At Close Range

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  And she was all the family Hannah had left.

  Dropping down on her knees, reaching out to the animal, Hannah blinked back tears so she could see clearly. The black between the eyes told her it was definitely Callie.

  And she was still breathing. Sobbing now, Hannah glanced up, around, looking for help. And then grabbed the cell phone out of the case hooked to her waistband.

  Addled, frustrated that there was no ambulance she could call for cats, no feline 911, scared out of her wits, she hit the first number programmed into her speed dial.

  He answered. Thank God.

  “Brian? Where are you?”

  “On my way home. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Callie! She’s hurt. Oh, God, Brian, what am I going to do? She needs help and I’m afraid to move her. Her head’s at a bad angle.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Hannah wailed, growing more panicked with every second that passed. “She’s in the road so she must have been hit by a car, but I don’t see a lot of blood.”

  Brian asked her to check a couple of things, including lifting the cat’s eyelids. And then he told her to sit tight and wait for him.

  Brian wished he could say he’d never seen Hannah Montgomery in such a state. Wished it so hard the tension made his head throb. Watching his good friend grieve was not a new thing to him.

  And not a distant memory either. It had been less than a year since he’d sat on this very same sofa, in this very same house, sick at heart, holding this vibrant, beautiful, intelligent woman while she sobbed uncontrollably.

  Less than a year since another little body was carried out of this home.

  “I…I…she…I…she must’ve slipped out this morning. And…”

  She couldn’t finish as another bout of sobs overcame her, the sound harsh, discordant in the peaceful room.

  “I was just…so…pre…pre…preoccupied….”

  He held her, resting his chin lightly on her head. He wanted to let her know that he was there. She wasn’t alone.

  “…the trial…”

  His mind froze at her words, at the reminder of the dangerous case she was handling, his attention completely, singly focused now as a suspicion occured to him. And he remembered something else.

  “You said you were sure you saw her on her cat tree when you left.”

  “I…must’ve…been mistaken….”

  Or not.

  Looking around the room, all senses on alert, Brian wondered if Hannah’s windows and doors were secure. He wondered if they should be calling the police.

  Or if he was overreacting.

  Surely, anyone who meant to do Hannah harm would have done so while she was driving home. Running her off the road. Making it look like an accident.

  Instead, they’d done…this. But they wouldn’t be so bold as to attack a judge in her own home. That would make them too easy to find. Detectives would know who to question and fingerprint and…

  “We need to call the police.”

  A sheriff’s deputy came to the house. Callie’s body was being taken in as evidence.

  “I’m sure you’re right and there is nothing criminal here, Judge,” the thirtysomething, well-weaponed man said, his beige uniform not helping him blend in with the desert landscaping at all. It would be hard to overlook the big, burly man.

  Completely calm, completely professional, Hannah nodded.

  “There’s no sign of forced entry, no unlocked windows or doors, no threatening note. But we can’t be too sure. We have to follow up on every call.”

  “The Ivory Nation generally leaves warnings of some kind,” Hannah said. She’d been dry-eyed since Brian had called the police. Withdrawn into herself.

  Brian would have preferred the crying. It was healthier.

  “Putting a signature on their job feeds their sense of power,” she continued, outlining a profile the deputy probably already had. Giving Brian one he’d rather not have had.

  Brian stayed one step behind Hannah, silently supportive, as she spoke with the deputy. He’d like to prescribe some sleeping pills, but knew she’d refuse to fill the perscription. She wouldn’t want them around. Wouldn’t want to be tempted to use them. He knew she feared getting addicted. She’d told him so when Carlos died. Hannah might be strong, but there was a limit to everyone’s capacity.

  “I’d heard you had an Ivory Nation member on trial this week. You might want to consider recusing yourself.”

  Hannah’s frown put an end to that idea. “Is that an official suggestion, Deputy?”

  “No, ma’am.” The deputy looked down, and Brian almost pitied the guy.

  Deputy Charles closed his book and picked up the satchel containing Hannah’s dead cat. “Keep your doors and windows locked, Judge,” he said, on his way to stop at the door. “We’ll be doing extra drive-bys and keeping a watch on the neighborhood just in case.” His words were appropriately reassuring but Brian worried anyway.

  Hannah knew she really should let Brian go home. He’d called Cynthia before arriving so she wouldn’t be expecting him, but that didn’t mean that his new live-in lover would want him spending the evening at the home of another woman.

  “Can I get you something to eat?” she asked, while Deputy Charles reversed down the drive.

  “I thought maybe we could call for Chinese.”

  Her stomach rumbling at the thought of food, Hannah nodded. That would give her another hour or so before Brian had to go.

  An hour to get herself under control, to beat the panic that was turning her into a scared, weak woman.

  Something Hannah hadn’t been in a very long time.

  At least not admittedly.

  Brian found the menus while Hannah took her morning’s coffee cup from the sink and put it in the dishwasher. And then he rechecked the windows and doors, even though Deputy Charles had already done so.

  Brian was a sweet man. A very sweet man. She was lucky to have had him as such a close friend all these years.

  Forgoing her usual single glass of wine, Hannah reached for the bottle of scotch she kept at the back of a cupboard over the stove. Her last foster parents—the ones who’d helped her get into college—had had a fondness for scotch.

  Taking the long way around to the refrigerator—avoiding the monogrammed plastic mat where Callie’s bowls still sat—she filled two glasses with ice. Added a small splash of scotch into both, filled hers with 7-Up and Brian’s with water and handed him his glass as he came back into the kitchen.

  He attempted to meet her eyes as he held the glass, but she couldn’t look at him.

  “Cheers,” she said, offering her glass for the traditional clink—a throwback to their college days when they’d all thought it bad luck to drink without toasting first.

  The theory, as far as she could remember was along the lines of “you can’t toast without someone there and if there’s someone there, you won’t ever drink alone.”

  Drinking alone had been their definition of a drinking problem.

  Brian’s glass still hadn’t touched hers.

  Hannah could feel him watching her. And the look in his eyes, when she finally met it, told her he wasn’t letting her get away with running. Or hiding. Or shutting him out.

  “Here’s to friends,” he said, his voice warm as he held out his glass. “And knowing that they’re always there. No matter what.”

  She held her glass stiffly. There was safety in aloneness. And danger in believing in foolishness. You didn’t need a toast to enjoy a shot of scotch. You didn’t need a toast to keep safe.

  Or a friend, either.

  “Here’s to friends,” she said, dropping her gaze as she sipped.

  Hannah’s cell phone rang just as Brian was hanging up from ordering dinner. He reached for his wallet, getting the money to pay the delivery person, as he listened to her answer it, sounding more like herself than he’d heard that day.

  “William. How are you?”

  Her j
udge friend, Brian surmised. William Horne. He’d met the man more than once over the years.

  “No. I’m fine. Just tired.”

  Brian froze with the money still in his hand, his eyes following Hannah as she moved to the sliding glass door to stare out into the backyard. She was just tired?

  He wondered how many times he’d heard the same type of response when Hannah couldn’t admit she needed something.

  “Yes.”

  And then again, after a brief pause, “Yes.

  “Judge Randolph? No, I didn’t see her.

  “That’s right, I did decide to allow the witness.

  Another, longer pause.

  “Because it was the right thing to do.

  “I know.”

  She nodded, apparently forgetting that William couldn’t see her, then repeated, “I know.”

  And Brian felt a surge of impatience. The last thing Hannah needed just now was a lecture. Not that William had any way of knowing that.

  “I came home to find Callie run over by a car.”

  Brian couldn’t hear William’s exact answer, but it was loud enough for him to know there was one.

  “No.” Hannah’s voice broke. “She died.” Her shoulders looked so fragile. Brian had to resist the urge to wrap an arm around them, to let her rest against him until she had the strength to stand alone.

  “No, really, I’m fine,” she said after another few words from William. “She was alive when I found her and I called Brian. He’s still here.

  “Yeah. We just ordered dinner.”

  Another several seconds passed as William spoke, though Brian could no longer hear him.

  “I agree.” Hannah briefly glanced up at Brian. “I know. I will.” Not used to feeling so uncomfortable, Brian wondered if he should leave the room.

  William spoke some more.

  “The deputy didn’t think so, either, and he went over the place thoroughly.”

  There followed a pause, long enough for Brian to grab their drinks from the living room and give Hannah hers. And then, with a bit more reassurance and a couple of “I wills” she rang off.

  “William said to tell you hi.”

  Nodding, Brian tried to assess her expression. Which was never easy with Hannah. When he’d had money and she’d been a starving student, he’d played poker with her. And lost too often.

  “He also said to tell you not to worry about the Sun News article.”

  “I’m not.” Mostly.

  One arm wrapped around her middle, she sipped her scotch. “He doesn’t think Callie’s death has anything to do with the trial.”

  Brian had hoped that was what her comment about Deputy Charles meant. “He would know, don’t you think?” he asked.

  Judge Horne had been on the bench twice as long as Hannah and had handled more capital cases than anyone in the state. More Ivory Nation cases, too.

  “Yeah.” She didn’t look any less worried.

  Brian probably would have pushed her a little further but the doorbell rang.

  Dinner had arrived.

  5

  T he Chinese food was gone. The first shot of scotch was long gone, too—having been followed by another and then, at some point, straight 7-Up. Too many hours were gone.

  Brian was not. Nor did he appear to be in any hurry to leave.

  “I’m all right,” she said, rolling her head along the back of the couch, to peer down to the opposite end where he was lounging. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

  Don’t go, the little girl in her pleaded silently. I’m afraid to be alone.

  “I’ve never, not once, seen you act like a baby. Or treated you as one.”

  “You suck at prevarication, Hampton.”

  “Well then,” he said, staring her straight in the eye. “How’s this? I’m not babysitting. I’m here because there’s no place else I’d rather be.”

  “I’m guessing Cynthia wouldn’t be too happy to hear that.”

  “Cynthia will understand. She knows how long we’ve been friends. She knows I love you like a sister. And…” he added, after a pause “…I don’t think she’d throw a fit even if she didn’t know. I almost wish she would.”

  “Why?”

  “Because while we enjoy being together, I still don’t quite feel as if we’re really in love. It’s like she doesn’t entirely trust me to love her. Or rather, doesn’t trust herself to be loved. She has no expectations. Counts on nothing. Including the fact that I’m going to come home to her every night.”

  Hannah didn’t like the sound of that.

  She’d been watching out for Brian—and he for her—more than half her life. She’d known him longer than anyone else. He was family.

  That gave her the right to care, didn’t it? Regardless of this new dimension in his life—a woman waiting for him at home. A woman who had first call on his loyalty.

  His heart.

  “You don’t think Cynthia loves you?” she asked after a long pause.

  Brian had suffered enough. Cara’s death had held him captive for more than ten years. Hannah wasn’t going to sit by and watch someone act carelessly with emotions that were only now coming out of storage.

  “I think she does,” Brian said.

  “But you don’t know it.”

  “Right.”

  “Does she say she does?”

  “Yeah.”

  The scotch had relaxed her, possibly too much. Still watching him, Hannah wasn’t sure what was happening—why these intimate feelings were coming out.

  “Does she treat you well?”

  “Yeah. It just always feels like she’s holding back.”

  He’d loosened his tie—a Disney original dotted with Mickey Mouse figures—and unbuttoned the collar of his matching yellow shirt.

  Mickey gave her courage. “Maybe she’s not the one holding back,” she said. “Maybe she’s reacting,” she added when he said nothing.

  “To what?” he asked, but she thought he knew.

  “To you. Maybe you’re the one who can’t give freely and that makes it less safe for her to do so.”

  “I’m ready,” Brian said, a frown creasing his forehead. “I know I am.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Hannah told him. “But being ready doesn’t mean you’re not out of practice. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Brian. You don’t have to be perfect at everything you do.”

  “So you think she’s holding back because I am?”

  “I’m saying it’s a possibility. But hey, consider the source. I’m a careful observer, but it’s not like I have any real experience at this.”

  “You had the best experience,” Brian said quietly.

  By unspoken agreement, they didn’t refer to her life before law school. Her time with Jason.

  “Yeah, well, maybe. That was a long time ago.”

  Too long ago. Another existence. A very brief idyllic period during which she’d dared to believe she’d finally found a real home.

  “And yet, it’s always right there, isn’t it?” His dark eyes wouldn’t let her hide her pain. Because he hurt, too?

  “Yeah.” She tried hard not to remember, even while images of Jason’s smile lit her from the inside out.

  “He was a great guy, Hannah. One of the best.”

  “I know.” Which was partly why it was so hard to accept, even now, that he’d been given such a short time on earth.

  “And he loved you.”

  Yeah. He had. As much as she’d loved him. A rare gift.

  “Do you ever regret marrying him?”

  “No.” She didn’t even need to think about that.

  “I don’t know if I could’ve done it. Being so young. And knowing he was sick.”

  “I was only seventeen,” Hannah said. “But it felt like thirty-seven. I’d been in and out of six foster homes by then, living on the streets for weeks every time I ran away. I felt like I’d been on my own for years. It’s not like I had any childhood left to cling to. Having a real home of my
own—that was heaven.”

  “But you knew you were going to lose him.”

  “I knew it was a possibility, but I was still young enough to believe we’d fight his illness together. That we’d win. I think, when you’re in a situation like that, you have to believe in miracles. It’s how you get through the day-to-day business of living.

  “Besides, regardless of the threat of death, I had the honor of being his wife. I got to be with him every single day, in a life where they were all precious. I got to know every intimate detail about him. I was the one he talked to in the middle of the night. I got his wisdom, his laughter. I got to share his pain. And to ease it.”

  She had tears in her eyes, and didn’t care. Jason deserved them.

  “I wish I’d known him.”

  “I do, too,” Hannah said now, knowing instinctively that Jason would’ve liked Brian. And although Brian already knew the story, she found comfort in telling it once more. “Cara met him a few times. He’d insisted he’d only marry me if I went to college, and I met up with Cara again that first year. We’d been best friends in junior high, two foster families before my last one. I only saw her during class at Arizona State for the first year or two because Jason and I spent all our time together, but she and I talked a lot. By the time Jason got really sick, Cara and I were close again. Jason wanted to meet her and she wanted to meet him. She started coming around on weekends. That was toward the end when he wasn’t up and about much.”

  Brian settled back in the corner of the couch, his arm along the back with his fingers just inches from her head. His presence was a comfort, offering an odd kind of security—to a woman who’d never known much of that.

  “She told me about him,” he said now. “We were already dating by the time he died. I kind of assumed he was always pretty much bedridden.”

  “No.” Hannah shook her head, smiling through her tears. “That was only the last couple of months. The first three years you wouldn’t even have known he was sick except for all the medication in our bathroom. And the grocery shopping. We had to be careful about what he ate.”