Cavanaugh Judgement. Marie Ferrarella

frowned. It made sense. And he didn’t like it.

      “Let’s hope they’re not as bright as you are.” But even as he said it, it was obvious to those around him that the chief of detectives knew there was a good chance that Greer was right. He offered his niece a quick smile. “Just glad you’re on our side,” he told her. Turning back to his men, he directed the new groups to fan out everywhere and double-check the locations, including the basement—just in case.

      With everything being done that could be done, Blake decided that he might as well do as the chief advised and go home. But first, he needed to take care of a few things of his own.

      Returning to the courtroom again, Blake went directly to his administrative assistant, an older woman who wore sensible shoes and nondescript suits that never called attention to her. To the casual observer, Edith Fields looked like the very prototype of what had once been referred to as a mere secretary. Edith was that and so much more.

      The moment she saw him, the grandmother of six—two of whom she was raising herself—was on her feet. “Any news, Your Honor?” she wanted to know. Blake knew it had never pleased her that the wheels of justice ground slowly. She wanted every criminal to be thrown into jail quickly, and left there for the duration of a maximum sentence.

      “We’re being sent home, Edith.”

      The news was not received well. The woman looked down at the compact laptop that sat on her desk, opened and at the ready. She read one of the entries on the judge’s heavy schedule. “I could reschedule the Brown case, Your Honor.”

      Left on his own, he would have said yes, but the day belonged to Chief Cavanaugh and the latter called the shots. Blake shook his head.

      “No point. We need to clear out of the courthouse.” He saw that Edith was far from jubilant about the turn of events. “Think of this as an enforced holiday. I’m sure Joe could use a hand with Emily and Ross,” he said, mentioning the names of the two grandchildren who lived with Edith and her husband of forty-one years.

      The woman had made it known more than once that she thought she was indispensable to his court. She sighed now, a child being sent to her room for no good reason. “If you say so, Your Honor.”

      “The chief of detectives says so, Edith,” Blake corrected. He glanced over his shoulder. Just as he thought, the detective was still there, like a shadow he couldn’t cast off without taking drastic measures. “If you feel uneasy about leaving the courthouse, Edith,” he told the older woman, “I can have Detective O’Brien take you home.”

      Greer blinked. Had he just volunteered her services without consulting her? She wasn’t part of his team, to be ordered about, she thought, irritated at his cavalier manner.

      She was about to protest, but as it turned out, she didn’t have to. His administrative assistant dismissed the offer with a haughty wave of her hand.

      “I’m a big girl, Judge. I stopped being afraid of thugs like Munro when I was in grammar school. He doesn’t scare me.” Her things packed, Edith nodded at her employer. “See you in the morning, Judge.”

      Blake barely nodded. A moment earlier, he’d crossed to his desk and was about initiate the procedure that would power down his computer when the big, bold letters that were written across the monitor’s screen caught his attention.

      And then raised his ire.

      When he made no answer in response to his assistant, a woman he obviously held in warm regard, Greer looked at the judge. She saw the angry look that had darkened his features.

      Kincannon was a formidable-looking man, she couldn’t help thinking. She definitely wouldn’t have wanted to find herself on the receiving end of that look. But right now, she was more curious as to what had caused it. It couldn’t be the ongoing situation because he seemed to have calmed down about that—unlike her.

      Maybe, instead of throwing herself on top of Kincannon, the situation would have been better served if she’d had the wherewithal to tackle Munro and keep him from fleeing. Growing up with her brothers as playmates and partners in crime had taught her to be fearless, reckless and unafraid of pain if enduring pain resulted in achieving a desired outcome. In this case, it would have been preventing that poor excuse for a human being from making good his escape.

      Greer took a second look at Kincannon’s expression. Something was off.

      “What’s wrong?” she wanted to know. Not waiting for an answer, she rounded Kincannon’s desk and came up next to him. Since he was staring at the computer screen, Greer looked at it, as well. For a second, the words seemed too absurd to be real.

      And then they were all too real.

       Back off or you and your father are going to die. Slowly and painfully.

      She thought Kincannon was going to hurl the laptop across the room, but he restrained himself. She heard him mutter angrily, “Brazen son of a bitch.”

      There was no question that this had come from Munro. “Obviously, he believes in the family plan,” she commented. The next moment, she was hurrying out of the courtroom again.

      Turning away from the courtroom in an attempt to create a pocket of privacy, Blake quickly took out his cell phone and turned it on. One of his pet peeves was cell phones that rang during court, but right now he was glad he had forgotten to leave his cell phone in the top desk drawer in his chambers. It saved him precious seconds he didn’t know if he could afford to waste. He was not about to continue underestimating Munro.

      “C’mon, answer,” he ordered, addressing a man who wasn’t there. The message he’d left on the answering machine at home was just kicking in when he glanced toward the double doors in the rear and saw O’Brien coming back—and she had the chief with her. “Pick up, Dad,” Blake instructed through clenched teeth. “Pick up!”

      And then he heard the receiver being lifted on the other end.

       Thank God.

      “Bad day in court?” he heard his father ask. “The story’s all over the TV,” Alexander Kincannon, retired marine sergeant and practicing malcontent, grumbled. “It preempted my show. What the hell kind of security have you got down there? Can’t even hang on to one skinny criminal?” he demanded.

      Blake was not in the mood to get drawn into a lengthy discussion about how lax current law enforcement had gotten. He needed for his father to listen to him. “Dad, I don’t want you answering the door.”

      He heard his father blow out an irritated breath. “What am I, twelve?”

      For a second, Blake lost patience. “You’re a hundred and seven, but I want you to make it to a hundred and eight, Dad. Don’t answer the door, do I make myself clear?”

      “Why?” the gravelly voice demanded, sounding significantly less combative than it had just a moment earlier.

      Reaching the judge and able to make out what the person on the other end was asking, Brian raised his voice so that the judge could hear him over the loud voice on the cell phone. “Tell him I’m sending a patrol car over. It’ll be there in a few minutes.” He made eye contact with Kincannon. “We’ll keep him safe.”

      Blake nodded his thanks toward the chief. “Dad, they’re sending a—”

      “I heard, I heard.” Alexander cut him off. “I’m not deaf yet, you know.” And then a degree of excitement entered his voice. “This have anything to do with that pusher who took a powder?”

      “Maybe. I don’t know yet.” Although, he added silently, he was pretty certain that it was. Blake heard his father sigh dramatically and then abruptly terminate the connection. Closing his own phone, Blake slipped it back into the pocket of his robe. He looked at Brian, his gratitude rising to the foreground. “Thank you.”

      “Least I can do,” Brian acknowledged, then he nodded toward his niece. “Greer alerted me