Chapter One
“Judge Latham is a hang ’em high, throw the book at ’em, first strike, you’re out jurist.”
“Sounds like the sort of judge we need more of around here,” Rance Parker commented, turning from the window, his fingers lightly twirling the brim of his cream Stetson. Pushing the fold of the blue denim jacket back, he slid his other hand inside the pocket of his faded jeans. He had been summoned to his captain’s office and had been on the road for the last five hours. He probably resembled more a road-weary rodeo cowboy than a United States Marshal. There hadn’t been much time to clean up and look like his usual official self.
“That scruff you’ve got going there on your face is a new look for you. Suppose they didn’t have any barbers where you were these last six weeks either. Or are you trying to get handed an undercover assignment?”
“Give a guy a break, Cap,” Rance said with a smile as he attempted the joke. He was usually clean-shaven, and his hair neatly trimmed, but he was, after all, on the last couple of days of his forced medical leave. “I’ve gotten used to not shaving on a daily basis. There’s something to be said for sitting on a porch watching the grass grow. I just might decide to retire and do it full-time.”
“You’d go crazy within a week of doing nothing, Rance. That’s not you. Besides, you’ve got an assignment and it’s good you’re all rested and got your strength back. You’ll need it.”
“That sounds ominous. Have anything to do with this Judge Latham? Since you brought the judge up at the beginning of our conversation, seems the likely place to get started.” Rance moved to the chair in front of the man’s desk, settling in, his hat resting on the knee of the crossed leg. “What’s the deal?”
“Have you ever met Judge Latham?”
“Can’t say that I have. I’ve never had a case where I had to appear in that judge’s court. Why?”
“Well, a little background. The judge’s father is the late Judge Nathaniel Latham. He passed away seated behind his bench during a trial back about five years ago. You probably heard of him… His family drilled most of the oil wells you see along Highway 84 up into the Panhandle.”
“I seem to recall a bit about that happening during a trial but paid little attention,” Rance said with a nod. “So, this present judge was one of those good ol’ boy appointments, I take it?”
“At first sight, that’s what it seemed. But this one has more than filled the father’s shoes behind the bench. This one does know the laws and makes use of them. It is by the book, their way or the highway, straight to a not so plush cell at one of our prisons. That’s not to say that the judge is not fair…more so than the famous father, and grandfather before him. And that brings us to why you have this assignment now. We’ve had credible threats received on the lives of our judges…including this present Judge Latham.”
“How credible?” The information he’d just heard had his attention. Rance sat straighter, his mind at work.
“Credible enough to place all four under surveillance. You’ll be on the detail when you report on Monday.”
“And I get this Judge Latham?”
“Yes. I chose you for this one myself.”
Rance’s gaze narrowed, his internal suspicion meter shooting upwards. “Why?”
“Judge Latham is…a special case. Let’s say the judge is very determined and believes our precautions are a waste of time and taxpayers’ money. You shouldn’t expect this judge to go quietly along with our plans. But then, I’m sure you can handle that.”
“In other words, you’re punishing me for beating you in that poker tournament last month.”
McMahon’s mouth curved upwards a bit while he tried to maintain his trademark stern composure. “I don’t punish people. The courts do that. Or in this case, the judge will.”
“That’s what I figured. Since you don’t want me working the case from the other side…tracking down this threat, I suppose I can use some more ‘down’ time and babysit a judge. It shouldn’t be too hard.”
“You think that now but you…”
The door opened and Marshal Ruiz stuck his head in the opening. “We’ve got a situation. Everyone’s gathering in the conference room right now. Judge Barkley was shot coming out of his dry cleaner’s a few minutes ago. He’s on his way to All Saints… It looks bad. And Moretti called from the medical examiner’s office. Judge Vincente was poisoned.”
Both Rance and his boss cleared their seats at the same time. The captain looked at Rance. “Consider your leave ended as of right now. I need you to get your eyes and hands, if need be, on Judge Latham ASAP. All judges go on lockdown until further notice from me. Use whatever resources you think best. Just get the judge under wraps and stay there until you hear directly from me. We’ll use the secondary number I gave you once before.”
“No problem.” Rance pulled his hat down low on his forehead; he cleared the room after his captain.
*
No problem. Those words circulated through Rance’s mind like a ticker banner as he stood at the back of the courtroom ten minutes later. He had halted in his tracks almost as soon as he stepped through the double doors. It wasn’t the fact that the court was in session that stopped him. It was the surprise that faced him from the bench. Judge Latham was not what he expected. His brain had to take a few moments to rethink a couple of things. His gaze zeroed in on the nameplate on the front of her bench… The Honorable Judge Erin Finley Latham. He was she. Just great. That’s what he got for assuming that his boss was talking earlier about a male judge. Of course, his captain might have also volunteered that sooner rather than not at all.
He moved a couple of steps down the aisle, but he didn’t have time to speak. The judge did that.
“I see you’re wearing a federal marshal’s badge, but unless you have a desire to be held in contempt today for disturbing these proceedings, turn around and leave the way you came in. You’re disturbing this court.” A lesser man would have rethought things once he was addressed with such an imperious and frigid tone. But he had a mission and no one, not even this judge, was going to deter him. His long-legged steps led him directly down the center aisle and he didn’t stop until he stood before the raised mahogany wood-sided judge’s bench.
Rance—at six feet, three inches—was taller than most in the courtroom, but he still had to look upwards, and his gaze was met with a steady cobalt-blue stare that would have made a lesser man reconsider the value of his freedom. But he was a United States Marshal, and he had his orders.
