Page 75 of Burning Justice

He was right, and that wasn’t something she’d considered. Yet another reason why the Torrance Lane house didn’t quite fit the same pattern as the other houses. “What do you think that means?”

“I think we’re on the right track. Maybe Hawkin purchased the Torrance Lane property, intending to do a legitimate flip, but when the house unexpectedly turned out to be a money pit—”

“He had to get rid of it fast,” Gemma interrupted. “Otherwise, he’d lose everything.”

Brett nodded. “In order to operate out in the open, and to at least give the impression that he was bringing in enough income to purchase his personal residence, a BMW, a Mercedes, and, by the way, the small aircraft he recently bought, he’d need a legitimate business to justify the cash flow. Any other outside income could be comingled. As long as he legitimately flips a house now and then, he could fly under the radar.”

“Okay, I’m with you.” Gemma stepped closer to Brett, instantly regretting the proximity. Whoever invented that cologne must be a billionaire. “But you said that Hawkin had an alibi for the night of that fire. Is it airtight?”

“Pretty much.” Brett frowned. “Remember that award on his office wall from the Denver Chamber of Commerce? At the time that fire was set, Hawkin was receiving that award in front of over two hundred people.”

“If he didn’t start that fire, then who did?” When Brett raised both brows, the answer hit her. “Johnny Nash. That fire happened right before he went to prison for burglary.”

“Hawkin could have ordered Nash to do it at the exact time when he knew he’d have hundreds of witnesses to provide him with an airtight alibi. The other houses on your map were never in his name, so he’d never be connected to them and wouldn’t need an alibi for when those fires were set.”

“We still need something connecting Hawkin to those other houses,” Gemma said, stating the obvious.

“And,” Brett added, “we still need to find Johnny Nash. There’ve been no hits on the BOLO.” He sat at the table, then slid his laptop from its case. “I’m going to do a more intensive background check on Hawkin, try and find something we can use to tie him to the other houses. Can you take another look at all the documents for those houses? Could be there’s a tie-in to Hawkin buried somewhere in all those transactions.”

“Sure.” Ugh. Because in order to do what he asked, she’d have to sit way too close to him for comfort. Thus far, only one of them was capable of sticking to business, and it wasn’t her. “I can try cross-referencing what’s in the ISO databases with county land records for the other houses. County records should have scanned copies of all the deeds filed at real estate closings.”

After scooting the only other chair as far away as possible from Brett, Gemma sat in front of her laptop. She clicked open the folder containing the property documents on the twenty-two other houses. When she reached for her bagel, her fingers grazed Brett’s arm. The only indication that he’d even felt her touch was the flexing of his muscles.

Focus. Focusss!

She picked up the bagel and bit off more than she could chew. Literally. Her cheeks must look like a chipmunk’s stocking up on nuts for the winter. Finally, she swallowed, washing it down with coffee and an unladylike gulp. She’d bet Doctor Tori Sampson never made gulping sounds.

The bagel she normally loved tasted like cardboard, but somehow, she managed to start focusing on the documents on her screen.

…

When Gemma had first explained that her home office was in her bedroom while she renovated her house, it had made sense, and Brett hadn’t given it another thought. Now, it was all he thought about. Sitting less than three feet from the same mattress they’d made love on was seriously screwing with his brain cells and every other cell in his body. Particularly the ones directly behind his zipper.

Rather than show up on her doorstep, he could just as easily have called her to explain what he wanted her to do next. Likewise, he could have worked on his laptop at the ATF office. Numbnut sap that he was, he’d wanted to see her.

Every breath he took brought with it the lingering scent of milk-and-honey soap. As he pulled up the digital copy of the ATF case file on the Torrance Lane fire, memories of what they’d done on that mattress filled his mind.

She’d been so soft, pliant in his arms, so sweet he’d never tasted anything like it. Whatever it was, he wanted more, but he couldn’t risk it. Not now, not ever.

With no other outlet for his sexual frustration, he fisted his hands over the keyboard, flexing his fingers repeatedly and praying like hell he could get his shit together. Going into her bedroom again had been another major tactical error.

Blaze came in and lay down at Gemma’s feet, not his, leaving him wondering whether she’d been slipping him bacon again behind his back. He began scrolling through the file, reading and rereading what he already knew was on the pages. At this point, he’d practically memorized the entire report.

The only thing new he’d found this morning, when he’d gotten up early to run more background checks, was the tail number on the four-seater Cessna Hawkin had purchased last year, presumably the same one in the photo hanging on his office wall. The first three tail numbers he remembered on the plane in the photo matched the registration he’d dug up.

His phone dinged with a text. The ATF’s National Tracing Center had sent him a report on the spent shell casings he’d collected at Piggly’s. He opened the report, only a few lines of which were relevant. The technician hadn’t found a match in IBIS. Those shell casings didn’t come from a gun that had been used at another crime scene known to law enforcement.

Brett let out a heavy breath. He’d been hoping to get a lead on who’d tried to kill him.

Nothing was ever easy.

Gemma clicked the mouse as she pulled up multiple images, side by side, on the screen. He watched her fingers with their practical, short nails fly across the keyboard. Those fingers had known just where to touch him, exactly how to arouse him.

Shit. Those were the same thoughts that had resulted in a measly three hours’ sleep last night. That and being so amped up on adrenaline after talking to Hawkin and learning about the warehouse invoices that tied him to Nash.

Ultimately, he’d given up on sleep and gone for a seven-mile run before the sun had risen. After a quick shower, he’d worked Blaze through a maze he’d erected in his backyard, where he’d hidden rags doused with various accelerants. While Blaze had been working, so had Brett’s mind. He was sure they’d missed something, and if anyone could find it, it would be Gemma, so he’d gone to the Great Scott Bagel Deli.

When he’d ordered two of the same kind of bagel that was Gemma’s and his favorite, Gemma’s father had narrowed his eyes, then asked, “Is that other bagel for anyone I know?”