Had to be because he was tired, he thought defensively.
“Greer,” he repeated. Not an ordinary name. Not an ordinary woman, he thought as he began to slowly guide his father away from the sofa.
“Need help?” she offered.
“I’ve done this before,” he answered. Then, after a beat, he added, “But thanks for offering.”
The corners of her mouth curved. That cost him, she thought. The man was human, but it cost him. “Don’t mention it.”
Roused, his father opened one sleepy eye. “Movie over?” he wanted to know, mumbling his words. Releasing a huge sigh, he all but sank to his knees. Blake tightened his arm around the older man’s waist.
“Yup,” Blake lied.
Alexander’s eyes drooped down again, shutting. “Who won?”
“The good guys, Dad,” Blake answered. “Work with me here, Dad. We’re coming to the first step.”
“Step,” Alexander repeated without any comprehension of the word. But he did raise his foot obligingly.
His back was to her and Blake couldn’t see it, but he would have sworn that he felt the detective’s smile widening.
After spending a generally restless, fitful night, Blake decided to get an early start on the day. As he came down the next morning, the aroma of fresh coffee greeted him. Fresh coffee and a scent he couldn’t immediately place. All he knew was that it wasn’t anything he’d smelled in the morning in his own house.
Not since before Margaret died.
Had to be his imagination, he told himself. That momentary sexual awakening he’d experienced yesterday had played havoc with his senses. That obviously included his sense of smell, he concluded.
His eyes shifted toward the sofa as he passed by the living room.
It was empty.
The bedding he’d given the detective was now neatly folded and stacked on a corner of the sofa.
Was she gone?
He doubted if he was going to be that lucky.
Making his way into the kitchen, he saw that he was right. She was in the kitchen, talking to his father. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was her doing, he suspected.
How? As far as he knew, there was no coffee in the house.
As he walked in, his father turned and looked over his shoulder at him. “Pull up a chair, Blake. O’Brien’s making us breakfast.”
Confused, Blake looked down at the scrambled eggs with bits of ham that the detective had just put on a second plate—his, he assumed.
“Breakfast?” he echoed. “Out of what?” he wanted to know. “I’m fairly certain there’s no recipe that turns beer into scrambled eggs and coffee.” Nonetheless, he eased himself into the chair that was opposite the one his father was in. “Miracles a sideline of yours, Greer? Or did you sneak out to the grocery store early this morning?”
Leaving him and his father unattended would be committing a dereliction of duty and they both knew it. Trying to trip me up, Judge? she wondered.
“Neither,” she replied cheerfully. “Uncle Andrew had Aunt Rose slip some basic supplies into the trunk of my car when we weren’t paying attention. He told me what he did just as we were leaving. I put them into the refrigerator when you were working in the den.”
So that was what the chief had whispered to O’Brien last night. No doubt about it—the family was strange. “I earn a decent salary,” he told her. “I don’t need charity, however well intentioned.”
She felt herself growing protective of the family patriarch—not that he needed her to defend him. She supposed that meant that she was really becoming a Cavanaugh.
“Uncle Andrew doesn’t see it as charity. He calls it sharing. My new half sister, Patience, tells me that it’s a habit of his. To refuse is an insult,” she added.
Too busy eating and enjoying his breakfast, Alexander had remained silent during the exchange. Swallowing now, he put in his two cents.
“Try this, Blake,” he urged, pushing the other plate closer to his son. “It’s damn good.” And then Alexander turned his attention to the woman who had so unexpectedly come into their lives, and, as far as he was concerned, brightened them. “You weren’t kidding when you said you could cook.”
“No point in lying about something like that,” she answered, pleased that he seemed to be enjoying her efforts so much. She noticed that the judge left his plate untouched.
She got him a cup of coffee. Leaving it black, she moved it next to his plate and waited.
“You married, O’Brien?” Alexander asked her without warning.
“No.” She’d come close once or twice, but then she’d come to her senses and broken it off. Relationships made her uneasy. They required too much commitment and yielded too much disappointment.
“Spoken for?” the senior Kincannon prodded.
“Dad,” Blake said sharply. Alexander didn’t appear to hear.
“No,” Greer answered the older man’s question.
Alexander pinned her with a look and asked, half seriously, “How do you feel about a retired marine?”
Unable to keep it back any longer, Greer allowed a smile to emerge. Humor danced in her eyes. “Respectful.”
Greer answered the older man’s question just as his son uttered another, far more exasperated, “Dad!”
What the hell had gotten into his father? Blake wondered. Yes, the woman was attractive, and yes, there was something about her that transcended the sum of her parts, something that could readily arouse a man if he wasn’t careful, but he gave his father more credit than to behave like a smitten adolescent.
“Fella’s got a right to know if he’s got a chance,” Alexander answered, clearly annoyed that his son felt he had to reprimand him like some errant kid. The retired marine shifted his attention back to Greer. “Do I?” The twinkle in his eye told her he was teasing her.
Greer shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re just too young for me, Gunny.”
Before either father or son could make a comment, Greer’s cell phone began to ring. Putting down the spatula she was holding, she took the phone out of her pocket and flipped it open.
Turning her back to the two men she’d just served, Greer said, “This is Detective O’Brien.”
Her partner didn’t waste time with greetings or preambles. This wasn’t a social call. “They found the stolen ambulance.” His tone indicated that it wasn’t a good find.
The bailiff’s frightened face flashed through her mind. Greer tensed. “And?”
She heard Jeff take a breath before answering. “The bailiff was still inside.”
She made the only logical guess she could. “Dead?”
“No, not then. The kid hung on long enough to reach the hospital. But he died on the operating table,” Jeff told her.
What a waste. The second he’d agreed to help Munro escape, he’d been a dead man. It was all just a matter of when the bullet would find him. “Did he say anything before he died?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, he did. He said to tell the judge he was sorry, but he had to do it. They threatened to kill his family.”
There was no comfort in knowing she’d guessed right. The man was still dead before he’d had a chance to live.
“And?” she prodded when Jeff didn’t continue. “What about the family? Were they at the house?”
“Yeah.” There was a long pause. “The wife was shot dead,” Jeff told her grimly.
She felt her stomach tightening into a hard knot. “And the baby?” Greer forced herself to ask. Her voice came out in a whisper.
“Seems Munro—or one of his people at any rate—draws the line at killing babies,” her partner answered. “The police found the baby wet and dirty and screaming…but alive. The chief’s got your brother looking for the bailiff’s next of kin.”
A family man even in the worst of times, she thought. “Which one?” she asked.
There was momentary silence on the other end. And then Jeff answered, “Whichever one he can find.”
&
nbsp; “No, I mean which brother has he got out looking for the next of kin?”
She heard Jeff laugh shortly. “Oh, yeah, I forgot, you’ve got two of them. Ethan. And there’s more news,” he continued. “Someone tampered with the judge’s car. It blew up when it was started. The officer never stood a chance.” Greer closed her eyes. She’d had a feeling. Damn but there were days she hated being right. “By the way,” Jeff was saying, “how’s the babysitting detail going?”
“Better than it went for the bailiff and the officer,” she commented darkly. And then, because she had to ask even though she had a feeling she already knew the answer, Greer asked, “No sign of Munro?”
“If there was, I would have told you that right off the bat,” Jeff said.
“I was hoping you were saving the best was for last,” Greer told him with a sigh. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do.” And with that, her partner broke the connection.
When she turned around again, slipping her phone back into her pocket, she found Blake staring at her.
“Tell me.” The words came from Blake. It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
Chapter 8
Blake’s somber expression masked his thoughts as he listened to the sketchy details of what had happened to his bailiff, Tim Kelly, and the fact that his car had been wired to blow up the moment he started it. He made no comment during her swift narrative.
Kincannon looked almost preoccupied, but Greer knew better. The judge had heard and digested every word she’d said.
“And Tim’s little girl?” he asked quietly. “Where is she?”
This, at least, she thought, was somewhat positive. “The chief of detectives is trying to locate the bailiff’s next of kin before the social services system has a chance to swallow her up.”
Blake nodded, taking the information in. They all knew that once a child was within the system, there were miles of red tape to untangle before that child could be extricated.
“Tim has—had,” the judge corrected himself and she could see that the bailiff’s death and the manner in which it happened had affected him far more deeply than the destruction of his vehicle, “an aunt who raised him. She lives in Santa Barbara.” He paused, thinking. “Donna McClosky, I think he said her name was.”
Greer had her phone out again. “This is really going to help, Judge,” she told him. Two seconds later, her partner answered and she passed the information on. After terminating the call, she flipped the phone shut and tucked it away. “My partner’s going to let the chief know what you said and get right on it.” She paused for a second, debating asking the next question. Curiosity got the better of her. “You were close to the bailiff?” she asked, studying his expression.
Blake heard the note of sympathy in her voice. He didn’t respond well to sympathy. It was too close to pity and that reminded him of other things.
Looking away, he shrugged carelessly. “He talked, I listened. Close?” he repeated the word, as if weighing it. “No. But he was young and enthusiastic and extremely likeable.” He deliberately drew the focus away from himself by adding, “Everyone who knew him could tell you that.”
Quietly sipping his black coffee, listening, his father looked at him. “Sounds like Scottie,” Alexander commented.
“Scottie?” This was a new name, one she was unfamiliar with. Greer looked from one man to the other, waiting for one of them to enlighten her. By the look on his face, she had a feeling that her answer wasn’t going to come from the judge.
“My younger son,” Alexander told her stoically.
The older man, she noted, was staring at the remaining black liquid in his cup, avoiding her eyes. This was the first she’d heard of a sibling. “You have a brother?” she asked Blake.
“Had,” Blake corrected tersely, grinding out the word almost against his will.
She waited for details, and, as she expected, it was the older Kincannon who ultimately filled her in. “Scottie was killed saving his platoon in Afghanistan. He was a marine,” his father said with pride.
“He died a hero,” Greer concluded.
Blake’s face was stony. “Bottom line, he died,” he said, his voice hollow.
A wave of compassion washed over her. Kincannon certainly had had his share of tragedies, she thought, her heart going out to him.
“A hero,” Alexander repeated firmly, daring his remaining son to contradict him.
Blake had no desire to get into an argument this early in the morning. Scottie had wanted nothing more than their father’s approval and had rushed off to enlist to fight for his country the minute he graduated college. It had been an utter waste of a decent human being.
Stifling a sigh, Blake echoed, “A hero,” and let it go at that. He looked at Greer. “When you get Donna McClosky’s address, let me know.”
“So you can send her your condolences?” Greer asked, thinking that Kincannon was a nicer man than he wanted people to believe.
Blake didn’t answer at first, debating how much information to part with. But, given what he was learning about this woman’s nature, he knew that she’d make it a point to find out. He might as well spare himself the interrogation.
“Costs a lot to raise a child these days. From what Tim told me, his aunt was just barely getting by. He was looking for a second job so he could send her a little money every month.”
“You’re gonna set up some kind of a trust fund for the kid?” It was a rhetorical question on his father’s part. “Count me in.”
Blake looked at his father. The only income the older man had was his pension. “You don’t exactly have money to burn, Gunny.”
His father’s grin was a bit lopsided. “Yeah, I know, but I got this kid who lets me live at his place free. Been saving up for something special. This trust fund just might be it,” he added with a nod of his head.
Generosity with a minimum of words. And a maximum of heart. For a moment, a surge of emotion threatened to close her throat. Yesterday, in court, when she sat in the witness chair, Kincannon had struck her as a somber, humorless man, a man who had evolved without a heart because of the loss he’d suffered. She would have never guessed that there was this caring side to him.
Just goes to show, you never really know about a person. “I’ll get you that address,” she promised.
“Good.” Blake began to rise.
Greer was instantly alert. “Where are you going, Judge?”
“I have this flowing black robe.” There was more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “It only seems to go with a courtroom as an accessory.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “It’s early, Judge,” she pointed out, then indicated his plate. He’d barely touched it. “And you haven’t eaten your breakfast yet.”
“Won’t go to waste,” Alexander was quick to tell her, eyeing the plate. “I’ll eat it if he’s fool enough not to.”
“No, he’ll eat it,” she told the other man, looking pointedly at Blake. “You wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings, would you, Judge?”
Blake laughed shortly. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
“You’d be surprised.” That had slipped out unintentionally. She hurried to cover it up. There was no way she was going to let the judge think that she had a sensitive side. “At least try it,” she urged. “I’ll make you a deal. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to finish it.”
With a sigh, Blake sat down again, resigned. “If I don’t go along with this, you’re probably going to try to force-feed me, saying something inane about a plane and an air hanger.”
“Actually, I was considering a train and a tunnel, but a plane and an air hanger work just as well.” Her straight face lasted only halfway through the sentence. The grin that took over threatened to split her face in half. “It won’t hurt you to have something in your stomach, Judge,” she added seriously. “Think of it as a way to help you put up with the morning.”
His eyes met hers as he raised the fork to his lips. “It�
��s not the morning I have to put up with.” There was no mistaking his meaning.
Rather than comment, Greer looked at Blake’s father. He appeared amused by the exchange. “Is your son always this surly in the morning?” she wanted to know.
The shaggy gray head nodded sadly. “Afraid so, O’Brien. He’s like this most mornings. Sometimes worse.”
She took a breath and let it out, as if that somehow helped her fortify herself. “Something to look forward to.”
“You realize that you don’t have to,” Blake pointed out. “No one’s holding you prisoner.”
She caught his meaning. “You’re not a prisoner, Judge,” she told him with all sincerity. “It just so happens that you and your father are two very special people that the Aurora police department would like to see continue living.” She nodded at his plate. “So, how was it?”
He didn’t follow her. “How was what?”
“Breakfast.” When he didn’t reply immediately, she realized that he’d consumed it all without even being aware of what he was doing. The man was definitely a challenge. “You finished it.”
Blake looked down at his plate, a mild look of surprise momentarily slipping across his features. He didn’t even remember chewing or swallowing, but he obviously must have. His plate was empty.
The woman was apparently still waiting for an evaluation of her culinary skills. “All right I guess. I’m still standing.”
“High praise indeed,” Greer said dryly. “But just for the record, Judge, you’re sitting.”
Pushing back his chair, Blake rose to his feet. “And now I’m standing.”
Greer laughed, shaking her head. If she looked up contrary in the dictionary, she had a sneaking suspicion that she’d find Kincannon’s handsome face staring back at her.
“Just no end to your talents, is there, Judge?”
He made no reply; instead, he asked a question. With nothing to lose, he thought he’d take a shot. “Any chance of my going to the courthouse alone?”
Cavanaugh Judgment Page 8
