Cavanaugh Judgment by Marie Ferrarella

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.”
    “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
    B lake’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