Page 66 of Burning Justice

Another roar, this one louder as flames burst from another pile of pillows.

Still covering his mouth with his hand, Brett coughed. His eyes burned, his throat burned, and his heart pounded. The room was getting hotter by the second. “Ryan! Cody! C’mon!” He waved his arm, but Ryan and Cody were trapped on the other side of the burning pillows.

A glowing spark shot directly toward Brett’s face. He twisted away but tripped, whacking his head against the wall by the window. He hit the floor hard. Pain ripped through his skull. He tried getting up, but his vision blurred, and he fell to his knees, resting a forearm on the window ledge.

Cody and Ryan shouted something Brett couldn’t make out. He lifted his head. His friends were still trapped on the other side of the room, the fiery blaze blocking their way. They couldn’t get to him.

Sirens wailed. Soon, more sounds came from outside. Whatever glass had remained of the broken window shattered, raining shards on his back. Strong hands grabbed him by the waist, hauling him through the window. He struggled, kicking out and flailing his arms. “No!” he screamed. “Get Cody! Ryan!”

As the firefighter pulled him onto the ladder, Brett twisted his neck to look back into the house. Cody and Ryan were there, in a billowing cloud of smoke, watching him with sad, sympathetic looks on their faces. Standing next to them were the two teenagers from the Torrance Lane fire. Behind them, a huge, fire-breathing dragon materialized in the darkness. It opened its jaws, roaring and spewing flames on his friends and the teens. He watched helplessly as they all caught fire, then disappeared in a bright flash of light.

Brett jacked upright on the mattress, his chest heaving as he sucked in heavy breaths. Sweat poured down his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Jesus. The nightmares had become as much a part of his life as breathing. That sad fact he’d long ago come to accept. Only now, they’d returned with a vengeance, each one worse than the last.

Sunlight streamed through the window. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep again, but he had. They both had.

Gemma’s chest rose and fell evenly. Like her friend, Bonnie, had said, Gemma really was a heavy sleeper. Blaze, on the other hand, had lifted his head, his golden eyes filled with understanding. He’d been there for Brett so many times right after he’d woken, covered in sweat and sucking in breaths as if there were no more oxygen left in the room.

Brett stroked Blaze’s soft ears, letting his dog soothe out the itchy, edgy feeling that made him want to scream.

The outcome of his nightmares was always the same. He still couldn’t save his friends, and he couldn’t save the two teenagers. He’d failed all of them, and he could never make it right. That hadn’t changed, but this was the first time the two fires had crossed boundaries into the same nightmare. His childhood shrink would say there was a message in there somewhere. What it was, he didn’t know.

He shifted onto his side to watch Gemma sleep, listening to her breathe. The only recent change in his life was her. And the fact that tonight, both of them could have died.

He let his gaze wander over her face, and the pain in his heart—the fear—was indisputable.

In the space between his heartbeats, the truth crystallized. This new nightmare was a warning.

He was scared of losing Gemma, and he almost had. First at the house in Leadville and again tonight. She’d gotten under his skin and into his thoughts. After all the mistakes he’d made—all the failures—he didn’t deserve her, didn’t deserve to have anything that good in his life. And yet, if he lost her, he didn’t know what he’d do.

Except that he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Chapter Nineteen

Gemma glanced at Brett’s profile as he parked in front of the Pine Springs Mental Health Treatment Center. He’d swung by her house an hour earlier to pick her up on the way to see Gavin Aldrich, and in that hour, the only topic of discussion was the investigation.

No more tender words. No talk of the future, and no talk of them as a couple. Apparently, he’d wiped the slate clean. Maybe they’d only slept together because she’d been attacked, and their emotions had been right at the surface, ready to explode.

Fine. With. Me.

Keep telling yourself that.

Then maybe she’d actually start believing it and quit regretting that she’d dropped her “emotional body armor,” as he’d put it, and let him in. A tiny bit, anyway.

Sunday morning after they’d made love—or was it just sex?—they’d driven to the police station where she’d filed a report, then called her boss to fill him in. He’d been appropriately horrified and had wanted to send someone in from another NICB office to work with her. It had taken a full twenty minutes, but she’d finally convinced him she didn’t need any help and that she already had a partner.

While she’d been making that call, Brett had not only put out a BOLO on Johnny Nash but the equivalent of a medical BOLO for anyone coming into a hospital with a wound that could have been caused by a three-and-a-half-inch framing nail.

She thought back to their conversation right before making love. Sure, Brett had said some very kind, thoughtful things, but that still didn’t mean anything, certainly not coming from a man’s brain. Her brothers had taught her that. If only she could flip an emotional switch so easily.

Brett glanced in the rearview mirror. “Evan’s here. Let’s go.” Unexpectedly, he shut off the engine.

“Blaze is coming with us?” Gemma asked as she opened her door.

“I already cleared it with Gavin’s doctor.” He popped Blaze’s door, then got out and clipped on a leash.

Evan met them at the hood of Brett’s Expedition. “How’s the noggin?”

“Still on top of my neck.” Another thing to be thankful for. Some days, it was the little things that counted.