No Hero by Mallory Kane Page A

to push her up against the wall and kiss her again, and again, and again, until she begged him to make love to her.
    Using more willpower than he knew he had, he banished the vision of her beneath him with all that gorgeous red hair fanned out across his pillow, and impassively surveyed her office.
    “Nice digs,” he grated. His gaze lit on a brass plaque. It was the regional award she’d won for the Maxwell kidnapping story. Right. He’d heard about that.
    He tapped it, and said neutrally, “Nice. Congratulations.”
    She blushed, and he smiled to himself. He’d totally flustered her. That was good.
    “So let’s see this famous DVD,” he said.
    At that instant his phone rang. It was Penn. “Tracy said she saw Nicky just before she got here, about an hour ago.”
    “Okay, good,” he said, relieved. “Tell her I said for him to come and stay at the center for a few days. But don’t tell them why.” He hung up as Connor picked up the remote control and pointed it at the DVD player.
    “Ready?” she asked.
    He nodded, not sure what he expected from this. She was clearly convinced of the importance of what Fontenot had said. It was hard to believe the little weasel had any loftier goal than getting back into the spotlight, or maybe to get his parole hearing moved up.
    Still, with three dead kids and no solid leads, Dev couldn’t afford to dismiss even the slightest chance that she was right about the maniac’s threats. Besides, he reminded himself, there was always that one percent.
    Propping a hip on the edge of her desk, he picked up a pencil and fiddled with it as she queued up the disk. The first thing on the screen was a close-up of Connor, smiling and talking to the cameraman. She fast-forwarded. “Hey,” he said. “I don’t get to see all of it?”
    “That was just setup. What we’re looking at is the raw footage. It was never edited for airing. Fontenot mentions you about forty minutes in.” She pressed fast-forward, watching the screen. “Right about here,” she said, then pulsed the picture forward almost frame by frame. “He’ll sit back and tent his fingers, then he’ll start in on you.”
    On the small screen, Fontenot put his fingertips together in front of his chest and licked his lips. Dev sat up a little straighter.
    “—he returned to Seattle and cleared up that twenty-year-old charge,” Fontenot was saying.
    Dev tensed at the sound of the scumbag’s voice.
    “That’s right. He did. As I said, his stepfather’s death was ruled self-defense.” Connor’s recorded voice sounded brittle, self-conscious.
    Fontenot continued, sneering. “So Devereux Gautier is a noble protector. And he has at least one staunch supporter.”
    Supporter? Reghan Connor ? He glanced at her. Her cheeks were tinged a faint pink. Just like her image on the screen.
    “I’m not here to talk about Dev—Detective Gautier,” she said to Fontenot. “I’m here to interview you—at your request, if I may remind you. So, Mr. Fontenot—”
    “Yes, I did request this interview,” he interrupted. “Now that Detective Gautier’s lies and deceit have been made public, I would like to speak out regarding what he did to me.”
    “You stated in court that you blame Detective Gautier for the accident that put you in a wheelchair.”
    “Of course. With a careless brush of his hand,” Fontenot imitated the gesture, “he trapped me forever in this metal prison.”
    “ Mr. Fontenot, it was the justice system that put you in prison.”
    “My dear Reghan. You are smarter than that. I’m not talking about the penitentiary. I’m talking about this damn chair. You know the story. During his oh-so-daring rescue of his partner, Maxwell, and his wife, Gautier slammed me against a marble-topped table and broke my spine. I will never walk again. That cretin stole my freedom.” His eyes narrowed smugly. “But I am not defeated. I have resources I have not even begun to tap.”
    Dev suppressed a shudder of