Page 15 of Burning Justice

Ignoring Hicks’s insult, Gemma stuck out her hand. “I’m Gemma Scott with the NICB. I’m guessing your son already mentioned me to you. I spoke with him about the first warehouse fire.”

For a moment, Hicks stared at her hand as if she had leprosy. Holding her ground, she didn’t move, forcing a reluctant Hicks into taking it.

“Speaking of Logan,” Gemma said, keeping her expression deceptively neutral, “I thought we were meeting with him today.”

“He had an unexpected appointment. Something to do with one of his kids.” Hicks indicated two chairs in front of his desk. “But he set up the video feed from the new cameras and found something interesting.”

He turned his monitor around, angling it toward Brett. While he couldn’t see the steam shooting from Gemma’s ears, Brett knew it was there. Not that he could blame her. Hicks was a horse’s ass.

He’d been about to adjust the screen, but she beat him to it.

None too gently, she turned the monitor so they both could see it. “There,” she said, smiling sweetly. Sweet laced with a chaser of vinegar. “That’s better.”

You go, girl.

He admired that she wasn’t about to let Hicks get away with yet another slight. Brett cleared his throat. He pegged Hicks at about sixty-five and being old-school. Deferring to a woman, apparently, wasn’t his style. Hicks threw Gemma a look of annoyance, then hit the return key and came around the desk to stand behind them.

“I’m not very good with all these newfangled gadgets and software.” Hicks chuckled. “My son cued up footage from the front door where the security system keypad was located. You might want to take notes, honey.” He nodded to the portfolio in Gemma’s lap, effectively relegating her to secretary.

No need to have superhuman or canine hearing. The sound of her grinding her teeth was louder than automatic gunfire. This guy was pushing all her buttons. It was a wonder she didn’t smack Hicks over the head with her portfolio. Pressing her lips together tightly, she jerked out a pen. Brett had to give her credit for keeping her cool. He, on the other hand, was on the verge of dumping the small metal trash can on the floor—the one containing what appeared to be the remains of someone’s breakfast—over Hicks’s head. If there wasn’t a risk of losing the man’s cooperation, Brett might just act on his impulse.

To annoy Hicks, Brett tugged a pen and a small pad from his thigh pocket and flipped it open. “I’ve got this.” He winked at Gemma, then made a few notes. When he looked up, she mouthed the words thank you.

The footage rolled twenty seconds longer. Exterior lighting illuminated the front door of the warehouse, but it was dark out and the image was dim. A figure—male, most likely, judging by the height and build—came into view wearing a hoodie and a bandana that covered most of his face. The figure looked in both directions before pulling a key from his pocket and inserting it into the lock on the door.

Brett leaned in closer. “I can’t be certain. I think he’s wearing gloves.”

Gemma moved closer until her warm, bare shoulder touched his arm, and the bottom of her ponytail swished over his biceps, caressing it and making his skin tingle. In a good way. He wondered if she’d felt anything, too. The sudden flush on her cheeks and the goose bumps on her shoulder—the one that had touched his—told him she had.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to refocus on the video footage or risk losing all concentration.

The time stamp in the upper right-hand corner of the screen read two fifteen a.m. When Gemma scribbled on her pad, Brett glanced down to see she’d already noted the time.

The guy went inside the warehouse, closing the door behind him.

“The keypad is just inside the door,” Hicks said, correcting in an acid tone, “or was. He must have known the code, because the alarm never went off and we checked with the alarm company. The system was running fine until the fire.”

“Do you recognize him?” Brett asked. Hicks shook his head. “When’s the last time you changed the code?”

“Two years ago.”

“Did you fire any employees in the last two years?” Brett asked.

“Three.”

“Why didn’t you change the code after each of these people were fired?” Gemma’s hand stilled over the pad.

Hicks shrugged. “It’s a nuisance to notify all our employees of the change.”

Meaning Hicks was so old school he probably didn’t like sending emails.

With his eyes still glued to the closed door of the warehouse, Brett said, “We’d like a copy of those three employees’ personnel files.”

“Of course.” Hicks nodded. “I can have my manager make them.” He left the office. A moment later, he bellowed for someone named Shawna.

“Looks like he never changed the locks, either,” Gemma said as they both refocused on the monitor. “Too old school.”

“Agreed.” Not that it was too difficult, but she’d also pegged Hicks the same as he had.