At Close Range

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Definitely not the Hannah he knew.

  Taking the next exit, Brian headed away from his mountain community and toward her upscale neighborhood. “Why?”

  “A motion’s been filed to drop all charges against Kenny Hill.”

  “What!?” He swerved, barely missing the car he hadn’t seen coming up beside him on the two-lane ramp.

  She couldn’t tell him nearly as much as he needed to know, not until the morning when everything became public—but she gave him enough to make him sweat.

  “I’m on my way over.”

  “No, you aren’t.”

  “Yes, I’ve already turned around.”

  “Then turn back, Brian. I’m not kidding. I’m tired and plan to have a quick dinner and then go to bed early.”

  “I don’t want you there alone. Not with the hearing in the morning. You might be able to keep this from the press, but Kenny Hill will know. Which means the Ivory Nation brotherhood will know—including Bobby Donahue. You’re a sitting target.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “A target that just had extra patrol removed from her home.”

  “Brian!” The firmness in her tone didn’t faze him a bit. “You’re being melodramatic. I’ve handled tough cases before. Last year, as a matter of fact. I had another Ivory Nation case. With a guilty verdict. Nothing happened to me.”

  “That case didn’t involve their leader—either as a witness or a possible defendant.” He wasn’t budging. “Callie is mysteriously found dead outside when you know she’d never get out on her own, and then your home is vandalized, all while you’ve got this trial going on. I don’t like it, Hannah. I’m on my way over.”

  “You can’t stay here again tonight, Brian. You have a family to think about now. I’ve been living alone for almost twenty years. I can handle it.”

  “Not with the state’s number-one criminal organization breathing down your neck.”

  “Stop it. You’re scaring me.”

  “Good. Because I’m not going to leave you there by yourself.”

  “You can’t stay here.”

  “Then I’ll take you to my place. We’ve got the guest cottage in the back. You can sleep there. It’s either that or I camp out in your driveway.”

  “I’m bringing Taybee.”

  Brian loosened his hold on the steering wheel, drawing his attention to the cramping in his fingers. He hadn’t been aware of the death grip he had on the thing.

  She could bring the whole damned neighborhood if she wanted to. “Fine.”

  “And I’m going straight to the guesthouse.”

  “After you have something to eat. There’s not even bottled water out there.”

  “I’ll stop for something on the way over.”

  “We’ll stop for something,” he said, turning on to her street in time to see her garage door close. “If you think I’m leaving you alone for a second, you’re wrong. You won’t come if I do and then I’ll be up worrying all night. Now, do I wait in the driveway or in your living room?”

  “In the driveway.” Her response didn’t surprise him. “I won’t be long.”

  “I’m not hanging up.”

  “I’ll be able to pack a lot more quickly with both hands.”

  “So put the phone down,” he conceded. “But put it on speaker.”

  Sitting there, scarcely allowing himself to blink as he watched the house and kept one eye on his rearview mirror and the street behind him as well, Brian hardly recognized himself.

  He didn’t usually overreact.

  Or smother someone who wanted to be free.

  “Brian?” Hannah was back. And if she thought he’d let her change her mind…

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m only doing this because I’m too tired to argue with you and I have to be sharp for the morning. You got that, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He’d never been overbearing. Or even the slightest bit pushy with Hannah. She was fiercely independent. Her choice. He’d always respected that. Honored her need for personal space.

  “Do I need to bring towels?” Her question broke his concentration.

  “No. No soap or shampoo, either. And there are fresh sheets on the bed.” The place was used on a fairly regular basis as he had a habit of offering it to business associates coming to the valley. And he had a couple of college buddies who still came back to Phoenix for golfing expeditions. His cleaning lady always kept the place ready for guests.

  Still, he’d need to call Cynthia on the way home, to let her know that Hannah would be staying over. Maybe she’d be able to talk her into having dinner with them. Or to join them for a drink. Maybe he and Cynthia could take a bottle of wine out to the cottage and share a nightcap with her after Joseph went to bed. As long as the intercom Cynthia had insisted they buy reached that far.

  If not, maybe she wouldn’t mind if Brian went alone, just for a couple of minutes. It was a habit he’d started with his very first guest, years ago—taking out a nightcap.

  Listening to the faint rustling coming from the other end of the phone—and then to her voice, faint and growing stronger, as she called for the kitten—he thought of the files in the trunk of his car. He was going to get through them tonight, too. Just in case.

  And he’d left a message for the managing director of the company from which he’d purchased all of his infant inoculations over the past year. If they’d had any other complaints, any other deaths, and hadn’t told him, there was going to be hell to pay.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Her garage door opened at the same time he heard her on the phone and Brian relaxed. He was getting her out of here safely. Backing down the driveway, he waited in the street for her to pull in front of him, and then, feeling amazingly better, he took his old friend home for a sleepover.

  12

  O n the phone Tuesday night, Bobby Donahue sat at the desk in his home office, his gaze focused on a picture of Jesus Christ, God in the flesh. Son of God, just as Bobby was son of God. One of The Chosen. Brother.

  “No, Dale, there’s absolutely nothing you need to do,” Bobby assured the owner of one of Arizona’s largest private financial institutions—another son of God. A good man. “I wouldn’t have called, but you’d see it in the news,” he continued, calm. At peace. “As you can understand, the more people who know, the more likely it is that the state’s money will go to waste, but I know I can trust you. I told my compatriots so.”

  He waited while the powerful man repeated avowals of loyalty to Bobby—who was one of Dale Longsby’s largest clients.

  “Thanks, Dale,” Bobby said, and then added, “All I can tell you is that my arrest will be part of a statewide sting operation that will guarantee us safer neighborhoods and schools. A safer state.”

  And then he promised Dale that he would take care of himself. “My part is minimal,” he said, fingering the cross around his neck. “I will be fully protected at all times.”

  He’d said what he had to say. And while he wanted to give Dale the time he needed, he was also working with limited hours.

  His call waiting beeped, as though Bobby had summoned it, and he was able to ring off.

  “Thank you, Father God,” he said aloud, knowing full well that the Holy One had sent the interruption, and then clicked in.

  “I’ve got the confirmation you asked for,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “The Alliance contact in Apache Junction was right where you said he’d be. It took us an hour to get him to talk, but we got what you wanted. Amanda’s in Phoenix. He doesn’t know where—she won’t say. She’s doing a job, but not for them. He thought it was for us. He said to tell you he’s very sorry he double-crossed you.”

  Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Bobby asked, “How sorry?”

  “He’s conscious. And burning.”

  Sometimes a man had to suffer the fires of hell on earth.

  “Thank you. Now find her.”

  “Yes, si
r.”

  Amanda was working? In their language that meant serving an organization. She served the cause? Thank God something still made sense.

  “And…if I’m not here…you know how to reach me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep her alive. The Lord tells me I must do this one myself.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Great work. God is very pleased.”

  “Over the next few days…everything’s in place. We’ve got your back.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you, man.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “I’m sorry Cynthia had to leave,” Hannah said an hour past the time she’d hoped to be in bed that night—even though it was still not completely dark outside. She was sitting at the small kitchen table in the guest house with Joseph, watching his tongue dart in and out of his pursed lips as he colored a picture of a church. Or rather, painstakingly colored what she believed to be the landscape around the church as the square with the cross on the top of it was left completely white.

  Brian was busy in the small kitchen, installing a garbage disposal he said he’d ordered months ago and forgot to put in. Taybee had disappeared under the bed and refused to come out. Even when Joseph had crawled under the bed with her and tried to coax her.

  “Cynthia was hoping you’d have supper with us,” Brian said beneath the sink. All she could see of him were the long legs he’d encased in a pair of nicely tight jeans. She averted her eyes before they got to his hips. Everyone had always said Brian had a great butt. That was no secret.

  “I didn’t realize she had any friends in town.” Hannah purposely kept the topic on Brian’s girlfriend.

  And thought of the conversation she’d had with William on her way over. Rather than insisting that she come share his bed that night, as she’d expected him to do when she called, William had told her it was probably a good idea that she spend it someplace completely safe and unknown to anyone who might be looking for her.

  “She’s only got one friend in the area,” Brian was saying, “which is why when she got the call saying her friend had been hurt, she felt she had to go.”

  Brian sat up. “But even as she was running out the door, she worried that you’d be offended.”

  “Of course I’m not!” Being able to count on a friend in a time of need was one of the great comforts of life. “I just hope she’s not upset that I’m crowding you guys. This is the second evening I’ve taken up this month.”

  “Mama likes you.”

  The voice was so soft Hannah barely heard it. It was the first the child had spoken directly to her that night.

  “She does?” she asked, mostly because she couldn’t let the boy’s effort go unnoticed.

  She’d tried not to pay attention to Joseph. Three years older than Carlos, the child reminded her too harshly of what she’d almost had. What she’d lost.

  But now when he met her eyes and gave her a solemn, silent nod, she couldn’t look away.

  “How do you know that?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

  “She told me.”

  Coming around the counter, Brian knelt down by the boy. “Your mother specifically told you she liked Hannah?” he asked. He seemed pleased.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Joseph’s serious expression didn’t change.

  “When did she tell you that? Today?”

  “Yes. So I wouldn’t be scared.”

  Brian had told her about the child’s nightmares. And about how conscientious Amanda was of Joseph’s needs. More and more Hannah was growing to like the woman Brian had found to share his life with—and the more she liked her, the guiltier she felt for talking to Brian.

  Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

  She and Brian had been friends for years.

  She wasn’t sure how she ended up in Brian’s house, but an hour later there she was, sharing a glass of wine with him and Cynthia, who’d returned just as Hannah was, at Joseph’s request, helping Brian put the child to bed.

  “Please stay for a few minutes,” Cynthia said as she took over at the stepstool in the bathroom, helping to squeeze toothpaste. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t visit more with you.”

  Because of the confusing emotions she knew would attack her as soon as she was alone, Hannah had agreed.

  But she regretted it almost immediately. The tenderness in Brian’s touch, as he sat with Cynthia on the couch, his arm around her shoulders, hurt more than the fear of being alone.

  She told herself it was because of Cara.

  They spoke first of Cynthia’s friend who was with family and would be fine. There’d been an explosion, some burns. Nothing life threatening, but Cynthia had needed to see for herself.

  Hannah understood that completely.

  “Brian said they caught the kid who broke into your house,” Cynthia said with almost as much compassion in her tone as there’d been when she’d been speaking of her friend.

  Hannah could see why Brian had fallen for this woman—and her beauty, while obvious, had little to do with it.

  “They did,” she said, trying to come up with an excuse to leave.

  “But he’s still not convinced you’re safe—something to do with a case you’ve got in court?”

  “Brian worries too much,” she said, ignoring the man in question.

  “Maybe, but it’s nice, isn’t it?” Cynthia nestled her shoulders deeper into the crook of Brian’s arm.

  And because she didn’t want to offend her hosts, Hannah said, “Yes, it is.”

  “I really admire what you do.” Cynthia’s smile was kind as she met Hannah’s gaze. “It must be frightening sitting up there, facing the dregs of society.”

  “I have protection,” Hannah said. “Even a panic button by my knee.”

  “You do?” Brian asked, forcing her to look at him at least briefly.

  “Yes. There’s one at my desk in my office, too.”

  She drained the wine she didn’t really want. “And we have a full staff of sheriff’s deputies there, taking care of us.”

  “Have there been lots of retaliations?” Cynthia asked.

  “Not against judges, no. Some threats. But nothing came of them.” She thought of the conversation she’d had with Janet McNeil the night before. And, maybe because she really was slightly spooked about the hearing in the morning—a hearing that would see Bobby Donahue charged with first-degree murder—she asked for a second glass of wine and started to talk.

  “This prosecutor in Flagstaff, this Janet McNeil, had her windshield broken while she was at work?” It took every ounce of control Brian had to stay seated as Hannah told her story, to keep his arm around his lover and not grab Hannah and run—as far and fast as he could.

  Cara would expect him to protect her closest friend—the way he’d been there last year to comfort her after Carlos’s death.

  The things the Flagstaff prosecutor had told Hannah gave him chills. Not because of the violence perpetrated as much as the similarities.

  Was he the only one that saw them?

  “Yes, her windshield was broken, but…”

  “Just like you had your car keyed.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And someone vandalized her garage?”

  “Yes, Brian, but—”

  “I’d say a trashed living room was a more serious warning than a garage, wouldn’t you?”

  “The Ivory Nation had nothing to do with my living room. And her garage wasn’t trashed. A brick was thrown through a window. That’s all.”

  “You just said that the detective in Flagstaff was certain Janet’s garage was the work of neighborhood kids, too. They also ruled out Ivory Nation involvement.”

  “Yes, they did, but—”

  “And it turned out to be the Ivory Nation after all.”

  “Sort of, but—”

  “I’m telling you, Hannah, this is serious. I’m not going to sit by and watch you get yourself killed over
a job. I—”

  Brian felt Cynthia turn to look up at him, and tempered himself. He was overreacting.

  And wasn’t even sure why.

  Except that Hannah was all alone. And she was usually so strong and capable.

  Not that she wasn’t now. But…

  “I’m sorry. I’m behaving like an idiot.”

  “If you’d let me finish my story…” Hannah said when Brian was properly contrite, and had earned himself one of Cynthia’s beautiful smiles.

  “Go on,” Cynthia said, sitting forward to refill his wineglass. Only halfway. To go with the half he’d just had.

  One drink for him was all. He had patients to check on at the hospital early in the morning before heading to the office.

  “It turns out that her younger brother was a member of the Ivory Nation. When he found out that his sister was prosecuting one of his comrades, he tried to get her to step down from the case. She wouldn’t and he apparently lost control. He was the one behind the threats. He even set a fire at her house when he thought she was going to be out at some function.”

  “You’re kidding.” Cynthia’s mouth hung open. Her face was pale.

  “In the end, he broke into her house with a gun and would’ve killed her if her next-door neighbor hadn’t gone over to check on her.”

  “I read about that case,” Cynthia said slowly. “Didn’t it turn out that the neighbor was an ex-fed? The brother—his name was Johnny something or other, I think—he’s the guy who hanged himself in his jail cell here in Phoenix.”

  “That was Ivory Nation?” Brian asked. “That guy was completely whacked. Brainwashed. The news said he trained with terrorists.”

  “I heard that, too,” Cynthia said. “They broke up a terrorist cell just outside Flagstaff. The guy who ran things skipped the country.” Eyes wide, she stared at Hannah. “Oh, my God, Hannah, I had no idea. These are the same guys you’re dealing with now? Brian’s right, you have to be careful. Those guys stop at nothing to get what they want.”

  As fear shot through him, Brian had to fight the urge to snap at Cynthia. And was ashamed of himself. A classic case of shooting the messenger. One he loved.