Tested by Fire. Kathryn Springer

up on an old, weathered bench. The pots were home to a variety of vegetable plants. A faded quilt was folded neatly on a wicker chair and a grapevine wreath decorated an antique light pole.

      Within minutes, she had the grill started.

      “I’ll be right back.” Finn disappeared into the house and returned a few moments later with two glasses of iced tea.

      “Thanks.” He started to take a drink and paused. “There’s something floating in it.”

      “It’s a violet.” She inspected the coals and frowned.

      “You want me to drink a flower?”

      “Not necessarily. But it won’t hurt you if you do. Violets are edible,” she explained patiently. “I put them in the tea because they’re…”

      “Go on. This is fascinating.”

      He had that detached, intimidating look on his face again, and Finn suddenly balked at telling him why she had dropped two violets into his iced tea. It had been done out of habit and now she was backed into a corner, having to explain.

      “Pretty.” She busied herself by salting the meat.

      “Pretty.” He repeated the word as if he’d never heard it before.

      “Yes, pretty.” She straightened and suddenly wished she hadn’t done it in the first place. “Because they look pretty in the iced tea. Don’t you think so?”

      He studied the glass again, and she finally clucked her tongue.

      “John, it’s not a piece of evidence, it’s a glass of iced tea. Just drink it.”

      He did, so cautiously that she had to chuckle, her initial defensiveness melting away.

      John glanced at her and was relieved. If she was angry with him, it would be more difficult to find out if anything was going on at the Miranda Station P.D. He figured the sooner he found out what was wrong, the quicker he could get back to the Madison Agency and bury himself in the latest investigation he was working on. Seamus had been right about his not taking vacation time. He didn’t want time to relax or be idle. That gave him too much time to think about things better left alone.

      Finn set plates on the small bistro-style table by the grill and put the food out. “Do you mind if I pray?”

      John shook his head and waited to see if he recognized the table prayer, so he could stumble along.

      “Lord, thank You for this day. For the things You’ve allowed in our lives—the challenges and the joys. Thank You for John and his willingness to take time from his busy schedule to spend some time with Chief…and thank You for the food you’ve provided. Amen.”

      For a split second, he was frozen in place as her prayer sunk in. For the things You’ve allowed in our lives.

      There’d been more challenges than joy in his life and he’d never stopped to consider that maybe God was there during both. Well, if He had been there, He’d been standing on the sidelines watching. Distant and unavailable.

      Chapter Four

      When John walked into the chief’s house after supper with Finn, the telephone was ringing.

      “Kelly residence,” he said.

      There was a slight pause. “John?”

      “Neil?”

      “It is you!” The man on the other end of the line chuckled. “It took a while for Bradel to tell me where you were. He said some dirty word like vacation, but I figured it must be some kind of cover.”

      “I’m visiting a friend for a few days.”

      “Business or pleasure?” Neil Avery’s voice was full of curiosity, and John sighed.

      “Business of sorts,” he admitted. “Did Bradel give you this number?”

      “Only after being offered a bribe of two dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies,” Neil said. “He drives a hard bargain.”

      There was a click and some static, then a third voice joined in.

      “Neil? Is that John? Oh, you found him!”

      “Hello, Diane.”

      “Hello, yourself. I’ve been worried sick about you, taking off like that without telling anyone.”

      “You sound like a mother hen. I told my boss I was leaving. I didn’t realize I had to check in with the rest of the crew.”

      “Well, you do,” Diane Avery sniffed.

      “John isn’t on vacation,” Neil said. “It sounds like business as usual.”

      “Is she pretty?” Diane responded teasingly.

      “Actually, yes.” John couldn’t resist.

      Silence reigned for a moment, then both Neil and Diane started talking at once. John winced and held the phone away from his ear.

      “Tell us everything,” Diane demanded.

      “Not a chance.”

      “Just one thing,” Diane begged.

      “You’d like her,” John said slowly, knowing that Diane wasn’t going to let him off the hook easily.

      There was a sudden gasp of understanding. “She’s a believer, isn’t she.”

      “Let’s say you seem to have some common ground,” John said. “Now, don’t you have some cookies to bake, you traitor?”

      “Yes, I do,” she said cheerfully, then added, in a stage whisper, “Find out more, Neil!” A click sounded as she hung up.

      “Your wife never gives up.”

      “She should have been the investigator,” Neil agreed. “When are you coming back?”

      “I’m not sure,” John said. “I didn’t give Bradel a specific date. I have some time off and I’ll come back when everything here is taken care of.”

      “Diane’s almost due, you know,” Neil reminded him. “She wants your face pressed against the glass in the maternity ward, cooing with the rest of the Avery fan club.”

      “I’ll be back by then.” John heard the sound of a car door slam, signaling Chief’s and Anne’s return. “I’ll call you soon.”

      “John?” Neil caught him just as he was about to put the receiver down.

      “What?”

      “Is she a believer?”

      “Goodbye, Neil.”

      Later that night during her run, Finn took advantage of the quiet streets and let Colin off his leash. He trotted happily along beside her.

      “What’s with you lately?” She couldn’t explain the dog’s sudden obedience. It was as if he’d grown up overnight. “Did someone slip something into your food?”

      As she ran, Finn replayed the evening with John. She was surprised that he had accepted her offer to join her for supper. You read too many books when you were a kid, she scolded herself. All those stories about Sir Lancelot and knights and heroes. When she was thirteen and Seamus had been injured in the explosion, she’d been reading about the Middle Ages. Secretly, she had thought of John Gabriel as “the white knight” because of his heroism.

      “He’s more like the black knight,” she murmured out loud. He had built a fortress around himself. It was easy to discern that cynicism was his sword, bitterness his shield. Maybe the accident had caused him to put up the barriers she saw.

      “I can’t figure him out, Colin.”

      Colin growled.

      The sound was so unexpected that