Page 51 of Burning Justice

Cars pulled over as he shot past, veering into the left lane and slamming his foot down on the accelerator.

His heart beat crazily, and he white-knuckled the wheel. A host of scenarios played in his head, none of them good. The panic rising in his gut made him physically ill.

He and Blaze had just been nearly gunned down, and now there was a report of a burglary at Gemma’s house. No way was this a coincidence.

The same person who’d just tried to kill him…

Was trying to kill Gemma.

Chapter Fourteen

Brett slammed his foot down on the brake pedal, bringing the Expedition to a screeching stop in front of Gemma’s house. The units that had followed from Piggly’s pulled up behind him. Another patrol car sped in from the opposite direction.

Before opening his door, he took a steadying breath and forced himself to take a quick assessment of his surroundings, verifying no one was lurking in the shadows or behind the bushes edging the driveway.

With his heart jackhammering, he popped Blaze’s door, then jumped out and raced to the house. If Gemma had been hurt, or worse—killed—because he’d made the wrong decision… He didn’t know what he’d do.

Seemed like every light on the ground floor was on. He pulled his Glock and rushed through the open door.

Gemma sat on the sawdust-covered sofa, holding a towel to her head. Beside her sat a woman he didn’t recognize—a very pregnant woman.

Penny and another officer piled through the door behind him, weapons out. “Another unit is checking out the backyard,” Penny said.

“Is he still inside?” Brett asked Gemma. His body locked with rage as he took in her pale complexion and the bloody towel. The sonofabitch had hurt her, and Brett planned on returning the favor.

“No.” She shook her head. “He ran off. I expected him to come after me again, but he didn’t.”

Blaze went to Gemma, nuzzling her hand and resting his snout on her knee.

“There was no one here but Gemma when I came in,” the other woman said.

“Penny.” Brett hitched his head to the sergeant. “Check out the rest of the main floor, just to be sure, and have your guys cruise the neighborhood for a white Yukon. I’ll take the second floor. Blaze, stay,” he ordered his dog, who’d been about to follow.

“You got it.” Penny clicked her microphone, issuing orders to search for the Yukon, then went into the kitchen.

He headed up the stairs, keeping the muzzle of his gun at the indoor ready position, aimed at a point in front of his feet. Sounded like the guy had already fled the scene, but Brett wasn’t taking any chances.

He flipped on the hallway light, then searched the first two bedrooms and the adjoining bathroom. The rooms were empty of furniture. The floors had all been sanded and were waiting to be re-stained. In the master bedroom, one of the windows was open. He flipped on the lights. The top of a ladder was just visible below the window sash. On the freshly sanded floor were dirty boot prints. About a size thirteen, he estimated. Could have been made by one of Gemma’s brothers or a contractor.

Or by whoever attacked her. This could have been how he’d gotten inside.

With his heartbeat gradually returning to normal, he holstered, then went back downstairs to where Penny was also holstering. Brett gave a quick shake of his head, indicating no one was upstairs.

“The house is clear,” Penny said into the microphone clipped to her shoulder.

“Backyard’s clear,” came the response. “Still checking for a white Yukon.”

Brett took a deep breath, then knelt beside Blaze, in front of Gemma. Before saying anything, he waited for the icy fury gushing through his veins to ease. Only then did he realize how scared shitless he was that he’d be too late, that he’d bust through the front door to find Gemma lying in a pool of blood.

She watched him from tired, fear-filled eyes. His guts twisted viciously at the stark, cold realization that he could have lost her. Another impulse began as a gentle simmer, quickly boiling inside him until he was powerless to stop it. Not caring how many sets of eyes were on them, he captured her face in his hands and kissed her. On a gasp, she parted her lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Her lips were soft, warm, and she was alive.

He didn’t know how long they remained kissing. Eventually, his senses returned and he broke off the kiss.

“Well, then,” the woman beside Gemma said. She was grinning.

Even Penny Anderson’s mouth had curved into a knowing smile.

“Are you okay?” He rested his hand on Gemma’s knee. Slowly, she nodded. “Can you let me see your head?” When she pulled the towel away, the rage he’d thought successfully banked came roaring back. The cut that ran from the top of her forehead into her hairline wasn’t actively bleeding, but a two-inch-wide splotch of blood had soaked into the towel. And the red marks around her neck were unmistakable.