Page 78 of Burning Justice

“I did. No other weapons. No contraband. Mostly tools and other contractor supplies. The guy owns a construction company.”

“Did you see any work gloves? If so, was it the Shamrock brand?”

The kind Gemma’s attacker had worn.

“I think there was a pair of gloves,” Sanchez said. “I really didn’t notice what kind they were.”

Brett began massaging his chin. “Anything else you can tell me about Hawkin? Anything unusual?”

“Not really.” A beat of silence, then, “Other than muddy boots. Really muddy boots with some kind of oily stuff on them. I remember being pissed after I took him out of the back of my patrol car, because he left a mess on the floorboard. I’ll have to take the car out of service and get the back cleaned out.”

Brett’s eyes narrowed, then he looked at Gemma, brows raised. She shook her head, unable to think of any other questions for the trooper.

“Do me a favor,” Brett said. “Can you keep an eye on Hawkin, swing by his house periodically and let me know where he’s at?”

“You got it. Happy to assist any way I can.”

Brett ended the call and stared through the windshield, unmoving.

Like a bomb about to explode.

He popped the phone from its cradle and placed another call. “Lori, it’s Brett.”

For the next few minutes, Gemma listened as Brett updated his boss, ending the conversation with an urgent request to have an agent in New Mexico take custody of David Hawkin’s 9mm handgun and ship it ASAP to the ATF lab for ballistic comparison to the shell casings he’d collected from the Piggly’s Smokehouse parking lot.

If they were a match, Gemma had no doubt Brett would get an arrest warrant for David Hawkin.

…

“Brett?”

He could feel it in his bones as surely as if he held the actual report in his hands. The lab would confirm a ballistics match.

“Brett?”

When it did, he’d be the first agent in line at the courthouse to swear out a warrant for the arrest of David Hawkin.

“Brett!” Gemma squeezed his arm. “Where are you?”

The concerned look in her eyes jerked him back to reality. “Sorry. Just thinking ahead.” And wondering if there was any relevance to the muddy, oily boots Hawkin had been wearing when he’d been arrested. He couldn’t come up with anything, so he let it go but tucked it away in the back of his mind in a file reserved for weird, unexplainable shit. “Michael and David Hawkin are both contractors, both fluent enough in residential systems to make a house fire seem like an accident. If they’re working together, that could explain why Michael always seems to have an alibi.”

“Do you really think Michael or David tried to kill us?” Gemma shook her head. “I guess I’m still not seeing why a building contractor would find us so threatening.”

“Most wouldn’t. Unless they’ve got something big to cover up—like murder—and they’re worried we’re getting close enough to find out what it is.”

“The Torrance Lane fire. Those kids who died.”

“Yeah.” They really needed to find Johnny Nash. Brett’s gut told him that guy had something on Michael Hawkin, enough to get him hired. But where was Nash now? “Let’s go.”

Brett locked the Expedition, leaving the engine running and the AC blasting so Blaze wouldn’t roast. The second before he closed the driver’s side door, Blaze drilled him with a look that told him how disgruntled he was at not going with them.

Nearing lunchtime, the Union Station area was teeming with tourists and people who worked in the LoDo—lower downtown—part of the city. The station itself was not only a rail transport hub, but a one-hundred-year-old historic landmark considered by some to be the crown jewel of the city. Unlike most major cities, Denver had no navigable rivers. Its history had been carved out by the railroad.

The massive light-brick building was situated on the outskirts of Commons Park where Deck, Tori, and Thor had nearly been run down by drug dealers a few months ago. That had been a close one. Too close.

Perched above the main doors of the station was an iconic red neon sign that read: “Union Station – Travel by Train.” Brett headed for the entrance, glancing at Gemma hustling to keep up with his longer stride. He really did feel like shit about kissing her again.

Bullshit. Truth was he’d never feel badly about kissing her. It felt too darned good doing it. But it was only confusing both of them and taking his brain offline in ways he couldn’t afford.