Trial by Fire

“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.”