Page 5 of Burning Justice

“Mr. Manning, I’ve read the pretrial report.” The judge picked up a folder, then put it down. “You have two days, and you’re lucky I gave you that. After I read the psychiatric assessment, I’ll make my decision.” The judge stood.

“All rise,” the bailiff said in a monotone voice.

Four rows back from the wood rail separating the prosecutor and defense counsel’s tables from the public benches, Gemma stood, noting the judge was already halfway through the door to her chambers before the handful of other people in the room had even made it to their feet. The judge’s perfectly manicured, fire-engine-red fingernails contrasted sharply against her black robe.

I can only wish.

She glanced at her short, stubby excuses for fingernails. Between her job and renovating the fixer-upper she’d purchased last year, there wasn’t a chance in Hades of her nails ever extending farther than a gnat’s body width beyond her fingers before breaking. A pedi, however, was an entirely different matter. Thick, ugly work boots protected her toes that were, at the moment, painted fire-engine red, her big toes additionally adorned with bright orange flames.

Agent Tanner, who’d been seated directly behind the prosecutor, AUSA Deborah Moran, leaned over the rail to speak with the woman, the movement tightening the black polo shirt over his broad shoulders and back, and his khakis, outlining—

She really had to stop ogling the man’s ass and quit thinking about how he’d kept her from face planting on the warehouse floor. Talk about a life’s-most-embarrassing moment. Yet, as he’d held her, plastered to his chest, and they’d stared into each other’s eyes, she’d felt…what? Secure? Safe?

And heat. Definitely heat, which was ridiculous. It was probably only residual heat from the fire.

The only reason she was having these thoughts was because she hadn’t been in a relationship—a real one, that was—for years, but even she had to admit that at a few inches over six feet, with a seriously well-muscled physique, sandy-blond hair, brown eyes, and a face handsome enough to give Brad Pitt a run for his money, Special Agent Brett Tanner wasn’t hard on the eyes. No siree.

With that physique, his good looks, and the Dirty Harry–size gun and gleaming gold badge on his belt, Tanner could be the hero in an action-adventure movie. AUSA Moran could easily have been cast as the heroine in the same movie.

Assistant U.S. Attorney Moran was fashionably decked out, wearing a tight-fitting purple skirt and jacket suit, perfect makeup, and glittery gold jewelry at her ears and around her neck. In all, she was svelte, blond, and pretty. She’d seemed competent enough during Gavin Aldrich’s initial appearance. She laughed at something Brett said, and Gemma could swear the woman batted her eyelashes.

Was that what it really took to get a man’s attention? Flirting, chic clothes, and makeup? If so, then she’d be man-less for the rest of her life, because that so wasn’t her. She could never rock that look. Then again, she couldn’t blame the other woman for flirting. Her hormones had been on vacay for so long she couldn’t remember when there’d been any reason to put them to good use. That didn’t mean they were dysfunctional or dead. Yet. Because again…Brad Pitt.

“Agent Tanner? Ms. Moran?” Aldrich’s public defender waved Brett and the prosecutor over just as the deputy U.S. Marshals prepared to whisk his client away. Gemma actually felt sorry for Aldrich. Not only was he homeless, but he was also broke and had no family.

She couldn’t hear what Manning was saying. After several minutes of listening, the prosecutor’s heavily painted lips pursed, and Agent Tanner’s brows lowered. Not for the first time since she’d put it together, Gemma wondered if her game plan for this investigation was sound or a huge mistake in the making.

In the four years she’d been an NICB agent, she’d managed to solve all her cases without working with the ATF. During her first year on the job, she’d uncovered a million-dollar fraud case. Another NICB agent, one whom she’d been flirting with for months and wished would ask her out on a date, had generously offered to help her with all the interviews.

Then he’d stabbed her in the back by stealing her casework and presenting it as his own. He’d covered for his actions by lying and saying she’d been screwing up the case when she most definitely hadn’t been. As a result, she’d lost out on a promotion and a hefty bonus. More importantly, she’d lost the respect of her colleagues. To avoid being labeled a snitch, which would only have made things worse, she’d opted not to file a complaint. But she’d never forgotten the dire pitfalls of working with a partner.

Since then, she’d worked twice as hard to prove her worth in the industry. To protect herself, working alone had become preferable, so it wasn’t like she wanted to work with Tanner, let alone share what she’d dug up. Sadly, she had no choice.

Her investigation had reached the point of needing law enforcement resources that she didn’t have, starting with grand jury subpoenas and, hopefully, ending with an arrest. Now that a body had been found at the warehouse fire she’d been investigating, the stakes just got raised, and there’d be no getting rid of Tanner, anyway.

Like it or not, mostly not, she either convinced him to work with her, or the case would be assigned to another NICB agent. The only plus side to working with Tanner was his dog.

When they were done talking, Agent Tanner held open the rail’s gate for the attorneys, then followed them down the aisle running between the rows of benches.

Gemma stood by the aisle, waiting for Agent Tanner and praying she wasn’t about to make a colossal mistake.

“Ms. Scott,” he acknowledged and kept walking.

“Wait.” She hustled to catch up to him just before he pushed through the swinging doors in the back of the courtroom. “Agent Tanner, wait!”

“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m in a hurry.”

When he kept going down the hallway, beelining for the stairwell, she had to jog to keep up with his long strides. He was probably a jock, running a full marathon every morning before work. “Agent Tanner.” She grabbed his forearm, forcing him to stop. The skin beneath her fingers was slightly raised and rough.

Tanner towered over her like a ponderosa pine towered over a dandelion. Given that she was only five foot one in her bare feet, that wasn’t hard for him—or anyone, for that matter—to do.

Immediately, she released his arm and stepped back. “Sorry.” She’d inadvertently grabbed him right on top of a scar. A burn scar, from the looks of it, and not that old. The skin was still pink and uneven, with a tattoo in the shape of an animal she couldn’t quite identify. “Can we talk?”

He glanced at his watch. “Walk with me. I need to let my dog out.” Not waiting for a response, he pushed on the door to the stairwell and held it open for her to go first.

“Have you talked to Aldrich yet?” she asked, following him down the stairs.

“He has counsel.”