Page 92 of Burning Justice

At some point after he and Gemma had fallen asleep, Blaze had come into the room and lain down at the foot of the mattress. His dog watched him, moonlight reflecting off his eyes, making them glitter like gold.

As they did every time he woke from the same perpetual nightmare, the scars on Brett’s arm and back stung as if he’d been burned only moments ago. He wiped the sweat from his brow, then dragged his hand down his face.

When he’d been a child, nightmares had nearly destroyed him. Tonight’s nightmare trumped them all, because this time, he hadn’t been able to save Gemma.

He gazed down at her, resisting the urge to skim his hand over her bare shoulder and the gentle curve of her waist. Making love to her again hadn’t been in the ops plan, but he’d needed to show her in ways he could never verbalize just how important she was to him. She was like a drug to his system, one he needed, or he’d go crazy.

He loved the way she arched her brow when someone was lying, how she slipped his dog bacon at every opportunity, and even sharing an everything bagel with scallion cream cheese with her. And who could forget her goldfish tattoo? Bottom line was she made him happy.

Brett leaned over, glimpsing the tiny, fanged orange fish on her hip. He eased away, then shook his head. The room might be dark, but he’d just had the clearest, brightest glimpse into the self-destructive recesses of his life.

He hadn’t been avoiding happiness because it was his penance or because he didn’t deserve it. His biggest fear was falling in love.

What if he couldn’t protect her?

It was better to avoid love than to lose it. And so the vicious cycle had begun turning again, and he’d shut down. The difference this time was he didn’t want to lose the happiness he’d found with her. This time, he wanted to keep it.

His gut twisted painfully at the memories of Ryan and Cody’s funerals. He couldn’t bear going to Gemma’s, couldn’t handle watching her coffin being lowered into the ground.

He stared out the window at the moon glowing in the early morning sky. In the dim light, he could just make out Gemma’s map on the wall and the spider diagram she’d taped next to it. She’d done a lot of hard work on this investigation, including uncovering criminal patterns no one else could have.

More than once, it had nearly gotten her killed.

Keeping her safe and nailing the Hawkin brothers was his prime directive now.

He had to keep her out of this. Otherwise, he had no doubt that she’d go off alone, half-cocked, and put herself in danger again.

Twice before, he hadn’t trusted his instincts, once at the Leadville fire scene, and again outside Piggly’s after he and Blaze had been shot at. Both times, he’d second-guessed himself, and both times, Gemma had nearly been killed. He couldn’t take that, couldn’t lose someone he loved. He would not fail her again.

Brett gazed down at Gemma one last time, his heart heavier than he thought possible. That elusive happiness he craved so deeply with her was about to crash and burn. For what he was about to do, she’d hate him for all eternity.

At least she’d be alive to do it.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

In typical fashion, Gemma woke slowly, groggily, craving a good strong cup of her mother’s coffee. She lifted her head from the pillow, not surprised to find that Brett and Blaze weren’t there.

She grabbed her phone from the floor and clicked the home button. It was after eight o’clock. With a groan, she pushed from the mattress and shoved a hand through her hair, sweeping it from her face.

Her body ached in all the right places. She closed her eyes, involuntarily conjuring up Brett’s face and the low, sexy timbre of his voice.

He’d known how badly he’d hurt her, and while she was still annoyed at him ditching her for the Pilcher interview, she sympathized with his rationale. After everything he’d been through in his life, she understood, and the soul-deep remorse in his eyes had touched her heart.

Pushing to her feet, Gemma headed for the stairs, not bothering to even throw on a robe. First on tap this morning was a long, hot shower to ease her body and clear her mind. She put her foot on the bottom step and froze.

Oh. My. God. She raced back to the bedroom, hoping and praying that in her groggy state she was wrong. One look at her bedroom walls, and her blood ran cold.

“Oh no,” she whispered, still not quite believing what she was seeing. More accurately, what she wasn’t seeing.

Gone was her map, with the locations of all the fires. Gone were the fire scene photos and the spiderweb diagram. All that stared back at her were bare white walls.

Not caring that one of her neighbors might catch a glimpse of her completely naked through one of the curtain-less windows, she spun, her heart beating furiously. Furiously being the pivotal word.

Her stacks of documents and manila folders—gone, too. In fact, the only thing left on the desk was her printer.

No. It wasn’t possible. He didn’t. He wouldn’t!

But he had.