Fire Burns Hot ((An FBI/ Romance Thriller~ (Book 5)))

 
Fire Burns Hot

         
               By Morgan Kelley

©
Copyright 2013 by
Morgan Kelley LLC
All rights

reserved. No parts of this publication may be

reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, electronic or mechanical, including 

photocopy, recording, or in an information storage 

or retrieval system without written consent from

the author. All characters are fictional

and any similarity to real life or individuals is

coincidental.

©
Copyright 2013 by
Morgan Kelley LLC

Second Edition

O
ther works by Morgan Kelley:

FBI stand alone Thrillers

The Junction  

Serial Sins    (Re-release in summer 2014)

FBI Thriller Series

The Killing
Times (Book 1)

Sacred Burial Grounds (Book 2)

True Love Lost (Book 3)

Deep Dark Mire (Book 4)

Fire Burns Hot (Book 5)

Darkness of Truth (Book 6)

Croft &Croft Adventures

Celestia is Falling 

Vegas is Dying

Christmas is Killing (November 2013)

Vampyre Series

The Blood Betrayal (1)

The Blood Redemption (2)

The Blood Vengeance (3)

The Blood Retribution (4)

Dedication:

To the powers that be
: Thank you for the sense of humor. I’ve needed it many times in my life.

To friends that never judge, but hold you up when you’re too tired to do it yourself. You know who you are.

To parents that accept, even when they’ve had to wonder what the heck happened!

To men that don’t want baggage, but carry it anyway.

To women so strong they lead by example.

To love that heals, soothes and gives endlessly.

To my own son. I hope you find the deep well of love and compassion that I know lives in you.

To my daughter. Remember to love you first, and then worry about loving someone else. If you can’t be your own biggest fan, then no one else can either.

Lastly,

Thank you
men and women of the military that come home broken and battered. Without your sacrifice I can’t do the things I love to do.

Peace
and love.

MK.

~
Prologue~

Women should be cherished as a gift from the gods. Soft skin, long silky hair and bodies meant to bring men hours of pleasure. In life, there were few things that could drive a man to madness and women were at the top of the list.

That’s why he killed them.

Yes, he should treat them like the fairer sex and worship at the temple of their bodies, but for him they just didn’t matter. Once you’ve had one woman, they all blended together. In fact, nothing made them stand out to him, except the end of their lives. That he’d remember without a doubt. When the life was ripped away and the empty shell remained, battered and bruised, he would save it deep in his mind.

Death was
the only thing that called to him.

Madness was in the eye of the beholder in his case. In his mind, there was nothing wrong with purchasing a woman, getting her to do whatever you wanted
, and then dispose of her like trash. All the women he found were lowly whores, selling their bodies and souls to the men that they courted for the almighty dollar. Why should they matter to him, when they obviously didn’t matter to themselves?

A whore was a whore even in her dying moments.

He stood over her on the bed in the cheap motel, smiling down at the very dead eyes. The irony was that alive, they held the same exact stare. Nothing had changed since her heart had stopped beating. Eyes told the tale and were the windows to the soul. Hers said a great deal of the woman inside.

They were e
mpty.

Cold and v
acant.

Now in death they still told the same story of a
prostitute that was used up and enjoyed it. When he found her on the street, it was just too easy to follow her back to her flop and get what he wanted. Sex with her was easy. She wasn’t interested in getting off. All she needed was the cash to pay her pimp, and then get her drug fix. To dull her pain, all it took was a smile, a wad of money and need.

When she offered herself to him
by leaning in his car window, he just knew.

She was the one.

Because it was her time to die.

Soon the endless pain living in her would vanish.

Everything about this one was perfect. All his requirements were met. No one would miss her, she was willing to have sex, and then there was his favorite part…

The hair.

Nothing called to him more than the silky waves. God, he had a thing for a slut with long tresses. Not because he enjoyed it running across his body during sex, but when he lit them on fire it mattered. Nothing was more fascinating to watch than the hair shriveling, as the flames licked at them wickedly. Then you had the smell.

Oh, the d
elicious smell of a burning woman’s lovely hair.

It was so perverse
, and yet so damn perfect.

Something so primitive called to him when he thought about it
. The first time he killed, it made him throw up, as he was racked with guilt, but now… oh, it made him stronger. It fueled him through his next rendezvous with the following worthless woman. It wasn’t lost on him, even in his madness, that each kill was more vile than the last. Where it was leading him, he didn’t know. But it pushed him on and made him want more and more death. The longing was unquenchable, and he was addicted to the power.

He was the
self-proclaimed God of Whores
.

It was
delicious to use the women, knowing they wouldn’t see the next day. Their lives were over and forfeited at his hand.

So far, no one had even noticed them missing.
It simply proved what he’d believed all along.

Whores were expendable
.

No one cared what happened to the
unloved women of the streets. Their destroyed, charred flesh was simply bagged and tagged. Bodies were carted off to the morgue to be housed, until someone who cared showed up.

He laughed at that thought. No one cared
enough to love them while they lived. Why bother when they were a burnt hunk of meat?

In his opinion women were
disposable, and he planned on using them and tossing them away.

Combining the destitute dregs of the street with the power of fire was absolute bliss
.

By taking his love of the flame, mixing it with the destruction of the wanton flesh, he’d achieved nirvana. It was the most beautiful art to watch unfold, telling the ultimate story.

Glee filled him, as it destroyed the body so much, that the Medical Examiner and coroner had a hard time finding the truth. It was the perfect medium to commit the crime.

Whores didn’t really get medical a
ttention or leave a paper trail, and that’s why he picked them to be his unwilling victims.

Why concern yourself with women of the night?

He didn’t.

Placing her body in just the right spot on the bed
, he artfully arranged her hair. It was a gorgeous shade of blonde, and to his delight, he found natural. His fingers combed through it, anticipating what was to come. Closing her very dead eyes, he began pouring the accelerant across her naked flesh.

He looked around the room making sure there was nothing left behind that would tie him to the woman. As he took the last look, his heart pounded in his chest at the sheer beauty of what was to come. Her death would be cleansing.

This time he couldn’t stay and watch, because the motel was a public place. The next time though, he planned on taking the girl somewhere more secluded. A place that would be just theirs.

Like the last one whose life he stole. Part of him was sad that he couldn’t stay
until the bitter sweet end. It was part of the enjoyment to smell the burning skin, the shriveling hair, and the putrid destruction of the human form.

Alas, there was a reason he couldn’t remain.
Each time he was forced to change it up, so the cops wouldn’t have a clue on how to find him. As of yet they didn’t even have a suspect in the killings. The tally was now four, and already he knew who he wanted for the next woman.