Read Online Cavanaugh Judgment by Marie Ferrarella - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marie Ferrarella
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was far from happy about this unexpected turn of events. He hadn’t lied to Detective O’Brien just to make her back off. He had been threatened before, threatened verbally with physical harm, he’d just never told anyone. And, because he’d never registered a complaint with the police, his life had remained his own.
Moreover, no one had come to shoot him dead. The threats had remained empty.
As empty as this one probably was. The only difference was that this time, the threat had been witnessed, so to speak, by the chief of detectives. That had made it official and there was no getting around the rules.
That didn’t mean he had to like it. Or even think that the slip of a woman the chief had assigned to him would make a difference. If that despicable excuse for a human being, Munro, wanted to do away with him, Blake knew that, bodyguard or no bodyguard, the drug dealer was damn well going to try to kill him.
However, he liked to think that he was at least smarter than a hood like Munro no matter how much money the drug dealer had tucked away in a Cayman Islands bank account. And he didn’t want the likes of Detective O’Brien getting in the way and possibly getting caught in the ensuing cross fire.
He didn’t need her on his conscience. He already had Margaret.
Blake poured himself two fingers worth of scotch and brought the glass to his lips. He was about to take a hearty swallow when he stopped and then set the glass back down on the counter. With a sigh, he looked down and contemplated the contents he’d just poured.
Drinking wasn’t going to make the situation or the detective go away and it just might have an unwanted effect his judgment. With another sigh, Blake took the glass and ever so slowly poured the amber liquid back onto the decanter.
He’d just put the stopper back into the mouth of the bottle when he heard his father’s voice. It sounded as if the man was getting closer. The unnerving thing was that it was unusually jovial—for his father.
At least this detective had done one thing, he thought. She’d managed to tame the savage beast that beat within his father’s chest.
The woman, he mused, apparently had some hidden talents.
Walking into the family room, Greer glanced at the glass on top of the small bar and immediately noted that it was empty.
“Finished your drink so soon?” his father asked. There was a touch of admiration in his voice. “Didn’t realize you could pack ’em away so fast, son.”
“A lot of things you didn’t realize,” Blake replied mildly.
He was caught off guard when his so-called bodyguard not only came closer, she invaded his personal space. Glancing back at her guide, she said, “Your son didn’t have a drink.”
Blake said nothing, but their eyes met and held for a long moment, as if he expected her to follow up her theory with hard evidence.
His father picked up the glass from the counter. “Glass is coated.”
“He poured it back into the decanter,” Greer told him.
Okay, he wanted to know how she’d pulled off this parlor trick.
“And how would you know that?” Blake asked.
“Easy. You would have had to down the drink quickly and your breath would have reflected your consumption,” she explained diplomatically. “There is no scotch on your breath. And the sides of the decanter have a little bit of an amber coating to them.”
“Forensics 101?” Blake asked in a mocking tone.
Greer shook her head. “No, Agatha Christie. Miss Marple,” she added, naming one of the famed mystery writer’s more famous characters. “I forget which one of her books.”
She heard Kincannon’s father chuckling behind her. At least she’d won one of them over, Greer thought.
Chapter 6
G reer spent the next couple of hours going over every inch of the first floor of the house, inside and out, securing it wherever necessary so that the front door was the only way for anyone to enter or exit.
The judge had a security system which she
Moreover, no one had come to shoot him dead. The threats had remained empty.
As empty as this one probably was. The only difference was that this time, the threat had been witnessed, so to speak, by the chief of detectives. That had made it official and there was no getting around the rules.
That didn’t mean he had to like it. Or even think that the slip of a woman the chief had assigned to him would make a difference. If that despicable excuse for a human being, Munro, wanted to do away with him, Blake knew that, bodyguard or no bodyguard, the drug dealer was damn well going to try to kill him.
However, he liked to think that he was at least smarter than a hood like Munro no matter how much money the drug dealer had tucked away in a Cayman Islands bank account. And he didn’t want the likes of Detective O’Brien getting in the way and possibly getting caught in the ensuing cross fire.
He didn’t need her on his conscience. He already had Margaret.
Blake poured himself two fingers worth of scotch and brought the glass to his lips. He was about to take a hearty swallow when he stopped and then set the glass back down on the counter. With a sigh, he looked down and contemplated the contents he’d just poured.
Drinking wasn’t going to make the situation or the detective go away and it just might have an unwanted effect his judgment. With another sigh, Blake took the glass and ever so slowly poured the amber liquid back onto the decanter.
He’d just put the stopper back into the mouth of the bottle when he heard his father’s voice. It sounded as if the man was getting closer. The unnerving thing was that it was unusually jovial—for his father.
At least this detective had done one thing, he thought. She’d managed to tame the savage beast that beat within his father’s chest.
The woman, he mused, apparently had some hidden talents.
Walking into the family room, Greer glanced at the glass on top of the small bar and immediately noted that it was empty.
“Finished your drink so soon?” his father asked. There was a touch of admiration in his voice. “Didn’t realize you could pack ’em away so fast, son.”
“A lot of things you didn’t realize,” Blake replied mildly.
He was caught off guard when his so-called bodyguard not only came closer, she invaded his personal space. Glancing back at her guide, she said, “Your son didn’t have a drink.”
Blake said nothing, but their eyes met and held for a long moment, as if he expected her to follow up her theory with hard evidence.
His father picked up the glass from the counter. “Glass is coated.”
“He poured it back into the decanter,” Greer told him.
Okay, he wanted to know how she’d pulled off this parlor trick.
“And how would you know that?” Blake asked.
“Easy. You would have had to down the drink quickly and your breath would have reflected your consumption,” she explained diplomatically. “There is no scotch on your breath. And the sides of the decanter have a little bit of an amber coating to them.”
“Forensics 101?” Blake asked in a mocking tone.
Greer shook her head. “No, Agatha Christie. Miss Marple,” she added, naming one of the famed mystery writer’s more famous characters. “I forget which one of her books.”
She heard Kincannon’s father chuckling behind her. At least she’d won one of them over, Greer thought.
Chapter 6
G reer spent the next couple of hours going over every inch of the first floor of the house, inside and out, securing it wherever necessary so that the front door was the only way for anyone to enter or exit.
The judge had a security system which she
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