Cara Putman - Trial by Fire

The odds were too remote to have these fires be random. Noah needed to get to the scene stat.

There, a woman’s dark hair swirled around her face in the wind. Time slowed when he realized who it was. Tricia Jamison’s smile evaporated as he stared.

She crossed her arms. “Why are you here?”

“I save people and property, you know.” Bite he hadn’t intended colored his words.

Tricia stepped back, as if assaulted by his words. “Don’t let me stop you.”

He fought the urge to take her into his arms. Instead, he left her standing there, feeling like a heel as he walked away. But he couldn’t do what he wanted. Kiss her delicate lips. How could he walk away from a year of anger at the flash of beautiful brown eyes?

He’d better focus his attention on something he understood. The roar of flames ahead provided the answer. But then an explosion had him ducking as windows shattered outward.

Since the time she could read Nancy Drew, Cara has wanted to write mysteries. For years she asked God if this dream was from Him. Her life was full. She graduated with honors from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln (Go, Huskers!), moved to the Washington, D.C., area, married the man of her dreams, worked in the non-profit world, went to George Mason Law School at night while working and then started having children. While her life was far from empty, the dream wouldn’t die. Then she followed her husband to Indiana. Talk about starting over! In 2005 she attended a book signing at her local Christian bookstore, where she met Colleen Coble. The rest, as they say, is history. With prompting from her husband, Cara shared her writing dream with Colleen. Cara’s been writing ever since. To learn more about Cara and her books, please visit her at www.caraputman.com.

He has showed you, O man, what is good.

And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.

—Micah 6:8

To Abigail, Jonathan and Rebecca. My kiddos put up with one crazy fall where this was the last of three books turned in on very tight deadlines. I enjoyed celebrating “the end” in this book by going to Madagascar 2 with you. But most of all, I am humbled that God entrusted each of you to me.

Thanks to Krista Stroever and Tina Colombo. Krista, for buying this book, and Tina, for helping me make it better. Thanks to Karen Solem for constantly pushing me to slow down and find those stories that resonate.

Thanks also to Patrick Grimes, fire investigator with the Lafayette Fire Department, for his willingness to share his experience and expertise. And thanks to my colleague Greg Loyd for answering some strange and pointed questions about what he’d seen as a domestic violence prosecutor that complicated cases, while helped me make Tricia’s life miserable.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Thursday

Another broken dream sat on her desk.

The phone ringing on her desk pulled Deputy County Attorney Tricia Jamison from her work. She glanced at her watch. The afternoon had evaporated while she flipped through new case files and absorbed the dashed hopes each one represented. She’d taken the job as deputy county attorney because she’d wanted to help people. Every time she got a new file, she had the opportunity to make a difference for a family. She’d seen God heal families when directed to the right resources. But each time another domestic violence case crossed her desk it was hard not to grow discouraged. Too many times the hope of happily-ever-afters had gone horribly wrong. She shook her head and grabbed the phone.

“Tricia Jamison, deputy prosecutor.”

“Trish, this is Caleb. There’s a fire at Mom’s.” Her brother’s voice had an edge of tension she hadn’t heard in a while. As a police investigator, he usually kept his emotions tightly controlled. She hadn’t heard him sound so rattled since last year when a stalker had set his sights on Caleb’s girlfriend, Dani Richards.

Her breath caught in her chest as she shut the file on her desk. “How bad?”

“Don’t know. I heard it on my scanner before Mom called.”

“I’ll leave now.” Her jaw clenched. Images of flames lapping at her mother’s home raced through her mind. The home encapsulated so many memories, both good and bad.

Tricia grabbed her purse and keys, and ran toward the elevator. She slid to a stop at her paralegal’s desk. “Family emergency. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I’ll cover for you.” The woman leaned back in her chair, a concerned expression on her face.

“Thanks.” Tricia jogged the rest of the way to the elevator. She punched the down button and paced until the doors opened.

Twenty minutes later she’d crossed town and pulled into her mom’s neighborhood. Flashing lights drew her toward the small ranch home. She parked several houses down, and rushed to join Caleb and their mom in the neighbor’s yard. Caleb had his arm around their mother’s shoulders, and she’d sunk against his side, an unusual posture for one who liked to stand firmly on her own two feet. The heavy smell of smoke curled through the air, but no matter how Tricia squinted against the western sun, the house looked intact. In fact, there weren’t many firefighters in the front yard.

“Are you okay?”

The petite woman tipped her chin up, brown eyes flashing. “Of course. Some kid decided the garage made a good fire-starter.”

“Where’s Frank?” Tricia’s stepfather usually rushed to his wife’s side anytime she whimpered or looked a little cross. Tricia couldn’t fault his devotion to her mom.

“At work. He wanted to come home, but I told him not to hurry. It’s a small fire.” A tremble in Mom’s voice belied her strong front.

“From Caleb’s call I thought the flames had engulfed the house.”

Mom poked him in the ribs. “I told you not to make a big deal.”

“A fire is never small.” He rubbed his side with a frown. “The wind blows in the wrong direction, and the outcome could change. It almost reached the house.”

“But it didn’t. Relax.”

“Sure.” Caleb grimaced over her at Tricia. “We’ll never worry about you when panic fills your voice. Fires are everyday occurrences.”

“You can’t protect everyone.” Even as she said the words, Tricia knew he wouldn’t accept them.

“You believe that?” He rolled his eyes. “Sure. That’s why you’re a prosecutor.”

“Someone has to do it.” Tricia grinned at him. She’d had a lifetime to perfect the art of poking his weak spots. Tell Caleb he couldn’t take care of everyone, and he bristled like a porcupine. Good thing she was a pro at sidestepping his quills.

“All right, you two. You can bicker all you want inside. I want to get out of this yard before we trample the Johnsons’ grass. You know how fastidious George is.” Mom tugged his sleeve until Caleb joined her.