d insulted his
intelligence. He reached
into his back pocket. Yanked out his wallet. The leather
stuck a bit when he
tried to open it, but he shoved his ID toward her. "FBI,
sweetheart. I think I
know how to handle a dangerous situation."
She didn’t even glance down. "I think that’s
debatable."
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