Page 11 of Burning Justice

He took a sip of coffee, then walked into the living room. Blaze followed, his nose to the ground, sniffing every corner again before sitting directly in front of the TV on the workbench. “Told you he likes watching TV.”

“I thought you were kidding.”

“Nope. He’s got a TV fetish. Sometimes I feel like a bad parent, letting him watch too much of it.” Brett put his nose to the steam rising from his coffee. “This is good. Really good.”

“Did you ever go to the Great Scott Bagel Deli on Wadsworth? It’s just south of Morrison Road.”

“All the time.”

“That’s my family’s deli. Get it, Great Scott… This is my mom’s special blend. I’m a heavy sleeper, and this is the only way I can wake up in the morning.”

For a long moment, he stared at her. “That explains why I thought I’d met you before. Your picture is on the wall behind the deli counter.”

Her mouth fell open. She was surprised he’d noticed her picture in the first place, let alone remembered it. “Indeed, it is.” Her parents constantly pointed it out to customers they wanted to set her up with on a blind date. Being an observant federal agent, Brett had probably glimpsed it on his own. Good thing that, because not a single one of her parents’ attempts at setting her up had ever turned into anything good. Finally, she’d had to put a firmly worded end to their matchmaking.

“Your whole family works at the deli. You didn’t want to join the family business?”

Gemma laughed. “Not even for a hot second. Everyone assumed I would, but it wasn’t for me.”

“How’d they take it?”

“At first, they were shocked.” Understatement. “I threw them for another loop by going to California for a business degree, then shocked them again by becoming an insurance investigator. Over time, they finally accepted that making Colorado’s best bagels wasn’t in the cards for me.” She waved her hand to encompass the living room. “But when I bought a fixer-upper and told them I planned to renovate it alone, they were flabbergasted.” Why was she going all TMI on him? The man could probably care less about her life journey.

“What made you decide to do the renovation by yourself?” he asked.

Gemma widened her eyes. “You really want to hear why?”

His lips curved into that sexy half smile she’d seen yesterday outside the courthouse. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

She hadn’t expected him to be interested in her personal life. Maybe he was just nosy or making small talk. “As the youngest of four kids and the only girl, I grew up kind of coddled. All my brothers could change a flat tire by the time they were sixteen. I couldn’t. For years, I didn’t even know the difference between a flathead and a Phillips head screwdriver.”

“Sounds like you wanted to become independent.”

“Yeah.” Odd how he barely knew her, yet he already got her. Somewhat, anyway.

“Having trouble?” He pointed to a corner of the ceiling at one of her failed attempts at creating the intricately coped joints.

“You noticed.” Much to her chagrin.

Gemma frowned at the stack of floor and ceiling molding. She really sucked at cutting the molding so it met perfectly in the corners without any gaps. Nothing in a century-old house was straight, level, or plumb, making it that much more difficult.

“My dad was a contractor,” Brett said, his hand lovingly stroking her chop saw. The image of his big, strong hands stroking her intruded in her brain. Oh god. Where had that come from? “I used to work with him during summers while I went to college. My specialties were molding and window installation.”

He set his coffee on the workbench, then unrolled the set of blueprints, holding the sheets down flat. “An eyebrow window. I don’t see one on the front of the house.”

She joined him at the workbench, staring longingly at the graceful, curved window that had been drawn into the roofline in the original blueprints. “I don’t think it was ever installed, even in 1906 when the house was built. I’d love to put one in.” Someday. If her bank account could ever support such an architectural luxury.

“It sure would look great.” Brett traced the curved window with his long finger. “Bring the old place back to its original glory.”

She dug her hands into her empty pockets, pulling them inside out. “Do you have five grand you can loan me or, better yet, give me? Because that’s what this window costs, and that’s just for the window itself. Installation fees would probably be a couple more grand, and that’s a job I’d never try to tackle on my own.” Installing a curved window on a roof not only took money but skill she didn’t have.

“I see your point.” Brett rerolled the drawings. “You do have a nice set of tools, though.”

“Thanks. Since I don’t have the money to hire a general contractor, my father and brothers made sure I had everything I could possibly need.” Except the skills to cope. In more ways than one.

Brett picked up a small saw next to her nail gun. “All it takes is a little muscle and a whole lot of practice.”

“Easy for you to say.” As he set the tool down, Gemma eyed the flexing of said muscles and didn’t doubt that he had the strength to handle any tool, no matter the size or weight. She also got a better look at his tattoo—a dragon curling up and over from the underside of his forearm. The raised, red burn scars were positioned in such a way as to look like flames shooting from the dragon’s mouth.