Page 89 of Burning Justice

“What did Nash have on Michael Hawkin?” Brett knew the answer to that question, but still had no proof. The Torrance Lane fire.

“I don’t know, I swear it. I asked Michael about it, but he wouldn’t say what. Only that Nash was a punk and a pain in the ass.”

Still not enough to charge Hawkin. “Did Michael’s wife have anything to do with this?”

“No, she doesn’t know a thing. Their marriage is on the rocks, and she’s getting ready to leave him.”

That explained the frosty vibes he and Gemma had gotten when they’d interviewed Michael at his office. The wife’s eyes had been shooting daggers at her husband.

Brett straightened, a mixture of excitement and disappointment shooting through his system. He might be in a world of shit when this was over, but at least Pilcher had cracked half the case wide open. They still didn’t have anything solid on who set the Torrance Lane fire and who was really behind it. That part of the case was still circumstantial. Without something more, an AUSA would never charge Michael Hawkin for killing those kids. The wheels of justice had been set in motion, but they still weren’t rolling smoothly down the track.

Pilcher sagged in his chair, then lowered his face into his hands. “What will you do next?” he mumbled.

“Sit tight. Do nothing. Say nothing. If you contact the Hawkin brothers in any way, shape, or form, I’ll add obstruction to the list of charges you’re facing. If you’re a good boy, I’ll let the prosecutor know you cooperated.” Some, at least.

Back in the Expedition, Blaze wagged his tail and wriggled his body at the prospect of finally seeing some action. “Sorry, buddy.” He gave his dog a good scrubbing beneath the chin, then tugged the hem of his polo shirt from his pants and peeled off the slim digital recorder taped to his chest, relishing the sting as a few chest hairs came with it.

A federal agent wearing a wire without preapproval wasn’t illegal in Colorado, but it did violate agency and DOJ policy in this judicial district to record a conversation without someone’s knowledge, particularly an attorney.

He took his phone off mute and noticed a missed call and a text from Gemma. Where are you?

His boss first, then Gemma. Both the women in his life would be royally pissed at him. The only question was who would be more pissed.

“Lori,” Brett said when his boss answered. “I’ve got everything we need to get search and arrest warrants. I just came from Charles Pilcher’s office. He confessed and gave up the Hawkin brothers.”

His boss’s next words made Brett’s gut clench to the point where, if he’d been standing, he would have doubled over in agony.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“I’ve been suspended. I’m off the case.” Brett shoved a hand through his hair.

“What?” Gemma took in Brett’s appearance. He looked like hell. One side of his short hair stuck out in several different directions like he’d run a rake through it a dozen times. “Come inside.”

Instead of Blaze stopping to give his usual greeting, he began following Brett as he paced around the living room.

“It’s my own fault.” Absently, he stopped and rested his hand on Blaze’s head, as if unconsciously absorbing some kind of much needed canine support.

“Come here and sit down. Tell me what happened.” Using a rag, she swept sawdust off the sofa, then sat. Worry parked itself dead center in her head. It was nearly six o’clock. While she’d been typing up NICB reports, she’d been wondering where he’d been all day. Now, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. The suspicious part of her brain told her he’d ditched her and gone off on his own. The woman in her couldn’t believe he’d do that. Especially after everything that had passed between them.

Brett sat, and Blaze lay down at their feet. The dog watched him with big, sad eyes. Brett leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. Whatever had gone down had been bad. No words were needed to tell her that much. She sat on the opposite side of the sofa and waited.

The sigh Brett made was more of a groan. “You’ll hate me when I tell you what I did.”

“Maybe.” God, she hoped not. “But you won’t know for sure until you do.”

“Do you remember when we were leaving Pilcher’s office? I said I thought I’d seen him somewhere before. I did. On the wall in the Hawkin Construction office. There was a photo of the two of them standing in front of an airplane.”

Gemma sat up straighter. “That lying sonofabitch. That was him?” The bad feeling she had worsened tenfold. “What did you do?”

“My boss told me to stand down until we got the subpoenas and the lab results back from both labs. She wants to have it all tied up neatly in a perfect bow on a shiny silver platter for the U.S. Attorney’s Office, because that’s the way they like it. I didn’t want to wait for more evidence to take a walk, so I broke orders.”

“You confronted Pilcher,” she whispered. And he’d done it without her. He’d intentionally conducted a critical interview without his partner. Without me. She dug her fingers into the back of the sofa cushion. “You could have called me. I should have been there with you.”

“No. I couldn’t, and you shouldn’t have. The last thing I want is for you to get involved in whatever shitstorm I created for myself.”

Gemma pressed her lips together, trying to maintain a professional calm she didn’t feel. It had taken a giant leap of faith to partner with him in the first place. Please don’t make me regret it.

“Pilcher admitted to conspiring with Michael and David Hawkin to burn down all those houses for profit, but he denied knowing anything about the Torrance Lane fire. The only other thing he did say was that Nash was blackmailing Michael Hawkin for something.”