Cavanaugh Judgment by Marie Ferrarella Read Free Book Online Page B

couldn’t the man stay put? Didn’t he understand the gravity of the situation? Or did Kincannon understand it and just believed himself to be bulletproof?
    Turning a corner, she found herself facing a closed door. She had her weapon out and ready to fire in one swift movement. There was no telling what she’d find on the other side of the door. For all she knew, Munro had been lying in wait for the judge in his own chambers. The drug dealer was just crazy enough to do it.
    Biting off a few choice words, she kicked open the door, weapon aimed and poised to shoot at anything that made a wrong move.
    Startled, the man inside the room swung around.
    Kincannon.
    Alone.
    A hiss of air escaped through her clenched teeth and Greer lowered her weapon. Relief and anger converged within her.
    Before she’d made her entrance, the judge had taken off his robe and hung it carefully on a hanger, apparently respectful of all the black cloth represented. He frowned now as she lowered her weapon.
    “Most people knock before kicking down a door and bursting into someone’s chambers.” His voice was deceptively calm.
    Greer’s mouth dropped open. He was going to be high-handed and lecture her? Seriously? “First of all, I didn’t kick down the door. It’s still attached.”
    “The maintenance man will be grateful,” he commented drolly.
    “And second,” she continued, pretending he hadn’t said anything, “most people don’t have an escaped felon threatening to kill them. Drastic times require drastic measures.” Her look pinned him where he stood. “You shouldn’t have wandered off like that.”
    “I’m a grown man and in possession of all my faculties,” he told her tersely. “I didn’t ‘wander off,’ I went to my chambers. For a reason,” he added.
    “To hang up your robe?” Greer guessed in credulously.
    “Yes.” He said the single word as if it was a challenge.
    She was not about to back off. If this was going to work between them, he had to be aware of the rules. “You could have waited.”
    “I could have,” he agreed. “But I didn’t. Detective, I’ve been crossing the street by myself since I was six years old. Nothing’s happened yet.” He blew out a breath, as if he was trying to calm himself. “And in case you’re interested, this isn’t the first threat I’ve gotten,” he assured her.
    “It’s the first on my watch,” she informed him. And then she asked the question that was nagging at her. “Since you were six? Seriously?” Who let their six-year-old cross the street by themselves?
    “My father insisted. He wouldn’t let my mother coddle me. Said it was important for me to become a man.”
    “At six?” she cried. “How many six-year-old men did he know?”
    He’d never questioned his father’s reasons or methods. That was just the way things were. “He was a marine, a gunnery sergeant in the corps.”
    The light began to seep in, shining on the situation. “That explains a lot.”
    He disregarded her comment. “What are you doing here, Detective? I assumed you weren’t going to be ‘watching over’ me anymore. Isn’t that what you wanted to tell the chief? That you’d rather pass on the assignment?”
    They were back to awkward again, she thought. She didn’t like him just “assuming” things about her—even if they were true. “The chief would rather that I didn’t ‘pass.’”
    He looked at her, vindicated. Up until this moment, he’d just been guessing, but her admission had just proven him right. “Then you did protest.”
    She raised her chin. If she was going to have to do this, it was best if there were no hard feelings between them. “ Protest is rather a strong word, Judge.”
    He laughed shortly. “Don’t split hairs, Detective O’Brien. It’s not your style.”
    Now he was assuming things about her? She didn’t care for being pigeonholed. “And how would you know what my ‘style’ was?”
    The answer to that was far less complex than