Page 68 of Burning Justice

Gemma put her arm around Gavin’s shoulder. From across the table, Brett’s gaze met hers. Finding Ally Aldrich was exactly what Gavin needed, and Brett had known that.

Gavin took a deep breath. “No matter how many times I asked where Ally went, all they kept saying was that those records were private and the family who took her in didn’t want me.”

Evan set down his pen. “I’ll start with Kids Corner. I can’t make you any guarantees that I can find Ally, but I can promise you this: I’ll never stop looking. No matter what happens, I’ll never stop.”

The sincerity in Evan’s gray eyes was a palpable thing. She barely knew Evan McGarry, but Gemma had the distinct impression the words he’d just spoken were meant not only for Gavin Aldrich, but for him. About his own sister, who’d been kidnapped.

…

Thirty minutes later, they said goodbye to Evan, who’d wanted to go directly to Kids Corner and start tracking down Ally Aldrich.

“How did you know?” she asked. “How did you know finding his sister was exactly what he needs?” Because when they’d left Gavin’s room, the kid wasn’t exactly smiling, but even his doctor had said that his frame of mind was more positive than it had been since he’d begun treatment.

“Because he’s fixated. He can’t forget what he did, and he can’t forgive himself.” Brett hooked Blaze’s leash around the rearview mirror. “He set the fire that resulted in his sister being taken away. To atone for that, he needs to find her. He needs his family, and she’s all he’s got. Until that happens, he won’t be whole again.”

“And you’re fixated on finding the arsonist who killed those kids.” Not that she could blame him. She wanted that, too. For him, however, it was personal. “What happens if we never catch this guy?”

Brett took a deep inhale. His silence said it all.

If they didn’t bring the arsonist to justice, he’d never be whole again. He’d spend the rest of his life trying, though, to the detriment of everything else in his life. Even if she didn’t suspect he’d only want to remain friends, could she ever be with someone who was so focused, so driven that they’d set aside all the good things life had to offer? He was punishing himself for his perceived failures, and there was nothing she could do to help.

“I owe you an apology,” he began. “We should—”

“Keep things strictly professional,” she finished for him, hoping she sounded sincere and adding quickly, “I agree. Like I said, sex between partners makes things complicated.”

“Uh, that wasn’t what I was going to say, but yeah, it does. I need to stay focused. If I don’t catch this guy, other people will die.”

Gemma’s heart sank at his use of the word I. Was he already shutting her out? Okay, so she’d expected their personal relationship had permanently hit a brick wall, but she’d fully expected them to remain partners. Sex between them was majorly screwing things up.

He leaned in, peering at her neck.

“What is it?” Self-consciously, she put her hand to her throat.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” He got out of the SUV, then went around and lifted the tailgate. With Blaze’s kennel blocking her view, she couldn’t see what he was doing. He returned with a glove in his hand. “Whoever attacked you wore these. I knew I’d seen that symbol before. It’s a shamrock.”

Gemma took the outstretched glove, examining the shape embroidered onto the underside of the thumb. She reached up to angle the rearview mirror down so she could look at her neck. The vague shape of a purple, bruise-colored shamrock, identical in size to the one on the glove, was now visible on her neck.

Even she knew this brand of gloves. “I think I’ve got a pair of these.”

“Yeah.” He tossed the glove on the dashboard. “They’re a dime a dozen. It doesn’t give us any new leads to follow. We’ve still got jack.”

His phone rang, and he tugged it from his belt. There was no name on the screen, only letters. DOL. Brett’s contact with the Colorado Department of Labor and Employment. He put the call on speaker. “Kai, what’ve you got for me?”

“That information you asked for on John Nash.”

“Stand by.” He clipped the phone into a cradle attached to the dashboard, then dug into the console for a pad and pen. “Go ahead.”

“There’s only one entry. During the last pay period, John Nash worked for two weeks at Hawkin Construction in Denver. You need the address?”

Brett’s entire body went as rigid as a two-by-four. “No need. I know it. Can you email me a printout?”

“Just did.”

“Thanks, Kai.” He ended the call and looked at Gemma. His voice was low, deadly. “Johnny Nash, our suspected warehouse arsonist, worked for Michael Hawkin, the same flipper who owned the Torrance Lane house when it burned down. There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

Gemma had to agree. As Brett cranked the Expedition and gunned it from the parking lot, she was both excited and terrified. Excited at the prospect of nailing this arsonist.

Terrified by the lethal combination of determination and barely banked rage shooting from Brett’s eyes.