Page 45 of Burning Justice

He shook his head, clearing it of the temptation, but couldn’t stop from thinking… What would’ve happened if she hadn’t ended their kiss so quickly?

An all-too-vivid image sprang to mind. The two of them, naked, sweaty, and with him buried deep inside her. One day, she’d realize how close she’d come to making a mistake. If at all possible, he’d be gone from her life before she discovered the truth about just how messed up he really was. How broken and unworthy.

The only thing they should be doing together was working, and it was up to him to keep it that way.

Thanks to the rapport she’d struck up with Harold Briggs, there was now another potential pattern to these fires. They’d stocked the house in Burlington with used furniture. They’d have to provide receipts and assessments proving the furniture was more valuable than it actually was, but if they were already creating phony deeds and titles, what was one more false document?

Still asleep, Gemma sighed. A lock of hair had slipped across her cheek. Unable to resist, he nudged it behind her ear. Her eyelids flickered, then opened.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he whispered back. “Home sweet home.”

She yawned, then stretched, reaching out to pet Blaze’s head as he stuck it through the kennel window.

“Are you up for working tonight?” he asked. With more patterns being established every day, he wanted to help Gemma crunch the rest of those profit-and-loss numbers and start putting it all together in a report.

“Tonight? It’s Saturday, and it’s”—she looked at the dashboard clock—“after nine.”

“We’re on a roll. I want to keep going.” They were on to something big here, and every day that passed, an arsonist and possible murderer was walking around free.

She sighed, more heavily this time. “Okay, but if you want me to work tonight, you have to feed me. There’s nothing in my house.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Barbecue,” she said without hesitation. “From the Piggly Smokehouse on Morrison.”

A woman after my own heart.

Figure of speech.

“Piggly’s is my favorite place for ribs.”

After dropping Gemma off, Brett made the fifteen-minute drive to Piggly’s in ten. Only a few cars were in the lot. Before going inside, he grabbed the leash and took Blaze out to relieve himself. Blaze sniffed the gravel, then meandered toward the grass bordering the edge of the parking lot.

Headlights lit up Morrison Road as several vehicles rounded the bend and shot past. One of them slowed but didn’t turn in.

Blaze dragged Brett to a spot that must have been particularly interesting. His dog put his nose to the grass, sniffing and snorting. Brett looked at the vehicle that had slowed to a stop on the shoulder just before the entrance to Piggly’s. The driver cut the headlights.

A large white SUV.

The front passenger window rolled down. The driver raised his arm. Light from the parking lot and inside the restaurant lit the interior of the car enough for Brett to recognize the dark outline of something in the driver’s hand.

A gun.

Brett’s heart rate jacked into the stratosphere. “Blaze, down!” He threw himself on top of his dog, covering Blaze’s body with his own.

Metal pinged as a hailstorm of bullets raked the car they’d just dived behind for cover. Glass shattered, raining shards down on Brett’s back and head. More shots rang out, closer this time, hitting the rear quarter panel. Another window exploded, only this time it wasn’t in the parking lot. The restaurant’s plate glass window had just been shot out.

Keeping his head low, Brett pushed to his knees, still holding tightly onto Blaze’s leash as he drew his Glock and peeked out over the hood of the car.

The white SUV’s driver’s seat was empty. A lone figure disappeared around the back of the SUV and slid behind the wheel. A door slammed. Brett aimed in on the driver and was a hair’s breadth from pulling the trigger when another vehicle passed behind the SUV on the road.

He jerked his finger off the trigger. Missing his target and hitting the driver of the other vehicle was a possibility he couldn’t risk.

Tires screeched. The white SUV fishtailed as it gained traction and fled west on Morrison Road.

Screaming came from inside Piggly’s. As much as Brett wanted to give chase, victims took priority. He raced to the door of the restaurant and yanked it open. Sure enough, one of the restaurant’s windows—the one closest to where he and Blaze had been standing—had been taken out. Pieces of glass littered the tile. The few remaining customers had hit the floor, covering the backs of their heads with their hands. The owner, Marty Estevez, and two other employees poked their heads up from behind the counter.