Trial by Fire

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.”