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
