Trial by Fire. Cara Putman
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