Report to fire–Jamison’s home.

The odds were too remote to have these fires be random. Noah needed to get to the scene stat.

There, a woman’s dark hair swirled around her face in the wind. Time slowed when he realized who it was. Tricia Jamison’s smile evaporated as he stared.

She crossed her arms. “Why are you here?”

“I save people and property, you know.” Bite he hadn’t intended colored his words.

Tricia stepped back, as if assaulted by his words. “Don’t let me stop you.”

He fought the urge to take her into his arms. Instead, he left her standing there, feeling like a heel as he walked away. But he couldn’t do what he wanted. Kiss her delicate lips. How could he walk away from a year of anger at the flash of beautiful brown eyes?

He’d better focus his attention on something he understood. The roar of flames ahead provided the answer. But then an explosion had him ducking as windows shattered outward.

CARA PUTMAN

Since the time she could read Nancy Drew, Cara has wanted to write mysteries. For years she asked God if this dream was from Him. Her life was full. She graduated with honors from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln (Go, Huskers!), moved to the Washington, D.C., area, married the man of her dreams, worked in the non-profit world, went to George Mason Law School at night while working and then started having children. While her life was far from empty, the dream wouldn’t die. Then she followed her husband to Indiana. Talk about starting over! In 2005 she attended a book signing at her local Christian bookstore, where she met Colleen Coble. The rest, as they say, is history. With prompting from her husband, Cara shared her writing dream with Colleen. Cara’s been writing ever since. To learn more about Cara and her books, please visit her at www.caraputman.com.

Trial by Fire
Cara Putman

He has showed you, O man, what is good.

And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

—Micah 6:8

To Abigail, Jonathan and Rebecca. My kiddos put up with one crazy fall where this was the last of three books turned in on very tight deadlines. I enjoyed celebrating “the end” in this book by going to Madagascar 2 with you. But most of all, I am humbled that God entrusted each of you to me.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Krista Stroever and Tina Colombo. Krista, for buying this book, and Tina, for helping me make it better. Thanks to Karen Solem for constantly pushing me to slow down and find those stories that resonate.

Thanks also to Patrick Grimes, fire investigator with the Lafayette Fire Department, for his willingness to share his experience and expertise. And thanks to my colleague Greg Loyd for answering some strange and pointed questions about what he’d seen as a domestic violence prosecutor that complicated cases, while helped me make Tricia’s life miserable.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Thursday

Another broken dream sat on her desk.

The phone ringing on her desk pulled Deputy County Attorney Tricia Jamison from her work. She glanced at her watch. The afternoon had evaporated while she flipped through new case files and absorbed the dashed hopes each one represented. She’d taken the job as deputy county attorney because she’d wanted to help people. Every time she got a new file, she had the opportunity to make a difference for a family. She’d seen God heal families when directed to the right resources. But each time another domestic violence case crossed her desk it was hard not to grow discouraged. Too many times the hope of happily-ever-afters had gone horribly wrong. She shook her head and grabbed the phone.

“Tricia Jamison, deputy prosecutor.”

“Trish, this is Caleb. There’s a fire at Mom’s.” Her brother’s voice had an edge of tension she hadn’t heard in a while. As a police investigator, he usually kept his emotions tightly controlled. She hadn’t heard him sound so rattled since last year when a stalker had set his sights on Caleb’s girlfriend, Dani Richards.

Her breath caught in her chest as she shut the file on her desk. “How bad?”

“Don’t know. I heard it on my scanner before Mom called.”

“I’ll leave now.” Her jaw clenched. Images of flames lapping at her mother’s home raced through her mind. The home encapsulated so many memories, both good and bad.

Tricia grabbed her purse and keys, and ran toward the elevator. She slid to a stop at her paralegal’s desk. “Family emergency. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I’ll cover for you.” The woman leaned back in her chair, a concerned expression on her face.

“Thanks.” Tricia jogged the rest of the way to the elevator. She punched the down button and paced until the doors opened.

Twenty minutes later she’d crossed town and pulled into her mom’s neighborhood. Flashing lights drew her toward the small ranch home. She parked several houses down, and rushed to join Caleb and their mom in the neighbor’s yard. Caleb had his arm around their mother’s shoulders, and she’d sunk against his side, an unusual posture for one who liked to stand firmly on her own two feet. The heavy smell of smoke curled through the air, but no matter how Tricia squinted against the western sun, the house looked intact. In fact, there weren’t many firefighters in the front yard.

“Are you okay?”

The petite woman tipped her chin up, brown eyes flashing. “Of course. Some kid decided the garage made a good fire-starter.”

“Where’s Frank?” Tricia’s stepfather usually rushed to his wife’s side anytime she whimpered or looked a little cross. Tricia couldn’t fault his devotion to her mom.

“At work. He wanted to come home, but I told him not to hurry. It’s a small fire.” A tremble in Mom’s voice belied her strong front.

“From Caleb’s call I thought the flames had engulfed the house.”

Mom poked him in the ribs. “I told you not to make a big deal.”

“A fire is never small.” He rubbed his side with a frown. “The wind blows in the wrong direction, and the outcome could change. It almost reached the house.”

“But it didn’t. Relax.”

“Sure.” Caleb grimaced over her at Tricia. “We’ll never worry about you when panic fills your voice. Fires are everyday occurrences.”

“You can’t protect everyone.” Even as she said the words, Tricia knew he wouldn’t accept them.

“You believe that?” He rolled his eyes. “Sure. That’s why you’re a prosecutor.”

“Someone has to do it.” Tricia grinned at him. She’d had a lifetime to perfect the art of poking his weak spots. Tell Caleb he couldn’t take care of everyone, and he bristled like a porcupine. Good thing she was a pro at sidestepping his quills.

“All right, you two. You can bicker all you want inside. I want to get out of this yard before we trample the Johnsons’ grass. You know how fastidious George is.” Mom tugged his sleeve until Caleb joined her.

A couple of firefighters turned the corner from the backyard into the front. One pulled off his helmet and ran a hand through smooshed hair, sweat streaking his face. He caught Tricia’s glance and grimaced. Her heart stopped, and she took a shuddering breath. Noah Brust. In the flesh, and looking even better in his turnout coat with soot on his face than he had the last time she’d seen him in the courtroom.

“Mrs. Randol?” His voice was low, with a rich timbre to it. It tickled her senses, and her stomach tightened, even though the man ignored her.

“Yes,” her mother answered.

“I’m Noah Brust with the Lincoln Fire Department. We’ve contained the fire. The shed will be a total loss, but we kept it from the house.”

Mom put a trembling hand to her mouth, then nodded. “Thank you. We’ll replace the things in the shed. Frank will probably enjoy the excuse to buy more tools.”

“Investigator Caleb Jamison, LPD.” Caleb extended his hand, and the firefighter shook it. “This is my sister, Tricia Jamison.”

Noah turned a blank expression her way. “We’ve met.”

Tricia nodded, searching for a hint of emotion on his face. Even anger seemed better than the nothingness he registered when looking at her. Instead, he wore a look of schooled indifference. This from the rugged fireman who’d almost swept her off her feet when she’d prepped him for his testimony during the Lincoln Life fire trial a year before. Despite the attraction that zinged between them, he’d made it clear at the close of his testimony that he wanted nothing to do with her.

She stifled the urge to grab his collar and force him to acknowledge her. Mom threw her a questioning look, and Tricia shook her head. Now was not the time to explain.

“Any clues on how the fire started?” Caleb pulled her attention back to the fire.

Noah focused on Caleb. “The captain will likely call in the fire investigation team. Until they work their magic I can guess at a cause, but that’s it. We’ll keep an eye on the fire while we clean up. We’ll leave only when we’re sure the fire’s out, but it’s safe to go inside your home now.”

“Thank you.” Mom pulled the collar of her jacket tight around her throat against the October wind as she hurried toward the house.

Heat climbed Tricia’s face, and she turned to find Noah watching her. “Thanks for helping Mom.”

“You’re welcome.”

She fought the urge to rub her arms, try to generate some warmth against the chill emanating from him. “You’re still angry about the Lincoln Life case? I did everything the law allowed.”

His blue eyes, which had so captured her attention before, had frosted over. Noah snorted and shook his head. “Thanks to you, I read a dozen articles accusing my father—one of the best firefighters I’ve ever known—of negligence in his duties.” His voice rose with each word. “He died a hero, but you didn’t raise a finger to stop them from slandering him at the trial.”

She looked around for a way to escape the barrage of angry words. “I’m sorry you don’t appreciate the rules of court and their limitations. And don’t forget, we won.” Tricia turned at the sound of more cars pulling into the cul-de-sac. The Channel 13 Jeep jerked into park as Caleb reappeared at her shoulder.

“You okay, sis?” Caleb furrowed his brow until the eyebrows merged.

“Fine. I’ll be there in a minute, Caleb.” She turned to Firefighter Brust and twisted her lips into what she hoped passed for a smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to protect you and your father. Now, if you don’t want to create another scene worthy of the papers, let me pass. The media have arrived.” She tipped her chin, pushed past him and marched to Caleb’s side. “Let’s go inside now, please.”

Tricia refused to look back as Caleb hurried her into the house. She tried to ignore the tremble in her limbs when she sat on the couch next to her mother.

“Anything you need to tell me?” Caleb stood in front of her in full big brother mode.

“An unpleasant reminder of a case from last year.”

“Looked like more.”

“No.” Tricia shook her head. “He thinks I didn’t do my job. There’s nothing I can do to change his mind. If I’m lucky, I won’t run into him again.”

Today had been a fluke. That’s all.

Then why did the pain hiding in his cold eyes cut so?

Noah watched the media park on the cul-de-sac. He stood straight and prepared for the onslaught. “The vultures descend.”

Graham Jackson groaned and yanked his helmet off. “Come on, man. Hold it together.”

“You’re right.” Noah frowned and ran a hand over his face. Some days he felt so tired, he wondered how long he’d keep up with the job. Fighting through the lingering impact of the knee he’d injured in the Lincoln Life fire seemed impossible. He tried to hide it on the job, but rarely succeeded. “So I lost my composure.”

“Yep.” Graham climbed onto the fire truck, tossing his helmet onto the seat next to him. He grabbed two bottles of water and tossed one to Noah. “Fortunately, the press arrived late and didn’t see your show. What was that all about, anyway? I’ve never seen you that worked up around a woman.”

Noah unscrewed the lid and sat opposite Graham. He forced the image of Tricia’s face from his mind. She looked as beautiful as she had when he’d met her the year before. He’d been instantly smitten with the spunky lawyer…but couldn’t let himself think about that now. Not after the way she’d let him down. “Hope you’re right about the media.” He swiped the cool bottle against his forehead, ignoring Graham’s stare. “I keep waiting for it to get easier. You’d think it would after a year.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“She was the attorney on the Lincoln Life case.”

Graham looked toward the house. “She’s cute.”

“I’d hoped she was more.” Much more. “But I was wrong.”

“Don’t push so hard. This was a simple outbuilding fire, and you barked orders like flames were engulfing the Cornhusker Hotel.”

“I acted crazy. She brings that out in me.” Noah ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced.

“No. A little overzealous, but it’s okay. Temper it. That’s all I’m saying.”

An hour later, the firefighters cleared the scene and headed back to the fire station. The rest of the shift dragged as Noah tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him, rather than Tricia Jamison.

That night, long after he should have been asleep, Noah lay in bed and couldn’t stop thinking about the prosecutor and the trial. Before he’d taken the stand, he’d had a dinner invitation planned for Tricia. Test the sparks between them. Then she’d let him down during what she’d said would be an easy cross-examination. He forced the memory from his mind, but thoughts of his father’s death marched into its place. His chest tightened at the memory of how close he’d gotten to saving his father, but not close enough. When the ceiling collapsed between them, he’d known he’d failed. Waited too long. Tried too hard to save everybody else. Failed to save his father’s life, and, thanks to Tricia Jamison, he hadn’t been able to salvage the man’s reputation, either. That he couldn’t forgive. No matter how beautiful she looked.

TWO

Friday

The next morning Barry Williams, the company officer, called Noah into his office. “Rumor has it you’re interested in learning fire investigation.”

Noah stood straighter. “Yes, sir.”

“Think you’ll have time?” Williams rocked back in his chair as he stroked his mustache. It looked more like a hairy caterpillar than a true mustache, but to each his own.

“Yes. I’d welcome the challenge, sir.” With his knee, he might need options. The thought galled him, but investigations might fill the void.

“Thought so. We’ve decided to start you with Investigator Brian Weary.” Noah nodded and turned to leave, trying to hide the excitement inside him. “And, Brust…”

“Yes?”

“Remember, you asked for this assignment. Weary isn’t the easiest man to deal with.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Weary’s irascible reputation preceded him, but Noah could handle it.

Noah closed the office door behind him and headed back to the holding area where several firefighters were killing time watching TV.

“Brust.” An angry voice yelled from behind him.

Noah turned to identify the speaker.

“Looks like your education is about to start.” Graham gestured to the doorway.

Noah stood and joined Weary in the doorway. “Noah Brust, sir.”

“I know who you are. So you think you’re ready to come off the truck?” The stocky, intense man stared at Noah. “I guess we’ll see. We’ve got a ton of work to do before the scene gets contaminated. I’ve been through the scene once, but there’s more to do. You’ll have to keep up.”

“I can do that.”

Weary snorted. “That’s what they all say. We’ll see if you can.” Noah began to reply, but Weary kept talking. “I understand you worked this fire.”

Noah froze. “The Randol fire?”

“That’s right.” Weary’s stare challenged Noah. “Is that a problem?”

“N-no, sir.” No, not a problem at all…except he’d land squarely in the path of the woman he’d spent half the night trying to force from his mind. Surely, the Lord wouldn’t want him to spend time with her.

He turned to leave the room, and his knee locked in place. He grimaced, grateful that Weary couldn’t see his face. What had he gotten himself into?

Tricia’s steps dragged as she stepped off the elevator and headed to her office in the City-County Building. After running out the previous day, she knew she’d have piled up phone messages and e-mails, but she couldn’t motivate herself to get started. Noah Brust’s hurt look invaded her mind.

How could ten minutes of interaction resurrect the pain where he was concerned? After working with him during trial prep, she felt certain he was interested in her. When the mere sight of him sent her pulse racing, she couldn’t hide her own attraction. Noah was strong, yet a hint of compassion peeked through as they talked.

He’d appeared so different from most men she knew. Maybe even on caliber with her big brother Caleb.

Then the trial had ended, and he’d squashed any hope of exploring the future together.

No, he’d handed her head to her as he stormed from the courtroom. She hadn’t heard from him since. Hadn’t even run into the man until the fire yesterday.

Tricia tossed her purse in a desk drawer and her briefcase on the floor. The chair groaned as she sank into it. She looked at her desk for inspiration. Yesterday’s newspaper lay open near the top. Tricia pulled it out and scanned the pages. She slowed when she reached the obituaries, praying she wouldn’t see a notice for one of her former clients. None of the names looked familiar until she reached the bottom of the page. Timothy Gillmore. He’d been six. No one should die that young.

Something bothered her about his name. Why did it tickle her memory? She skimmed the obituary and realized why it seemed familiar. The boy had been seriously injured in the Lincoln Life blaze. After the firefighters pulled him from the debris in the building, he’d been medevaced to Creighton University Medical Center in Omaha, but had never awakened from his coma. Hadn’t his family joined the lawsuit against the city and the fire department? Her thoughts spiraled back to the events she’d spent most of the previous night trying to forget.

The Lincoln Life case had been an anomaly. But she’d empathized with the firefighter’s defense. She’d even been cautiously happy to spend time with Noah Brust. A step outside her routine cases. She’d done the assigned job. Helped with her piece of the defense and won the case. She knew she couldn’t make everybody happy all the time, no matter how hard she tried. But it didn’t make it easier when confronted with someone who felt wronged by her actions. Or in this case inaction.

The pain in his eyes when he’d looked at her yesterday—she couldn’t shake it.

Tricia folded the paper and placed it to the side. The stack of files beckoned her. Time to buckle down and prepare for the Parker trial. The trial started in one week. If she didn’t at least review the file and line up witnesses, she’d regret it later.

The stack of files appeared to sway as Tricia eyed it. She grabbed the top file. Pulled out the first document—a photo—and flipped it over. Linda Parker, the battered wife who’d filed the charges.

“Knock, knock.”

Tricia looked up to find deputy prosecutor and lunch buddy Sydney Sims standing in the doorway. The brunette looked polished in a designer suit and heels.

“Hey.”

“Another case getting to you?” Sydney sank into the chair opposite Tricia’s desk.

“Yes. This one more so than others.” For reasons Tricia would never explain, not even to Sydney.

“These cases take so much from you. Have you considered reassignment?”

“No. I can make a difference for the victims.” She had seen it, time and again.

“Then ask Charlie to reassign this case. It can’t be worth the toll it’s taken on you.”

If only Sydney knew how great the toll truly was in this case.

Sydney leaned forward, concern on her face. “Why does this case bother you so much? You’ve worked these cases long enough to not let them get to you.”

“Let’s just say it hits close to home.” Tricia rubbed her face. “I hate seeing what men will do to their wives. At least Parker didn’t beat his kids.”

“You can’t save them all, Tricia. The victims have to want help.”

“This one does.” Tricia would just have to work past her own history with Parker to provide that help.

Sydney’s cell phone rang. She looked at the number and frowned. “I’ve got to take this. Let me know if you want to talk more about this one.”

Tricia nodded, then turned back to the file. Linda Parker’s photo stared at her. Blood discolored her face under her nose, and bruises already formed under her eyes. Tricia felt bile rise at the images the photo brought back to mind.

She hurried to close the file.

How could she objectively prosecute Andrew Parker, the man who seemed too good to be true when he’d dated Tricia in college? How true that had turned out to be. She fingered the scar on her jaw. While makeup covered the line, the remnants of that attack still scarred her heart. Would that damage ever fade? Could she trust another man? And would she be able to project the image of a detached, yet passionate prosecutor without allowing the fear and guilt that had kept her from filing charges against Parker to overwhelm her?

She didn’t really have a choice. She had to either force herself to ignore her pain, or ask the county attorney to reassign the case, something he wouldn’t do without an explanation. She couldn’t tell Charlie anything about her past with Andrew. Open that door, and it would be too hard to close.

Tricia returned her focus to the case files, determined to ignore the memories that seared her mind. Andrew could not hurt her anymore. And neither could any other man. She’d kept them at a distance for years. That wouldn’t change now.

Brian Weary sat behind his desk, fingers steepled under his chin as he droned on. Noah took a deep breath. Lord, help me make the most of this opportunity without throttling the guy. In two short hours, Weary had earned his reputation. His didactic tone made Noah want to run from the room. He stayed from a deep desire to learn how to read a fire.

“Let’s see this fire.” Weary launched from his chair and marched toward his car without waiting to see if Noah followed. “You were there.”

Noah hesitated. Should he respond? The silence stretched, and Noah rushed to fill it. “Yes, sir. The dispatcher assigned the call to us. We arrived…”

“I don’t need an oral report.”

Okey-dokey. Speak when spoken to, but not if an answer isn’t required. Noah scratched his head and climbed into the passenger seat. This might be harder than he thought. Maybe he should’ve been content with his regular duties. No, he needed the bigger challenge and the security it provided if his knee couldn’t keep up with the fires.

Weary whipped his ’67 Mustang through traffic as if he were driving in the Indy 500. Noah resisted the urge to grab onto anything mounted to the car that would stabilize him. He let out his breath when Weary turned into the residential area and found his way to the site. Thirty-five miles per hour had never felt so wonderful. Weary pulled the car to the curb and grabbed a toolbox from the backseat.

“Show me the site of this conflagration.”

“I’d call it more of a bonfire. The shed provided the wood instead of logs.” Noah stumbled to a stop when Weary eyed him, bushy eyebrows arched. “It’s this way, sir.”

Even if Noah hadn’t seen the fire firsthand, the smell of smoke lingered in the air, providing a trail to the smoldering ashes. He stood back as Weary walked around the remains.

“What makes you think someone started this fire?”

Noah moved closer to the remnant of the shed and pointed to a corner charred darker than the others. “The discoloration there indicates that some type of accelerant helped the fire along. Electricity doesn’t pipe into the shed, so it couldn’t be a short. Skies remained clear yesterday, so lightning wasn’t the culprit.” He shrugged and pushed his hands in his pockets. “Everything points to someone starting the fire.”

Weary walked around the site again, head cocked at an angle. He crouched down and pulled on gloves. Opening his case, he pulled out a probe and poked around the ashes. “What color were the flames?”

Closing his eyes, Noah tried to remember the scene when the truck first arrived. The controlled chaos of unrolling the hose and hooking up to the fire hydrant dominated the mental image. By the time he reached the shed, his colleagues had aimed the water at the fire and the flames had eased. “I didn’t see them before water soaked the area.”

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway caused Noah to turn around. Tricia’s overprotective brother strode through the yard toward them.

“Hello.” Jamison stuck his hand out. Noah grasped it, while Weary ignored them. “Find anything yet?”

“We haven’t been here long.” Noah glanced at Weary digging through the ashes. “Investigator Brian Weary with the fire investigation team is the man hunched on the ground.”

Weary looked up long enough to nod with a frown. “Who are you, and what are you doing at my scene?”

“Investigator Caleb Jamison, LPD. This is my mother’s house.” He stood his ground. “What’s the cause?”

Weary’s teeth ground so hard that Noah heard them. “You can wait for my report along with everyone else.”

Caleb shook his head. “Sorry, but I work homicides. If someone set this fire, I need to know, so I can track down suspects. Yesterday. Before anything else happens.”

“You’ve made a dangerous assumption, kid. You’re an investigator? Then you should know the importance of keeping an open mind.”

Noah wouldn’t wager on who would hold out longest. Both men looked entirely too used to getting their way. He choked down a chuckle. Someone would lose this time. Noah took a step back. He didn’t want to be collateral damage caught in the cross fire. Good thing he kept his ego in line. Most of the time.

Caleb tightened his stance and stared at Weary. “Is he always this arrogant, Brust?”

“That’s the rumor.” Noah shot a glance at Weary. Maybe honesty wasn’t the best policy right now.

“As long as my family is involved, I’ll follow this investigation. Nothing happens to them on my watch.”

Caleb’s tone of voice sounded defensive. His reaction seemed to extend beyond taking care of his own. “I’ll keep you updated,” Noah said.

With a nod, Caleb spun on his heel and stalked out of the yard. At the fence, he paused, then returned. “Brust?”

“Yeah?”

“Here’s my contact info. Give me a call when you have a moment.” He held out his business card. Challenge filled his eyes, this time directed squarely at Noah.

Noah nodded in one quick motion, taking the card from his hand. Jamison left Noah rubbing the back of his neck.

“Whenever you’re done staring after the LPD, I could use your help.”

Noah crouched beside Weary. “What’s up?”

“See this line here? There’s extra charring in the wood. This is the line of accelerant. Go get the buckets from my trunk. It’s time to clear back the debris.”

Noah nodded, and didn’t bother pointing out that he’d said exactly the same thing about the accelerant a few minutes ago.

“My guess is plain ol’ gasoline. We’ll take debris back to the lab for some tests, but if it’s gas, there won’t be much to trace and it’ll take weeks to get the results.” Weary rubbed a hand across his cheek, leaving a streak of soot. Weary gestured toward his kit. “Grab the buckets. Time to put you to work.”

The afternoon flew by in a flurry of following Weary’s garbled instructions, and then rushing back to the fire station for his regular shift. Fortunately, there were no callouts to fires. Even so, the smell of smoke saturated him after the time at the scene. Usually such a day would leave Noah bored, but when he drove home after dinner, he was grateful for the chance to catch his breath.

He entered his ground-floor apartment and kicked the stack of mail away from the slot in the door. Jessie, his two-year-old golden retriever mix, tore around the corner, feet sliding on the linoleum. “Hey, girl. Ready for some exercise?”

Fifteen minutes later, Noah had changed and was taking a casual jog. He gritted his teeth against the pain that pulsed through his knee. He had to push past this or he’d never get back to top form. The pain made a good distraction from the day, and Tricia Jamison. Jessie pulled him through the neighborhood, and Noah was ready to put the day behind him. Tomorrow would be better. He had a date. One Graham had set up. Hopefully, this one would be an improvement over the last debacle. As soon as they reentered the apartment, the phone rang as he scanned his mail.

“Hello?”

“I’m looking for Noah Brust.”

“You’ve got him.” The voice tickled a corner of his memory.

“Okay.” A long pause stretched as he waited for the woman to speak.

“Look, can I help you?”

An expulsion of air rushed through the phone. “I hope so. This is Tricia Jamison. I’d like an update. Caleb said you hadn’t called yet.”

Tricia Jamison. So much for not thinking about her again tonight. How could he feel a pull to her from a few words? A flash of something unsettling followed the thought. He growled in the confusion. “What is it with you and your brother wanting answers? It’ll take a while. How did you get my home number?”

“You’re in the phone book.” Defensiveness laced her voice, but the words stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. I really wanted to make sure you won’t let our past interfere with your investigation.”

Our past? She said it like something had actually developed between them. Something more than just his imagination. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Truly?”

He took a deep breath. Why did she push so hard? “Yes. I know it’s hard to worry about someone you love. I promise, as soon as there’s information, I’ll get it to your mother.”

“All right.” A hitch in her voice communicated how important this must be to her. “I need to know that she’ll be okay.”

“There’s no reason to worry.” He looked at his watch and slid down the hall to his bedroom. “Anything else?”

“I guess not.”

“Great.” He kicked off his shoes. Time to end this conversation. “Next time call the fire department.”

A huff of air sounded. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you with questions again.” She hung up before he could respond.

He stared at the phone, tempted to call her back and apologize. He’d been rude, which wasn’t like him at all. She was right—he let their past influence his behavior. But the thought of admitting it made his stomach turn. Besides, did it matter if she thought him rude? It wouldn’t bother her for long. He remembered how she’d been at the trial—so confident and self-assured. She hadn’t cared about what he’d thought or said back then. If she had, she wouldn’t have let him down.

Nope, he didn’t need to call her back. He needed to plan tomorrow night’s date. If he concentrated on that, then maybe he’d forget the hot-tempered attorney with beautiful doe eyes and a great smile.

THREE

Saturday

Tricia parked in front of the Green Gateau Café near the Haymarket area and collected her thoughts. The day had lagged, not helped at all when Mom had called to remind her that today was their weekly tea and dessert. Tricia loved her mom and the café, but exhaustion weighed her down. She didn’t have the energy to enjoy the company or the treat.

She stared at the ivy crawling up the brick front of the building and steadied her breathing. The café was one of her favorite spots, with its stained-glass window embedded in the ceiling and the antiques, lending an old-world feel to the place. If only the conversation could match the ambience. Some hitch in her mom’s voice had a knot tightening in Tricia’s stomach. The tension wouldn’t ease no matter how often she breathed slowly or told herself that she was once again over-thinking a nuance she might not have heard.

A car door slammed and Tricia looked up. Mom hustled toward the door. She should stop her, let her know she hadn’t made it in the café, but she didn’t.

Father, help me.

With the Parker trial barreling down on her, each day made it harder to maintain the cheerful mask. The one she’d perfected over the years to hide the pain and roiling emotions. Mom couldn’t see the way she really felt—not today. Mom had pushed her toward Andrew and told Tricia they were a great match. She’d chosen to ignore the aggression and violence that shimmered under the surface. Tricia shouldn’t be surprised, since her mother had never noticed those traits in Frank, either.

Someday she had to repair her relationship with her mother. It would be so much easier if Frank weren’t around. How could Mom remain so oblivious to the tension and love a monster? Tricia’s face pinched, and her scar warmed. Maybe if Frank hadn’t sauntered into her bedroom one too many times, she wouldn’t have run to Andrew Parker.

Tricia squared her shoulders. Somehow she’d hold on to her happy mask. She deflated at the thought that Mom didn’t care enough to notice the facade.

Tricia stepped from her Miata and pulled her jacket closer. A nip teased the air as it swirled around her. She crunched through dry leaves dusting the sidewalk, feeling as fragile as the dried remnants. Ready or not, fall colored the landscape.

Enough stalling.

A sweet aroma filled her senses as she entered the restaurant and passed the pastry case. She followed the hostess to a table tucked in one of the restaurant’s many nooks. Mom looked beautiful, a rust-colored turtleneck highlighting her placid face. She turned her face, tilting it up to accept Tricia’s kiss.

“You look nice today.” Mom’s voice carried a lilt.

“Thanks.” She grabbed the menu before she had to say anything else, grateful for the wail of a saxophone in the background that caught her mom’s attention.

Mom winced. “That note was a bit off.” She shook her head as if to clear the lingering sound from her mind. “What tickles your taste buds today?”

“The green gateau and a cup of espresso.” A sure recipe to charge Tricia up on sugar and caffeine to survive the hour.

The waitress placed a glass of iced tea in front of Mom and took their orders.

After she left, Tricia searched for words to start the conversation. She hadn’t been tongue-tied around Mom until Daddy died. Then Frank came, and the nightmare started.

“I’m so glad you could join me for tea today, Tricia.” Mom smiled, the one that made her whole face light up. “Frank’s fifty-fifth birthday is coming up in a few weeks. I thought we should throw a party for him, and you could help me plan it.”

Tricia stared at her mother. A party for Frank? “What?”

“Plan a party. Streamers. Cake. Singing. I thought we could get some of his buddies together, Caleb can grill and we’ll have the obligatory cake.”

“I can’t do that.” It felt as if the dentist had suctioned her mouth dry. Celebrate the man who had molested her?

“Why not?”

“Mom…” Tricia tried to hold back the words. Now wasn’t the time to bring everything out in the open. She’d held it in for years—why not keep doing that? “I’ve got an intense trial coming up at work. I’m focusing all my time on preparing for it.”

The waitress approached the table with a tray laden with her drink and the desserts. “Here you go, ladies. Need anything else?”

Tricia tried to smile her thanks, then took a sip of the rich espresso. God, show me what to do. I want to move past this pain that has me trapped in the past.

“I don’t understand why you’re always too busy to help when it comes to Frank.” Mom doctored her tea with two packets of sweetener. “Don’t worry about the party. Maybe I should make it just for us old folks anyway.” Mom dabbed at her lips with her linen napkin. “Did your week wrap up well?”

“Yes. Fairly routine things. In and out of court.” Tricia cleared her throat. “Everything back to normal with the shed?”

“Yes.” Mom placed her elbows on the tabletop and leaned toward her. “What went on with the firefighter and you? How do you know each other?”

So Mom wanted the background. Tricia rolled her eyes, then froze when Mom caught her.

“The Lincoln Life case last year. He testified for the fire department and thinks I set him up during the trial.”

Mom puckered her lips. “So long ago. I doubt he remembers.” She waved her hand in the air as if brushing away a pesky thought. “Don’t you think it’s time you got out? You’re always using work or something else as an excuse to hide in your house on the weekends.”

“Mom, you know that’s not true. I spend a lot of time with the singles group from church.”

“When a trial doesn’t keep you working all hours of the day and night.”

“It’s my job.” Tricia resisted the urge to pout.

“And in ten years you’ll wish you’d rearranged your priorities.”

The hostess showed a young family to a table near theirs. The husband and wife held hands, even as he carried a baby carrier with a baby decked out in pink from head to toe. The image could have come from the dream she’d buried in her heart. A husband who adored her and treated her like a treasure, who could see beyond her past and its pain to the promise of a future. A baby who shared the best of both of them, and served as a reminder that the future could always be a fresh start.

Tricia wiped at her eyes, before the tears could escape. She wanted the dream, but her work—and her past—showed how quickly dreams turned to nightmares. Mom tapped her manicured nails against the table, pulling Tricia back to their conversation. “Which one of your friends is going to be a grandmother now?”

Mom waved a hand in the air as if batting the accusation to the side. “Come on.”

“Mother.”

“Oh, all right. Betty Haines. Her daughter is pregnant with Betty’s third granddaughter. And she’s younger than you. Your biological clock is ticking.”

As if that proved a point. “You’re more concerned that you won’t have grandchildren. Go talk to Caleb and Dani.”

Her mom sighed dramatically. “Test the waters. That’s all I ask. There are men out there. Someone like that firefighter, without the history.”

A strangled sound came from the table behind Tricia’s left shoulder. A startled look covered her mother’s face. Tricia turned to look and immediately wished she hadn’t. Noah Brust’s ruggedly handsome face stared at her, jaw squared, eyes flashing or dancing. She couldn’t tell which. A woman sat next to him, lithe form so close she might as well be sitting on him.

“Mrs. Randol. Tricia.” Noah’s voice sounded deliberately casual as he said her name.

Tricia tried to ignore the flash of discomfort. What had he heard? Her mind reviewed the conversation as heat climbed her neck. This on top of their earlier conversation? She longed to disappear.

“Noah.” The woman next to him whined. She didn’t like his focus off her.

Noah forced a smile at Tricia. “A pleasure, ladies.” He swiveled back toward the model seated next to him.

Tricia eased back around and faced her mother.

Tricia shrugged off the exchange. Why should it bother Tricia? Why did it matter what he thought of her?

The woman next to Noah blathered on about nothing. Graham had set him up with the promise that Lisle would wow him. Not so much. Almost from the moment Noah picked her up, he’d known exactly how the evening would go. Not fast enough.

Graham was right on one point—Lisle was a looker. But every word out of her mouth centered on herself. Who found such self-centered conversation appealing? This would be the last time he let Graham suggest the perfect woman for him.

Lisle pulled on his sleeve, a pout marring her perfect lips. “Where did you go?”

Did she really expect him to tell her his thoughts? On a first date? “What brought you to Lincoln?” He picked at the crumbs on his plate.

She started talking again, seemingly mollified, and Noah glanced at his watch. If things went smoothly, he would drop her off at her apartment in an hour. There must be a lesson buried in this endless, waste-of-time evening. A reason why the only thing to catch and hold his attention was the jolt of electricity he’d felt when he realized Tricia Jamison was in the same room. He’d noticed her the moment she strode into the restaurant, looking as if she was about to head into battle. Something made her feel the need to take charge, yet she’d floundered for words during her conversation with her mother. He’d never seen her like that.

No, the Tricia he knew from a year ago would impress anyone. Poised, with every hair perfectly in place. And a mind that kept her words sharply on target.

“You did it again.” Indignation painted a mask on Lisle’s face.

“Did what?”

“Disappeared.” Lisle crossed her arms and leaned away from him. “If I’m uninteresting, you should take me home. Now.”

Noah felt a twinge of remorse. Maybe Lisle wasn’t his type, but still his mama had raised him to show better manners than ignoring his date. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Noah waved the waitress over and settled the check. He threw the tip on the table, and helped Lisle into her jacket.

As they left his gaze settled on Tricia. There was a tension in the way she sat that he’d never noticed, not even during the trial. Then she’d held herself erect out of engagement. Here she’d steeled herself against some type of assault. As if she feared what might come next.

Could she be afraid of him?

The thought made him stumble and his stomach clenched against the meal he’d just eaten.

Their interactions played through his mind. He’d been hard on her the last few times they’d spoken. Maybe harder than he’d intended or the situation warranted. Had she been hurt by his actions and words? Tricia was so strong, always so much in control. If she were as on top of things as she’d seemed, why couldn’t she have protected him at the trial? That was the root of his anger, but now he started to wonder. Had he expected too much from her? Been unrealistic?

Was he part of the reason sadness shaded her eyes?

He helped Lisle into his truck, and rubbed his neck as he walked around to the driver’s side, trying to focus on her rather than Tricia. She didn’t make it easy, though. If she couldn’t find a mute switch, he’d have a full-blown headache before he dropped her off. Another reason not to date. It never worked for him.

Once he got home, Noah tossed his keys on a table. Maybe the way to get Tricia out of his mind was to figure out what had happened at her mom’s. Then he could move on and forget about her again. He’d done it once. It shouldn’t be harder the second time.

FOUR

Sunday

“You know this wasn’t some dumb kid trying to see what could burn.” Tricia didn’t even try to hide her exasperation as the family sat around Mom’s table for Sunday dinner. Mom and Frank should know better, even if her mom did like to ignore anything that could turn unpleasant. Why didn’t Caleb jump in? He was a police investigator, after all.

“Tricia, let’s not argue.” Mom pushed her hair behind her ears, then picked up her fork.

Frank wiped his mouth. “Your mom worked hard to make this nice meal for you.”

Tricia bit the inside of her mouth to keep from screaming. They shouldn’t treat this like every other after-church dinner. Someone had torched her mom’s shed, and she wouldn’t let it go. “Caleb, you agree with me, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Caleb’s eyebrows knitted together. “Right now, I think it’s one of the guys I investigated rather than some bored kid.” He leaned his elbows on the table and stared at Mom. “There are dangerous men on that list.”

“I really think the two of you are worked up over nothing.” She looked at Frank, who seemed intent on ignoring the topic. Tricia wanted to shake him and make him get Mom to listen. While Mom’s voice stayed soft and undaunted, it marginalized Tricia’s fears.

Tricia threw up her hands. “You aren’t listening.”

Frank shook his head and chuckled. “I thought you said the kids were grown, Allison. Not sure I’d have married you if I’d known they’d stay so melodramatic into adulthood.”

Tricia gritted her teeth. Frank sat there sounding so superior, as usual. He seemed to know what to do to make her feel weak and overemotional. She rubbed at the headache forming at her temples. One big, happy family. Yep, that’s what they had. What she wouldn’t give to be back at the office working on someone else’s mess. Anything would be better than being stuck at another family dinner, pretending.

“Kids, enough. This is my house. No one was injured. Frank even gets to shop for more tools. It’s done.” She picked up her fork and pointed at the chocolate decadence on her plate. “I’m not letting this cake go to waste.”

Caleb’s jaw dropped, and Tricia assumed that her face matched his. It didn’t matter who started the fire? Good thing the cake lived up to its name or she might have to leave right then. Mom loved to bury her head in the sand, but surely she had to recognize this was serious.

Caleb took a breath, and Tricia imagined him counting to ten. “We’ll talk later.”

In no time the conversation turned to which team would win the afternoon football game. Tricia tuned them out. She might be a Nebraskan, but today she couldn’t bring herself to care about professional football. Instead, she found herself wishing there were someone in her life who would really hear her concerns—listen to her and pay attention to her feelings.

Maybe a man like Noah Brust. Her thoughts stilled. Why on earth would she think of him? He clearly hated her. She wished the thought didn’t leave a stone of regret in her stomach.

The conversation spun around Tricia. She’d rather escape to her home and curl up on the couch with a mug of tea and the latest bestseller. Avoid the pile of work she’d dragged home in her briefcase.

“Are you going to eat the cake or poke it to death?” Frank’s gravelly voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“I’m finished.” Tricia pushed back from the table and grabbed her plate. “I’ll get started in the kitchen, Mom.” She walked away before her mom could voice the question plastered on her face. Someday she’d quit hiding. But not yet. She couldn’t force the secrets into the light.

Tricia kept Mom talking while they cleaned the lunch dishes. “I’m headed home. Relax a bit before the crazy week starts.”

Mom’s brow wrinkled, and concern filled her eyes. “Everything all right?”

“Sure. Just stay alert, okay? Don’t want you here if whoever started the fire comes back.”

“Pshaw.” Mom waved a hand in the air. “It won’t happen. Even if it did, Frank’s here to take care of me. He’s a good man, Tricia. You know that.”

Tricia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Sure, Mom.” She kissed her cheek. “See you later.”

The sound of the TV blared from the family room. Frank’s TV filled one of the small walls. Tricia peeked in and saw Frank and Caleb jumping up and down. With a shake of her head, she continued down the hall and slipped out. A well of loneliness swelled as she drove home. Her cottage felt empty and forlorn. Should she find a roommate? Each time she’d wrestled with loneliness before, she’d considered it, but always abandoned the idea. She didn’t want to fight over whose turn it was to buy milk or who needed to clean the bathroom.

She lived better alone.

No one could disappoint her then.

Monday morning, Tricia sat at her desk, trying to decide which file to tackle before she left for court. Time to focus on the task at hand, rather than wonder who had torched her mom’s shed. She grabbed the top file. The wife had called 911 a couple of times on her husband, but this was the first time she’d pressed charges. Tricia scrawled a note to check in with the victim, and make sure she was still hanging in there. It wouldn’t hurt to call the anger management counselor and a few other folks. Get their read on the defendant. She rubbed her jawline as she wrote, but she stopped when she reached the ridge of scar tissue on her chin.

Memories of that disastrous relationship seared her mind. Andrew Parker had looked like the right man for her when she bumped into him during a college class. But she should have known better. Now she knew the signs of an abuser. Then she’d been a desperate nineteen-year-old, looking for any man who might offer her a new life far away from her stepfather’s house. It hadn’t taken long for a pair of baby blue eyes and a great smile to sweep her off her feet as she tried to prove to herself she was lovable after the things her stepfather had done to her. She hadn’t known that, over the weeks and months, Andrew’s smile would become rare, while his control over her increased.

Her thoughts flitted to the photo she’d looked at the previous week. She grabbed the top folder from Andrew’s file and pulled out Linda’s picture. She rubbed her scar then groaned. She’d covered the scar with concealer. No one saw the larger scar that marred her heart. Or the memories drawn to the surface by Linda Parker’s photo. When she looked at it, the bruises made her flash to the ones Andrew had beaten into her.

Tricia pushed her chair away from the desk, stomach spinning, and leaned her head back. She used to love her job. Now she vacillated between satisfaction and a weighted-down feeling. The burden amplified with each new case tossed on her desk.

Sydney stepped into her office. “You’re looking at that file again.”

“Which one?” Tricia casually covered the file name.

“The Parker file. The one that depresses you each time you examine it. What happened to the attorney who was passionate about her job, protecting victims and bringing justice to abusers?”

Tricia sighed. That was the question she wrestled with each day. The Parker case had pushed her to the breaking point. “She’s still buried in here somewhere.”

“You need to find a way to love your job again.” Sydney leaned on the desk, looking Tricia in the eye. “No job is worth the misery on your face. I need my friend back.”

Sydney was right. “I’ll pray about it.”

“Do.” Sydney smiled then turned to leave. “I’ve got to get to a motion in an hour. See you there.”

Tricia nodded.

Somehow she had to take joy in the small victories rather than focusing on the fact that domestic violence hadn’t ended and likely never would. She could help victims—one at a time—reclaim control of their lives. Ignore yet again the reality that she’d lived the life herself.

A knock pulled her from her thoughts, and Tricia opened her eyes to find a paralegal pointing at her watch.

“You’ll be late for court if you don’t leave.”

Tricia glanced at her watch and bolted to her feet. “Are the files ready?”

“On the corner of my desk, sorted by attorney.”

“Thanks.”

Time to put her doubts behind her and head to court. Flip the switch. Transform herself into a mentally tough and prepared opponent. Someone other attorneys had to reckon with.

Tricia stood and grabbed the pile off the corner of the paralegal’s desk. A tumbleweed of tension roiled in her stomach. Tricia exhaled and prayed the sensation would pass.

Tricia allowed her thoughts to wander as she approached the courthouse and finally the courtroom. Attorneys and clients talked in hushed tones in clusters scattered around the hallway. Tension vibrated in the air. Tricia steeled herself against it and prayed for wisdom and favor before pushing open the solid oak, carved door.

Controlled chaos reigned in the courtroom. Tricia relaxed, as something about the atmosphere turned her discomfort into charged anticipation. She loved trial work for that very reason. One never knew what would happen, even in hearings as seemingly insignificant as scheduling a trial date.

Her gaze swept the room. The high ceilings were inlaid with round rosettes. The jury box, witness stand, attorney tables and judge’s bench were all stained mahogany. Judge Sinclair’s attention focused on the dueling attorneys in front of her. With her chestnut hair pulled behind her ears and glasses perched on her nose, she had the air of a middle-aged librarian. Tricia had learned not to underestimate the judge’s brains or her dedication to helping women and children.

Tricia brushed past the bar separating the gallery from the action and edged through the crush of bodies to find a corner of the plaintiff’s table to stack her files. After releasing the files, she flexed her fingers and eyed the line.

Easily a dozen attorneys stood in line, some with clients. All waiting for their chance to stand in front of the judge. Tricia grabbed her first folder from the pile and quickly reviewed the file. The front sheet contained important dates and status information. Time to schedule this one for a hearing if defense counsel appeared as ordered. A quick scan of the room didn’t reveal opposing counsel, so Tricia picked up the next file.

The defendant in this case had decided his two-year-old made a good punching bag. She swallowed hard against the rush of anger. Somehow she must remain professional and detached, though everything in her wanted to ask the man how he could do such things to a defenseless child. She skimmed the file and stilled when she saw Noah Brust’s name listed as a witness. She glanced up and scanned the room. Was he here? There. His lanky, yet muscular, form leaned against the wall. He was frowning. She knew how he felt. These kind of cases made you question the human race. The world should be safe for children, but too often wasn’t.

He looked up and caught her eye. The blood fled her face at the realization that he’d spotted her. Her mind should be on the case, not him. Yet something electric sizzled between them, and the rest of the room faded into the distance. Heat flooded her face.

Tricia forced her gaze back to the file. She thought she’d moved past her attraction when he’d pushed her firmly away after the trial. After meeting him, she’d allowed herself to believe he might be the one. They’d gotten along so well from the moment they’d met. She’d wanted to trust him and let go of her past. Hope for a relationship filled with happiness.

She sneaked another peek at him. He was still watching her, but the frown didn’t exude anger. Instead, he seemed thoughtful. What did that mean? She shook her head. She needed to focus her energy on this case right now. She scanned the photos, and tears flooded her eyes. She swallowed hard to stop the tears. Opposing counsel would not see how much the images of the tyke affected her.

A musky cologne flowed over her, tickling her throat and nearly making her choke. The stench could only mean Earl Montgomery stood next to her. The thought of fighting the odor during the Parker trial turned her stomach. She turned. “What’s up, Earl?”

Maybe he’d leave and take the strong aroma with him if she could get him to talk quickly.

“It’s been a while, little lady.”

She crossed her arms. “All of a week. What do you need?”

“I’d like to discuss the Parker matter. Rumor has it you’re the attorney.” He fidgeted with the lapels of his gaudy plaid jacket.

Tricia stared at him. “Have been since the beginning.”

“Trial’s around the corner.”

She waited. What did he expect her to say?

“It’s never too late to be reasonable. You know the guy didn’t do it. If anything, your client started the argument. In fact, I have it on good authority that she’s not willing to testify anymore.” He brushed a few strands of stringy hair over the top of his bald head. He rocked back on his heels and grinned at her as if he expected her to roll over at his words.

“And how would you know? Interfering with my witness?”

“Just doing my trial prep, little lady.”

Tricia ground her teeth at the familiarity and the condescending tone. “He broke her jaw. Usually the woman wants to see her abuser in jail.”

“Maybe. But I’ve always known you to be reasonable when presented with the truth.” His oily smile made her want to back away.

She stiffened. She would not give up on Linda. She had to keep Andrew from hurting anyone else.

Drawing a deep breath, Tricia collected her thoughts. “Thanks for the suggestion, Earl. Much as you might like me to accept that this is Linda’s final decision, I’ll talk to her first.”

“No problem, darling.” He waved toward the gallery. “There she is.”

Tricia turned to follow where he pointed. Her gaze stopped when it landed on Noah. His eyes seemed to warm as they locked with hers. It had been nearly a year since he’d looked at her like that, and it flustered her. She felt heat climb her cheeks and had to force herself to blink and move past him. The moment she did she felt as if the day had grown colder.

To his right, Linda stood stiffly against the back wall chewing on a fingernail. One look at her face and sloped shoulders was enough. She really wanted to drop the charges. Tricia smiled at the woman. She could handle this. It had happened before and would happen again. All the more reason to make sure she spent time with Linda, made sure she felt prepared for next week.

“State’s not dropping the charges, Earl. Hope you’re ready for trial next week.”

Linda avoided eye contact as Tricia approached. Her perfectly coiffed hair and tailored pantsuit didn’t match the nervous gesture of her nail biting or the extra lines etched around her eyes.

“Linda?” The woman looked up, gaze scanning the area around them as if waiting for Andrew to appear out of the woodwork. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I can do this.” Linda’s manicured hands twisted. “He’s threatening terrible things if I go through with this.”

Tricia took a deep breath, prayed for the right words. “I know you’re scared.”

“No. You have no idea what this is like. Lying in bed each night wondering if he’ll violate the protective order. If he’ll break into his own house, and beat me up for going to the police.” Tricia knew exactly what it was like to live with that kind of fear…but she couldn’t say that. Linda would never respect her if she knew it was Tricia’s fault that Andrew had been free to hurt her. No, she’d have to go with her usual, logical arguments.

“If you don’t stand up to him now, he will abuse you again.”

Linda’s face collapsed. “But he’s promised to do better.”

“Has he promised that before?” She knew too well the verbal punches that preceded the physical, followed by empty promises.

The quiet question hung in the air. Tricia let it settle, willing Linda to think of every other promise, every plea for forgiveness. A tear streaked Linda’s cheek. Tricia pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to Linda.

“What will we do?”

“You and your boys will build a new life. One without fear.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I know, but you have to start somewhere. Testify next Monday and make that the next step in finding freedom from Andrew.”

Linda shook her head, the blond waves shielding her face. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Tricia took a deep breath. “Linda, I know you can do this.” Tricia paused. Should she say more? No, not now. No need to add to Linda’s concerns. “Together we can show the judge and jury what Andrew is really like. Encourage them to put him behind bars. But I can’t do that without your testimony.”

Linda wiped the tissue under each eye and took a shuddering breath. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded. “I’ll do it.” Tricia had to struggle not to visibly sag in relief.

Linda smiled weakly and walked away, crossing paths as she exited with Sam Tucker, the opposing attorney on the child abuse case, arriving late as usual. Tricia turned to head to the front of the courtroom as well, but before she could walk away, her eyes met Noah’s. The open appreciation and admiration in his gaze flustered her just as much now as it had a year earlier. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to focus. Aside from the arson investigation, Noah Brust was nothing to her but someone from her past. She wouldn’t let him be anything else.

If she could take Andrew on in court, surely she could take on her heart.

FIVE

Monday

Noah raced his pickup to the fire station, images of Tricia muddying his thoughts. She’d looked so beautiful as she’d talked to the other woman, comforting and encouraging her.

He kept thinking about her conversation. The woman had trembled, as if afraid of something. Or someone. Tricia had used a low voice and a soothing tone to talk the woman out of her fear. In fact, she’d straightened and agreed to everything Tricia said. The fear had disappeared when the woman walked out of the courtroom. Then he’d noticed Tricia’s tremors. What she’d said and done had drained her.

He’d had the strangest urge to reach out to her, comfort her. The woman poured herself into each case. Even when it stripped her to the core. Maybe he’d judged her too harshly. How could he doubt her dedication to her cases after what he’d witnessed?

The thing that got him was the aura of sadness around her when she looked at him. As if she felt the same pull he did, but understood the chasm between them. One he had dug spoonful by bitter spoonful. Discomfort filled him, a sensation he hated. He whipped the truck into an open parking slot and hopped out as wolf whistles assaulted him.

“Overslept, Brust?” Graham Jackson slouched in a chair, his tall frame plopped in front of an open bay door.

“I wish. I got to waste another morning in court waiting to be called for a hearing they postponed right before the judge swore me in.” Noah rolled his neck. The muscles had knotted tight while he waited. Courtrooms would never number among his favorite places to spend time. “Don’t do anything crazy while I check in.” Noah sauntered into the office, then sagged against the door. He hated court. Hated the inefficiency of the system. Hated the taste it left in his mouth. Hated the bitter memories.

The bell rang loud enough to stop a bull in its tracks. He grinned as adrenaline started its surge through him. He opened the door and raced to his cubby.

“What are we looking at?”

Graham shrugged into his turnout coat. “Dispatch says a fire at a residence. Sounds like a detached building.”

Good. They could contain the fire before it spread, minimizing the damage. Noah pulled on his boots and coat before slapping his helmet on his head.

“Brust.” A gravelly voice yelled his name.

Noah stopped midslap and looked up. Weary stood in the back of the bay, staring at him. Surely Weary wasn’t about to stop him from leaving with his men. “Yes?”

“Come with me.”

Graham looked at Noah. One truck barreled out of the bay, lights flashing. “We can’t wait.”

Noah nodded.

“Are you serious about learning fire investigation?” Challenge filled Weary’s voice as if he expected Noah to fail before he really started.

He stiffened his back as the wail of the first truck faded in the distance.

“We can’t wait any longer. Either hop on or go with him.”

Noah groaned. He lived for fighting fires, working toward the goal of surpassing his father’s reputation, an impossible task from the sidelines. His knee throbbed, making his decision for him. Better to investigate than let someone decide he needed a medical leave. Again.

“Go ahead.” Noah slapped the side of the truck.

The last man leapt on the truck, and Noah watched it race from the garage, sirens blaring.

“This better be good.” He mumbled under his breath.

“What, Brust?”

Noah found Weary standing in front of him. “How do you do that?”

“Life’s all about making probies jump. Come on.” The man turned and walked away.

“I am not a proby.”

Weary snorted. “You are in my program.”

Noah clamped his hands on his hips and fought the urge to hit something. He tried to get the adrenaline to subside as he stripped off his protective gear and placed his helmet back on its hook. He’d thought the day couldn’t get any worse. Who knew what Mr. Sunshine had in mind for his afternoon?

When Noah entered Weary’s office, the man sat behind his desk. He’d propped his feet on the desk, and was flipping through a stack of photos.

“What are those?”

“Wrong question to ask.”

Silence filled the room except for the sound of Weary shuffling the top photo to the bottom of the pile, replacing it with the next again and again. Noah clamped his jaw against the urge to spout words he might regret.

Finally, he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “And the right question…”

“Where are these pictures from? What do they show?” Weary pulled his legs off the desk and lurched forward in his chair. He tossed a couple at Noah. “What do you see?”

Noah juggled the images. Why look at photos when he’d spent hours at the site? He tried to focus on them, but didn’t know what he was looking at. He bit his tongue. The shot looked like a close-up of a shed’s concrete floor. Swirls of iridescent colors ran through a liquid pooled on one part of the concrete. Gasoline or oil mixed with water?

Weary cleared his throat. “Guesses?”

“Something leaked gas or oil there.”

“The cause?”

“Lawn mower stored there? Other small, gas-run tool?”

“Do you think this fire started on its own?”

Noah shrugged. “Probably not. But.

“But we investigate first. Rule out other causes of the fire. Never walk in assuming arson. You have to keep an open mind or you’ll miss key details and evidence because they don’t fit your model.”

Noah paused and studied the picture more. “I still say this looks like evidence of gas or another accelerant used to start the fire. But…”

“But it could be caused by any number of things.” Brian Weary leaned back in his chair, a grimace on his face. “Welcome to fire investigation. The liquid could be from a lawn mower. Or it could be remnants of what an arsonist used to start the fire. There’s the challenge. Determining the cause.” He swiveled in his chair, pointed at a map taped to the wall behind his desk. “See that? Each pin represents a fire we’ve investigated this year. Orange represents arson. Green electrical. Blue lightning. You get the idea. See anything unusual?”

Noah stepped closer to the desk and leaned against it to get a closer look. “You’ve got quite a few arsons. More than usual.”

“Yep.” Weary leaned back, locking his hands behind his head. “It’s too early to tell much, but those grass fires on the outskirts of town could be connected to your shed fire. If it’s arson.”

Noah rubbed his jaw and tried to memorize the map. He had so much to learn.

Weary grabbed a thick binder from the floor behind his desk. He tossed the volume at Noah, who lunged to catch it before paper flew from it. “Remember the photo. I want you to figure out what it is. This book should help.”

Noah looked from the photos to the book. “You want me to use this?”

Weary put his glasses on the tip of his nose and looked over them at Noah. Then he pivoted his chair until Noah stared at his back.

Heat filled Noah’s face. “Fine,” he muttered. He stood and stalked from the room with the photos and binder.

Everybody had warned him that Weary was unpredictable and mean. Why had he thought he could make his experience with the man different? Noah plopped down at one of the tables in the kitchen area, binder falling to the table. He opened the volume and started flipping through the pages. He needed to calm down or the words would swim as he read. After trying to find a match for an hour, he stood and paced the room. He needed some fresh oxygen pumping to his brain before he pitched the book in the trash.

He grabbed a bottle of water and slumped down at the table. The rumble of a truck pulling into a bay grabbed his attention.

“Weary get to you already?” Graham pulled out and then straddled a chair, his face covered in soot and his body reeking of the fire. He feigned a look of concern, but his eyes danced with laughter.

“Don’t say it.”

“I told you so?” Graham shook his head. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

Noah rubbed his hands over his head. “Can you believe he wants me to study this?” He wanted to kick the thick volume back to Weary’s office. He’d signed up to read fires, not tomes.

“It’s just a book.”

Yeah. For anyone else. But how could Noah hide his dyslexia? Studying in a group was one thing. But he doubted he’d find an audio version for this volume.

Graham flipped it open. “Look, there are even pictures.”

“I guess that’s all I need. Find a picture that matches this one.” Noah tossed the photo to Graham. “Out of eight hundred pages.”

“No problem.” He flipped a couple of pages, then pushed it back to Noah. “I’m sure you’ll find the match in a few days.”

Noah snorted. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Graham slapped the table and stood. “Let me know if you need help.”

Noah rubbed his knee where it throbbed. He couldn’t afford to let this opportunity go. If he couldn’t fight fires the rest of his life, then he’d settle for determining cause.

Noah pushed back from the table, and paced the room. He locked his hands behind his head and concentrated on breathing. A steady in and out pattern. He knew the pattern in the water. Weary had asked an impossible question. Weary knew he couldn’t determine whether the gas existed at the site prior to the fire.

Yep, Weary was seeing where he’d run with this. He could waltz back into his office with a tale of woe to find himself forever cut out of investigative work. Definitely not what he wanted.

A woman walked past the window. Her head tilted away from him so he couldn’t see her features. But her dark-brown hair reminded him of Tricia Jamison. Once the thought took hold, he couldn’t shake it. He didn’t want to think of her. Couldn’t think of her. Needed to think about the picture. But all he saw in his mind’s eye was Tricia.

A woman he had misjudged and unjustly pushed away. A woman he needed to forgive.

And a woman he needed to ask to forgive him.

SIX

Wednesday

Judge Sinclair looked down her glasses at Tricia, then turned her attention to Earl Montgomery. “You’re here for the pretrial on this case, correct?”

“Yes, your honor.” Earl caressed his Kelly-green paisley tie. “My client, Andrew Parker, would like to ask for a continuance in this case.”

“Reasons?”

“We have been unable to locate a witness.”

“Who is this witness?”

A shadow flashed across Earl’s face. “A buddy from college my client spent time with the night of the alleged incident.”

Tricia tried not to smile too broadly. She knew the real reason—Linda had agreed to testify, and Andrew wanted more time to wear her back down. No way would she let that happen. “Your honor, this case has been pending before this court for months, more than enough time for Mr. Montgomery and his client to locate this witness. In fact, I don’t believe they have any witnesses listed on their evidentiary motion, so the witness would be excluded for that reason.” Tricia glanced at the summary sheet, and confirmed her memory. “This is no valid reason to delay the trial.”

“Other than Mr. Parker receiving a fair trial. His wife may be unwilling to press the charges.”

“Counsel?” The judge looked at Tricia.

“I talked with her yesterday and verified that she will testify at the trial. Even without her testimony, the state is ready to proceed.”

“Is Mrs. Parker here?”

“No. This is supposed to be a routine pretrial hearing.”

Judge Sinclair looked over her glasses at Tricia. “Then we’ll see her at trial. Defendant’s motion is denied. Thank you, counsel.”

Earl collected his files and turned toward the doors. “See you next week, little lady.”

Tricia fought the urge to go wash her hands. He made her feel so slimy.

The cell phone sang the theme to Monday Night Football from some deep recess of her purse. Caleb’s ring-tone. She grabbed the bag and scrabbled through it for the phone as she walked back to her office.

“Hey…” Huffing cut off her words.

“Can you come to my house?” Caleb’s words rushed on top of each other.

Sirens blared in the background, causing her to push the phone closer to her ear. “What?”

“How fast can you get to my house?”

“Half an hour.”

“See you then.” He hung up, and Tricia stared at the dead phone.

Before she could toss the phone back in the recesses of her bag, it rang again, this time the standard tone. She glanced at the display and stilled when she saw the caller was Dani Richards. Why would her brother’s girlfriend call? Especially on the heels of her brother?

She opened the phone. “Dani?”

“Has Caleb reached you?”

“Just did. What’s going on?”

“There’s trouble at his place.” Dani’s voice sounded muffled, as if she were rushing somewhere. A car door slammed.

“Are you sure?”

“Does your brother joke about things like this?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll meet you there.”

Tricia stood and grabbed her jacket. “All right.”

Snatching the Parker file and her purse from the desk, she left the office. She prayed that Caleb was okay as she reached her car and headed out of town down O Street.

Blood thundered in her ears as her heart raced. What-if scenarios ran through her mind. What if he’d injured himself? What if one of the men he’d investigated had come after him? What if…

Noah opened the door to his second-floor apartment, the autumn wind raking across him from the open patio door. He shivered as it penetrated his sweat-soaked shirt. Bicycling around Holmes Lake left him worn out, but in a good way. His body had cooperated with his mind and allowed him to exercise the way he’d wanted. His knee had even kept up.

He wiped his forearm across his forehead, swiping sweat. The exercise had succeeded in drawing off remnants of adrenaline from another shift. Now he could anticipate forty-eight hours off duty.

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