Читать книгу Trial by Fire - Cara Putman - Страница 12

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.”

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.