New York Times bestselling author Alex Kava returns in a blaze of glory with a gripping, action-packed thriller featuring special agent Maggie O'Dell,who is leading the search for a serial arsonist whose crimes threaten Maggie dangerously close to home. When a building bursts into flames on a cold winter night in D.C., investigators see a resemblance to a string of recent fires in the area. There is one difference, however: This one has a human casualty. The local team insists they're looking for a young white male, suffering from an uncontrollable impulse to act out his anger or sexual aggression. But when special agent Maggie O'Dell is called in, everything she sees leads her to believe that this is the work of a calculating and controlled criminal. Jeffery Cole, a reporter looking for his big break, is also at the scene of the crime and decides to make Maggie part of his news piece, digging up aspects of her past that she would rather forget. Maggie's brother Patrick is also back in DC where he is working for a private firefighting company and is frequently called in as these fires continue to light up around the city. As the acts of arson become more brazen, Maggie's professional and personal worlds begin to collide dangerously. The killer may be closer than she imagines. Praise for Fireproof "A serial arsonist is torching empty warehouses in areas of Washington, D.C...in bestseller Kava’s strong 10th Maggie O’Dell novel (after 2011’s Hotwire)...Amid a barrel full of red herrings...the suspenseful plot builds to a finale that offers an irresistible lure to Maggie’s next outing." - Publishers Weekly Praise for Hotwire "A sizzling plot, achingly real characters, and government officials working their backsides off to save their backsides, all strike as lethally as lightening." —Starred Review , Publishers Weekly "The question of how such wildly disparate outrages might be connected is ingenious." —Kirkus Reviews "The ninth in the Maggie O'Dell series is a strong entry that's just plausible enough to leave readers wondering about the line between truth and fiction." —Booklist ALEX KAVA is the author of ten novels, including the internationally bestselling mystery series featuring FBI profiler Maggie O'Dell. Her novels have been published in over twenty countries around the world. She is a member of International Thriller Writers and divides her time between Omaha, Nebraska, and Pensacola, Florida. Chapter 1 Washington, D.C. Cornell Stamoran slid his chipped thumbnail through the crisp seal of Jack Daniel’s. He stared at the bottle and swallowed hard. His throat felt cotton-dry. His tongue licked chapped lips. All involuntary reactions, easily triggered. Back in the days when he was a partner in one of the District’s top accounting firms, his drink had been Jack and Coke. Little by little the Coke disappeared long before he started keeping a bottle of whiskey in his desk’s bottom drawer, and by then it didn’t even need to be Jack or Jim or Johnnie. He probably wasn’t the first accountant to stash his morning fix in his corner office, but he was the only one he knew of to exchange that desk and office for a coveted empty cardboard box, the Maytag stamp still emblazoned on the side. His first week on the streets Cornell had slept behind a statue on Capitol Hill. Frickin’ ironic—he used to sit in the back of clients’ limos driving by those same streets. Funny how quickly your life can turn to crap and suddenly you’re learning the value of a good box and a warm blanket. Usually Cornell hid the box out of sight between a monster-size Dumpster and a dirty brick wall when he needed to make a trip downtown. Out here on the outskirts of warehouseland it was quiet. Nobody hassled you. But it got boring as hell. Cornell would make a trip downtown at least once a week. Pick up some fresh cigarette butts, do a little panhandling. Sometimes he’d sit in the library and read. He couldn’t check out any books. Where the hell would he keep them? What if he didn’t get them back on time? In this new life he didn’t want even that little bit of obligation or responsibility. Those were the pitfalls that had landed him on the streets in the first place. So once a week he’d leave his prized possessions—the box, a couple of blankets someone had mistakenly tossed in a Dumpster. He’d put his few small valuables in a dirty red backpack and lug it around for the day. If he didn’t want to walk the five miles he’d have to get up early to catch the homeless bus. That’s what he’d done this morning. But he missed the last evening bus. He didn’t bother to keep track of time anymore. What did it matter? Not like he had a meeting or appointment. Hell, he didn’t even wear a watch. Truth was, his gold-plated Rolex had been one of the first things he’d pawned. But today Cornell ran into a bit of luck. Actually sort of tripped right in front of it when a black town car almost knocked him into the curb. The