One Good Man. Julie Miller

her father used to sip at night in front of the fireplace.

      But there’d been little gentleness in the way he’d looked at her. As if she were guilty of something more unforgivable than assaulting a police officer.

      Hearing Jimmy talk around the answers she sought didn’t help.

      “Have you seen the paper this morning?” he asked.

      Casey wrapped her chenille robe around the high collar of her flannel nightgown. The winter air didn’t worry her so much as the chill in Jimmy’s voice.

      “No. Judith’s not in yet. I don’t feel like venturing out to the gate myself.”

      “I didn’t want to panic you. It could be nothing.”

      Her heart beat a quicker tempo at his particular choice of words. “Sending a detective busting through my doorway when you know I’m here by myself is your idea of not panicking me?”

      “I just wanted to double-check that you were all right.”

      “Stop treating me like I’m a little girl. Tell me—”

      “You’re still my god daughter. I promised Jack and Margaret I’d always take care of you.”

      “Mom and Dad would have given me a straight answer by now! I’ve half a mind to call them and ask them to come home.” The silence at the other end of the line made her regret her flash of temper. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. I know you mean well…”

      “You can’t call them,” he interrupted her apology.

      Casey tried again. “I know they’re not due to return from Europe for another three months, but I can track them down.”

      “No, you can’t.”

      As a child, she’d been reprimanded in that very same voice. But she was no longer a child. “Dammit, Jimmy, you can’t dictate—”

      “Emmett Raines.”

      If he wanted to punish her for her outburst, he couldn’t have said a crueler thing.

      She thought of the framed Olympic silver medal in the hallway, and how she could have had a gold one from four years later beside it. She thought of her parents, once pretending to be dead and hiding away in a place unknown even to her so they could stay alive. She thought of tomorrow’s Thanksgiving holiday and how she’d be spending it alone. Again.

      Because of Emmett Raines.

      “What about him?”

      A door off the kitchen slammed, startling her before she slipped deeper into a mind-numbing depression.

      “Casey! Casey?” a shrill voice called from the hallway.

      The Maynards’ housekeeper huffed around the corner into the library. The older woman’s watery blue eyes glistened with fear.

      “Just a minute, Jimmy,” said Casey into the phone. “Judith’s here. The boarded-up door must have spooked her. Give me a minute to explain what happened.”

      She covered the mouthpiece of the receiver and set it down. She needed both hands to stand and try to look composed. Judith McDonald might be a hired servant by contract, but she’d been with the family long enough that Casey considered her a friend.

      “Are you all right?” Judith paused long enough to ask the question, but moved before Casey could answer her.

      The housekeeper crossed the room, holding out the Kansas City Star newspaper in one hand and clutching her ample bosom to steady her breathing in the other.

      “He escaped from prison.”

      The unadorned statement struck Casey like a gunshot. She needed no other explanation to piece together the evasive truth. Suddenly Mitch Taylor’s visit made sense. The blood in her head rushed down to her toes. She sank into her chair and cradled her head in her hands. Finally understanding the situation brought her none of the comfort she had hoped for.

      Judith spread the paper across the desktop and pointed to a short article on the second page. Casey scanned the words, and like a well-mannered schoolgirl, she picked up the phone.

      “Why didn’t you tell me Emmett Raines was out of prison?”

      Jimmy’s deep sigh matched her own. “State troopers are out in force looking for him. He has no family here anymore. Statistics say he’ll try to get as far away from Missouri as he can. I didn’t want to alarm you unnecessarily.”

      Statistics? Her devoted Dutch uncle had gambled her safety on statistics? And backed it up with nothing more than an overbearing, overwhelming gladiator sent to check the premises?

      A touch of something fiery licked through her veins, thawing the fear that tried to take root inside her. “I testified against the man in court! The newspaper says he killed a laundry-truck driver and drove away from Jefferson City. How unalarmed do you want me to be?”

      Judith reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. Casey squeezed back, tapping into her own strength by sharing it.

      “Don’t do anything, Cassandra. Stay in the house and lock the doors and windows.” For the first time that morning, she appreciated the clipped authority in Jimmy’s voice. “I’ll have Iris rearrange my schedule and I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’ll take care of you, dear. I promise.”

      She hung up the phone and relayed the message to Judith. While Judith left to do a visual check of the entrances to the house, Casey turned on her computer and accessed the security system to verify that it was up and running.

      She was glad she rated high enough on Jimmy’s list of priorities for him to postpone a meeting. But she felt no relief. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

      No one understood Emmett Raines the way she did. No one could unless they’d been his victim, too.

      She’d given up trying to explain why she’d secluded herself in the home where she’d grown up. After Emmett’s trial, she let the press make up stories to explain her withdrawal from society. Fear of more criminal repercussions. Shame over losing her career. Sorrow over losing her parents.

      She couldn’t tell them about her unique phobia.

      And she couldn’t risk more uninvited guests busting their way into her sanctuary.

      Casey logged on-line and found the site she was looking for.

      No more strangers.

      She’d see to that.

      “HEY, OLD MAN!”

      Mitch grunted his answer to the cheerful greeting and strode through the Fourth Precinct offices, shedding his coat and barking orders along the way.

      “Ginny. Dig up a file for me. Cassandra Maynard. Society lady. Age twenty-eight. She may have been recently injured in an accident, so check the traffic reports.”

      The petite blonde sat back in her chair. “Casey Maynard? Judge Jack’s daughter?”

      Mitch stopped in his tracks. “You know her?”

      “I know of her,” said Ginny. “A few years back, she was in all the papers. I was in the academy at the time. The story was required reading. Her father, Jack Maynard, sat the bench in criminal court for almost twenty years.”

      “The ‘no-budge judge’?” Mitch mentally kicked himself for not connecting the names sooner.

      “Yeah. ‘No-slack Jack,’ whatever nickname you want to use.” Leave it to Ginny to know her history. What his detective lacked in size and intimidation factor, she more than made up for in keen intelligence and impeccable memory. “She got hurt, and then the judge and his wife supposedly died in that horrible car accident. It wasn’t revealed until months later that their deaths had been staged so they could go into hiding. I’m pretty sure he never returned to the bench.”

      Mitch propped his hip on her desk