Читать книгу Trial by Fire - Cara Putman - Страница 10

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.