One Good Man

She’d see to that.

“HEY, OLD MAN!”

Mitch grunted his answer to the cheerful greeting and strode through the Fourth Precinct offices, shedding his coat and barking orders along the way.

“Ginny. Dig up a file for me. Cassandra Maynard. Society lady. Age twenty-eight. She may have been recently injured in an accident, so check the traffic reports.”

The petite blonde sat back in her chair. “Casey Maynard? Judge Jack’s daughter?”

Mitch stopped in his tracks. “You know her?”

“I know of her,” said Ginny. “A few years back, she was in all the papers. I was in the academy at the time. The story was required reading. Her father, Jack Maynard, sat the bench in criminal court for almost twenty years.”

“The ‘no-budge judge’?” Mitch mentally kicked himself for not connecting the names sooner.

“Yeah. ‘No-slack Jack,’ whatever nickname you want to use.” Leave it to Ginny to know her history. What his detective lacked in size and intimidation factor, she more than made up for in keen intelligence and impeccable memory. “She got hurt, and then the judge and his wife supposedly died in that horrible car accident. It wasn’t revealed until months later that their deaths had been staged so they could go into hiding. I’m pretty sure he never returned to the bench.”

Mitch propped his hip on her desk and asked, “What do you mean ‘hurt’?”

“It was several years back. But if I remember right, she was assaulted.”

“I’ve heard of her.” Mitch’s newest detective, Merle Banning, in only his third year of police work, walked up with a mug of coffee and joined the discussion. “I remember my mom goin’ on about what a tragedy it was. She was training for her second Olympics. A swimmer, I think.”

Mitch nodded, hiding a cringe of guilt as he remembered how rough he’d been with Casey, and how she’d fought against him with every weapon available to her, including her sarcastic tongue. Her defensive actions made sense if she had once been assaulted.

He put his self-recriminations on hold and searched the vaults of his own experience, looking for facts to answer his questions. He had never testified in Jack Maynard’s court, but he could recall a few old friends who had. “The judge had a reputation for no leniency, long before the three-strikes rule. I definitely want to see her file.”

He stood and clamped his hand over Merle’s shoulder, scenting the trail of a case that had yet to be opened, or maybe—if the tingle on his neck was any indication—had never been closed.

“I want to know everything we’ve got on Jack Maynard.”

“Everything?”

Mitch ignored Banning’s query. “I want to know names and dates of the cases he tried.”

“ All of them? That’s a huge project, Mitch.” Stunned would be a mild description of the bespectacled detective’s expression. It provided enough humor to sweeten the tension in Mitch’s stomach. He pressed his lips into a thin line to avoid smiling.

“Then you’d better get on it.”

“Yes, sir.” Merle set down his coffee and logged on to his computer.

Mitch had watched criminals enter their holding cells with more enthusiasm. The father figure in him relented, just a smidge. “Ginny can help you when she’s done.”

Merle and Ginny exchanged supportive glances over their paired-off desks. The rookie detective squared his shoulders and nodded. “I’ll get it on your desk ASAP.”

“Good enough.”

Mitch looped his coat through the crook of his arm and crossed to his lieutenant’s desk, confident the work he asked for would get done. “Joe. I put in a call to Commissioner Reed. Give it priority to my office when it comes through.”

“Will do.”

Joe Hendricks followed Mitch into his office and waited while he shed his jacket and loosened his tie. Mitch shuffled through the messages on his desk before sitting down. He stood up again, feeling too edgy to stay put for any length of time.

“Here’s your coffee.” Joe handed him a mug of the steaming dark brew.

A deep sigh drifted through Mitch’s barrel chest before he accepted the offer. “I’m that obvious?”

The mahogany-skinned detective grinned and made himself at home in one of the chairs across from Mitch’s. “Drink before we talk.”

“That sounds ominous.” Mitch inhaled the intoxicating aroma and took several sips before sitting again and staying put.

“So what fly is buzzin’ around your head this morning?”

Mitch cradled the mug in his hands and stared into its depths. The darkness reminded him of the previous night. It wasn’t the usual stresses of the job so much as that prickly princess locked away in the tower that made him more of a grizzly than a teddy bear that morning.

She might very well sue him for his honest mistake. But that wasn’t what bothered him. He was ninety-nine percent certain she wouldn’t sue. In fact, he’d bet she wouldn’t have another thing to do with him.

Or anyone from the outside.

Why did he think of her as a prisoner? The leg, probably. Listening to Ginny’s and Merle’s accounts, she apparently had some kind of permanent handicap. But that wasn’t the impression that had stayed with him through the night and played havoc on his normal morning routine.

It was her eyes. Smoky, dark and deep. He’d seen fear there.

Fear of him.

He downed a hasty swallow of coffee and nearly scalded his tongue. Hell, nobody should be afraid of him. Nobody except the bad guys.

What did she have against cops? He’d worked damn hard for his badge and rank. He shouldn’t be bothered by implied insults from damsels in distress who didn’t want to be rescued.

He shouldn’t be bothered by her at all.

He compromised on his response to Joe. “The commissioner’s got me playing some cat-and-mouse game I haven’t figured out yet.”

Joe thumbed over his shoulder toward the squad room behind him. “What does Judge Jack have to do with it?”

“The commish called yesterday and asked me to check Judge Maynard’s house. Personally. See if there was any trouble.”

“Was there?”

“Not that I could see. That’s why I’m trying to make some kind of connection. Reed wasn’t eager to share details.” Mitch leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and splaying his hands in a gesture of frustration. “The only person there was the judge’s daughter. And she definitely wasn’t thrilled to see me.”

Joe laughed and tapped the bridge of his nose, indicating the purplish bruise decorating Mitch’s own nose that morning. “Is she another conquest you charmed and left by the wayside?”

Mitch felt his own mouth curling up into a wry smile. Casey Maynard had certainly packed a wallop. He’d never so much as experienced a slap on the face from one of his dates. “Even on my best days, I was never charming.”

“Hey, now don’t sell yourself short. I just put five bucks on you bringing a hot date to the big awards banquet.”

Mitch shook his head, his mood momentarily lightened by his friend’s teasing. “Don’t I give you enough work to do?”