Page 10 of Burning Justice

The adjacent wall contained rows of labeled four-by-six photos taken by fire marshals at the twenty-one house fires she’d been looking into. The last photo on the bottom row had been taken at the Torrance Lane house fire a year ago in Colorado Springs. Next to it were a few photos she’d taken yesterday at the Frodo warehouse fire.

On the floor in one corner of the room lay her sad excuse for a bed—a queen-size mattress. In the opposite corner, next to her closet, stood an antique oak-and-iron school desk she’d discovered in the garage. On top of the desk sat Jaws. Jaws’s not-so-little orange body wriggled, and his fins fluttered as he swam to the top of the tank, eager for his morning meal of high-carb, high-protein, freeze-dried fish flakes.

“Good morning, Jaws.” She leaned down and smiled. Considering she was the only NICB agent assigned to the area, travel was an essential part of the job. Having a dog, her creature of preference, was out of the question, so she’d gotten a goldfish, one who’d defied the odds and been with her for two years now. If it weren’t for her best friend and next-door neighbor, Bonnie, helping out when Gemma went on travel, she wouldn’t even be able to keep a fish as a pet.

When she popped the cap off the plastic bottle of fish food, Jaws’s body wriggled faster, and his fish lips opened and closed. She dropped a small pinch of flakes onto the surface. “Bon appetit.”

Jaws voraciously began gulping down food, reminding her of precisely why she’d named him after the most famous great white shark ever.

Knocking came from the front door. When Gemma opened the door, a blast of eighty-degree air swirled inside. Brett Tanner stood on her front porch, wearing khakis and a navy-blue polo shirt with the ATF badge embroidered on the front, holding a leather portfolio and looking really…big. And still way too tall and way too handsome.

Gemma swallowed, her mouth having gone just a teensy-weensy bit dry. Adding to his powerful presence was the shiny gold badge and holstered gun on his belt. Like a hammer and screwdriver, albeit deadlier, those were his tools of the trade. That and his dog.

They’d agreed to meet at her “home office” to go over the evidence she’d pulled from the ISO database.

Brett looked over her shoulder into the hot mess that was her home. “Nice place.”

She arched a brow. “Funny.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean it. Eiber is a great section of Lakewood. Older homes with character are worth fixing up, especially ones with a big lot like yours. Who’s doing the work?”

“I am.” Gemma expected him to laugh. Surprisingly, he didn’t. “What, no sexist comment? Not even a ‘Careful, you might get dirty or break a nail wielding all those manly man tools’?”

Brett grinned, revealing even, white teeth. “Nope.”

Wow. He really did have a killer smile.

He was probably just keeping all his snide, chauvinistic comments to himself. No doubt he’d show his true colors later. Hopefully, he’d wait until after she’d already sweet-talked those subpoenas out of him. She stepped aside for him to enter. His silver SUV was parked at the curb, windows closed with the engine running. “Is Blaze in there?”

“Yep.”

“He can come inside.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I’ve got bacon. If you’re a good boy, I might even give you some.”

“Well, how can a guy and his dog say no to bacon?” Brett went back down the stairs to the Expedition and opened the side door. Blaze leaped from the kennel, looking more gold than brown as the bright sun lit his coat. He loped across her weedy, sad-looking front lawn, then bounded up the stairs to greet her.

“Morning, big guy.” When she knelt to give him a hug, he responded with the same yowling version of herro, Gemma that he’d verbalized yesterday, making her laugh.

“Now,” she said to Blaze, “how about some bacon?” Blaze’s big ears lifted, and an expectant snort came from the back of his throat, one that didn’t quite sound like bacon, but it had an upward lilt to it, as if he were saying: really? “That’s what I thought.” She tapped a finger on his nose. In the canine world, the word “bacon” was universally understood.

Gemma led them into the kitchen to the old electric cooktop where she’d left strips of bacon draining on a rack.

“Two is his limit. Hang on a second.” Brett looked around the great room as if he were searching for something. He picked up a half-empty can of paint thinner and set it on the floor. “Blaze. Seek.”

The dog walked swiftly around the room, sniffing every corner, every rag, and every tool before sitting directly in front of the can.

“Good boy.” He petted Blaze’s side. “Now he can have bacon. He’s food driven, so he has to earn it.”

She gave two strips of bacon to Blaze, who inhaled each of them in one bite, crunching happily, then licking his lips and tracking her hands as she placed two more strips on a piece of paper towel and handed them to Brett. “Coffee?”

“Sure.” He accepted the bacon, then looked back into the living room as he bit into a strip and chewed.

She poured coffee into a spare mug, then handed it to him. “Cream or sugar?”

He shook his head. Unlike yesterday, his citrusy, woodsy cologne was smoke-free. Reluctantly, she had to admit he was hot and smelled good. But she’d been misled by a handsome face once before and vowed never to let that happen again.

“Did you do the plumbing and electrical, too?” he asked.

“No, I hired licensed contractors for that, but I’m doing everything else myself. The place was in bad shape when I bought it, lots of rotten wood. That’s the only reason I could afford it.”