Page 96 of Burning Justice

Sally nodded.

With slightly trembling fingers, Gemma refolded the note. Now, she had a decision to make. This was too important to keep to herself. She had to make sure this information got to the right place.

Bonnie and Brett were right. These people were dangerous, and she couldn’t do this alone.

“Excuse me for a minute. I’ll be right back.” She stepped outside Bonnie’s office and closed the door. After tugging her phone from her pocket, she stared at it. Asking for help sucked, but she couldn’t be stupid about this.

Brett was off the case, and he probably wouldn’t take her call, not after the way she’d railed at him in her voicemail message. Part of her still didn’t want to talk to him, either. Phoning this in to the ATF’s main number was an option. She could ask for Brett’s boss. Ironically, doing so would be like betraying Brett. Given how he’d betrayed her, she shouldn’t care about that. But she did.

The NICB’s resources were spread thinly around the country. She was the only NICB agent stationed in Colorado. By the time any of her colleagues were close enough to actually do something, it would be too late. Besides, she’d still need law enforcement assistance.

There were only two other people she trusted enough to call, one in particular. She cued up his number, and when he answered, she took a deep breath. “It’s Gemma. I need your help.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

No vehicles were in Michael Hawkin’s driveway, not the Mercedes, the Beemer, or the pickup truck, although Brett wasn’t sure the pickup would have fit in the garage. That left the Mercedes and the Beemer.

Absently, he stroked Blaze’s ear as the two of them watched the house. Blaze hadn’t been too happy about leaving Gemma’s place that morning. When Brett had used hand signals to get his dog off the mattress, he’d gotten up, albeit reluctantly, telling Brett precisely what was on his dog’s mind: bacon for breakfast.

After leaving Gemma’s house, he’d driven to the Hawkin Construction office. The pickup wasn’t there, either, and the office door had been locked. No one had answered Hawkin Construction’s main phone line when Brett had called, so he’d driven to the man’s residence. Hawkin could be at a job site, but that didn’t stop the warning flags from whipping around in his head.

Trooper Sanchez hadn’t reached out again about locating David Hawkin. If Michael suspected the walls were closing in on him, he might also disappear.

Movement through one of the windows caught his attention. Someone was inside. If it was Hawkin, he planned on confronting the man and recording anything he said. That would, of course, piss off his boss again and get him into even more hot water. Seemed like all he’d been doing lately was pissing off all the women in his life.

Gemma’s short voicemail message had said it all. It had killed him to steal her work, and he’d known how angry she’d be when she woke up. Some asshole had stolen one of her case files in the past. Now he was the asshole, but it had to be done, because no way did he want her pursuing this on her own. Gemma was tenacious and too smart for her own good. She’d never back down, one of the many things he admired about her.

He looked at her laptop and the stacks of files on the passenger seat. Ultimately, she could recreate everything, but that would take time, especially with no laptop. The plan was to finish this long before that ever happened.

Kelly Hawkin came down the steps, wearing yoga pants, a white tank top, and with a small gym bag slung over her shoulder. The garage door opened, revealing the Beemer and the Mercedes. Kelly headed for the Beemer. As she’d been the first time they’d met, she didn’t look happy.

Brett bolted from the Expedition and jogged across the street. “Mrs. Hawkin,” he called out as she opened the Beemer’s door. “I’m Special Agent Tanner with the ATF. We met last week at your husband’s office. Do you know where your husband is?”

The frown she gave him was more of a sneer. “He left town on a buying trip.”

“A trip?” Those warning flags whipped faster. “To where?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. He said something about buying tile for a big order.”

David Hawkin’s whereabouts were unknown, and now Michael was MIA. The more Brett thought about it, he’d bet his ass the guy wasn’t planning on coming back anytime soon. If ever. Either David Hawkin had warned him, or that snake attorney had reached out to him, despite Brett’s warning not to.

“How long ago did he leave?”

“At least an hour ago. With any luck, he won’t come back.”

“Thanks,” he shouted over his shoulder, then jogged back to the SUV.

Picking up on whatever vibe Brett was giving off, Blaze pranced in the kennel, his nails clicking on the hard floor.

“Soon, buddy.” He hoped.

Kelly’s Beemer backed out of the driveway, then sped off down the street. Her parting shot about her husband struck a logical chord. From what Pilcher had said and what Brett had witnessed the other day, Hawkin and his wife were a stone’s throw from divorcing, and they had no children. The man had no personal ties here anymore.

By plane, the Mexico border was about six hundred miles as the crow flies. If Hawkin had gotten wind that he was about to be arrested, he could try to flee the country. Once he made it across the border, he could disappear and find a way to a country without an extradition treaty with the U.S.

And gee, go figure, New Mexico was on a direct course from Colorado to the border. The reason Trooper Sanchez couldn’t find David Hawkin could be that he was hiding out somewhere until his brother Michael swung by to pick him up so they could both flee.

Brett tapped his fingers on the wheel, staring up at the sky and the thick cloud cover obscuring the sun. It was only a theory, but it made sense. He and Gemma had ruffled some big, homicidal feathers that were about to flap away.