Page 42 of Burning Justice

Brett’s jaw tightened. “How’s he been paying for the box?”

“Annually. By postal money order.”

“Shit.” Brett exhaled loudly. “Any chance they have copies of the money orders or noted the money order numbers?”

Gemma didn’t know all the ins and outs of criminal investigations but gathered this was proof the box was a front for a company that didn’t really exist. As Brett had said, this guy—or guys—had been using common names. John Smith was as common as it got.

“Sorry, man. I already asked. They don’t keep those records.”

“When’s the next payment due on the box?”

“Not for another eight months.”

“Damn.” Brett narrowed his eyes.

“Anything else I can do to help?” Kevin asked.

“No, but thanks.”

“You got it.”

Brett ended the call. “Without the money order numbers, we can’t find out where they were purchased.”

“Another dead end?” Gemma asked.

“For now.” He looked up at the rearview mirror. “We’ve got company.”

Gemma glanced at the side mirror to see a Kit Carson County Sheriff’s Office patrol car pull up behind them.

While Brett got out and opened Blaze’s door, Gemma grabbed her portfolio. The second she stepped outside, the hot sun and dry air hit her like a slap in the face, as did the faint smell of smoke. Deputy Maws, according to his nametag, met them in front of the patrol car. In one of his hands was a manila folder.

“Agent Tanner?” the deputy asked.

Only now did Gemma realize Brett had called ahead and hadn’t bothered to tell her. Was there anything else he was doing on the case that he’d failed to disclose?

A pang of worry stabbed her in the forehead. This was exactly how it had started four years ago. Her colleague had begun making calls and holding meetings on her case without telling her. Before she realized what was happening, her case was no longer hers.

Why she was recalling those awful moments now wasn’t clear. Was it really such a big deal that Brett hadn’t mentioned he’d called ahead to the sheriff’s office? He wasn’t anything like her backstabbing colleague. Jacob was the treacherous little prick’s name. Perhaps she ought to chill and quit being so suspicious.

Brett shook hands with the other man, who was at least four inches shorter and about forty pounds heavier. “This is Gemma Scott with the NICB.”

“The what?” Maws frowned as he took Gemma’s hand.

“The National Insurance Crime Bureau,” she said, not surprised that the deputy hadn’t heard of her organization. Outside of insurance companies and fire investigating agencies, not many people had.

“So do you think this was arson?” Maws asked, getting straight to the point.

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Brett replied noncommittally.

“In that case”—Maws handed him the folder—“we’re glad to have you looking into this. Burlington only has a volunteer fire department, no investigators on staff.”

Brett opened the folder, then took a step closer to Gemma so she could review the contents, too. Naturally, a little gust of wind kicked up, and his yummy aftershave made itself known again.

She scanned the first page of the report, noting the person who’d called in the fire. Harold Briggs. Brett flipped through the rest of the folder that only contained a one-page police report and a two-page document from the Burlington FD. With every turn of the page, her attention was inexorably drawn to the rippling play of thick muscles in Brett’s forearm.

So he went to the gym a lot. So he could probably bench press a small Chevy. The man’s perfect physique was none, zero, and zip of her business.

When he flipped to the last page, the curling tail of his dragon tattoo seemed to flip as well. Everyone who had a tattoo—including her—chose a design that had special meaning. What did the dragon mean to Brett?