Page 12 of Burning Justice

“You’re good at your job, right?” he asked, but it sounded more like a statement, surprising her with the compliment. But was he talking about carpentry or her abilities as an NICB agent? “As an NICB agent,” he clarified, as if reading her mind.

Gemma nodded. She was good at her job, and she was proud of it. Four years later, most people still underestimated her abilities. Because I’m a woman working in a man’s world.

“That’s because you do it every day,” he continued. “Trust me, if you installed molding every day for four summers, you’d be good at that, too.”

“I see your point.” She dropped her gaze to the mug in his hand. With all those muscles, he could probably not only install molding like a master carpenter but arm wrestle an alligator and win. Gemma cleared her throat. “Shall we get to work?” Though part of her had actually been enjoying the seamless, easy flow of their conversation.

She led him into her home office and winced inwardly. Clothes were draped over an old armchair and a basket of laundry—including the panties and bras she’d forgotten about—sitting next to the mattress on the floor. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

Her hopes were dashed when she turned around to find Brett in full-on federal agent mode, scanning everything in the room. Including her basket of undies. Blaze strolled in and went directly to the basket, shoving his head into her clothes and snorting.

“Blaze, no!” Brett snapped his fingers.

The dog jerked his head from the basket. Gemma’s face and neck heated. Draped over Blaze’s big head was a white lacy bra. The dog trotted happily to Brett’s side, her bra still dangling over his head. She reached out to snag it, but Brett was faster.

“Here you go.” He handed her the bra, an unmistakable glint of humor in his eyes. Clearly, he was trying not to laugh. “Sorry about that. Blaze loves the smell of laundry detergent.”

Her bra—the prettiest, most delicate one she owned, which wasn’t saying much—looked ridiculous in his big hand. She cleared her throat. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.” She snatched the bra, then turned to drop it back into the basket and winced again. There would never be a next time, because there was no way on earth she would ever invite Brett Tanner into her office again. At least not until it wasn’t co-located with her bedroom. “Sorry. I don’t have much usable space in the house yet.”

Mercifully, his attention was diverted to the fish tank. Unfortunately, so was Blaze’s. The dog had his snout pressed to the side of the ten-gallon tank. Jaws wiggled faster than she’d ever seen him, back-fluttering to put more distance between him and the enormous hairy beast on the other side of the glass.

“Sit,” Brett said, pointing an admonishing finger at his dog. “We do not eat other people’s pets for breakfast. Understood?”

Woof.

Brett leaned down closer to the tank. “That’s one big-ass goldfish. How old is it?”

“Two.” Jaws had ceased fluttering madly and now floated, staring at Brett. “His name is Jaws.” Brett snorted. “He’s smiling at you.”

He gave her a look of disbelief. “How can you tell?”

“I just can.” She pointed at the tank. “See? He’s doing it again.”

“If you say so.” Brett shook his head, then straightened and began examining the map on the opposite wall. “You don’t use a mapping app?” he asked.

“I do. I also like to print things out. It’s old school, but I find if I tack things to a wall and stand back, I can see things I miss on a computer screen.”

Taking her cue, Brett stepped back. “Do the push pins represent your twenty-one house fires?”

She nodded. “Most were a total loss. All but one—the Torrance Lane house—had heavy riders, but they all used the same titling company. Kobuk Titling. That’s one of the reasons they popped up in my search.”

Brett set his mug on the table and began massaging his sculpted, clean-shaven jaw. The man’s face was just as handsome now as it had been with a three a.m. shadow. Not that she was thinking about him that way. “And the official cause of all these fires was accidental.”

“Yes.” She patted the stack of twenty-one manilla folders next to his mug. “Electrical problems. Gas leak. A spark during the renovation process. A space heater left unattended.” She paused when Brett’s back stiffened slightly. “You name it. It happened. All officially deemed accidental.”

He moved closer to the map, studying it intensely before stepping back again. “There are sixty-four counties in Colorado. Not one of these fires is in the same county. Every county and every township has its own responding fire and police departments located in that county. If your theory is correct, that a single arsonist is behind these fires, this is another reason he’s managed to fly under the radar for four years. Unlike what people think, not all government entities talk to each other. I’m guessing you’ve already thought of this.”

“Yes.” Gemma nodded, adding, “Or she. Don’t be sexist and assume the arsonist is a man.”

“Me, sexist?” A corner of his mouth lifted as he shook his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Fact is eighty-eight percent of all arsonists are males, and most are between the ages of eighteen and twenty-nine. But I don’t think Gavin Aldrich set any of these fires. Aldrich is a seriously disturbed individual caught running from the scene of a fire and with evidence of setting that fire in his pockets. But this”—he pointed to the map—“isn’t the work of a disturbed individual. This is calculated.”

“Arson-for-profit,” Gemma said, gratified that Brett agreed with her assessment.

Keeping his gaze pinned to the Colorado map, Brett edged backward. He continued staring at the map, his brow furrowing as he squinted.

“What?” Had she missed something? She joined him, her shoulder brushing against his arm when she stood next to him. A ripple of pleasant warmth shot through her at the exact spot their bodies had touched. This has got to stop.

“Look at the map, the push pins, then squint until they look fuzzy.” She did as he suggested. “What do you see?”