Trial by Fire. Cara Putman
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