At Close Range

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Not the answer he wanted.

  “Grant the motion,” he said. “Come on, Hannah. This is pretrial. You’ve got a jury coming in. Let them do the dirty work.”

  He hated the look she gave him, as though she’d tasted something bad. She hadn’t taken a bite in several minutes. “This is me talking,” he said, taking her uninjured hand. “You know how I feel about the law, about justice. But sometimes you have to play the game. Sometimes a greater justice is served by turning a blind eye.”

  He knew he’d made a mistake when she pulled her hand away. “What greater justice, William? Personal justice? You want me to save my ass, by letting that monster get away with terrorizing an entire state?”

  He was losing her. “You’re one woman,” he tried. “You can’t beat terrorism by yourself. Hell, the federal government has whole departments working on this sort of thing and even they can’t wipe it out.”

  When and how the world had gone so insane, he didn’t know. He only knew that he had to live in it. To keep his son safe in it.

  “I’ll rule whichever way serves the law,” she said, standing. “I think I need some time alone, William. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

  He meant to go after her. Instead, William sat back, ordered another glass of wine, and figured it was for the best that they’d driven to the restaurant separately.

  “Brian?”

  With his arm around Cynthia, Brian turned back to look at the tiny shape beneath the Blue’s Clues covers on the twin bed in his spare room. “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  The words were whispered. A secret. And nearly made Brian come unglued.

  “I love you, too, Joseph,” he said, taking his cue from the small, emotionally bruised child who’d captured his heart.

  The four-year-old closed his eyes, hugging his Blue dog to his face, and rolled over.

  Brian turned and caught the stark, bald love in Cynthia’s eyes as she watched her son.

  “He’s going to be okay,” she said, as though just now daring to believe it. They closed Joseph’s bedroom door, headed to the master suite.

  “You wait,” Brian said. “In another year he’ll be racing around making so much noise we’ll be wishing for some peace and quiet.”

  Her silence met with Brian’s as he heard himself. He was talking as if they were already a family. Or were going to be one.

  And he’d yet to ask Cynthia to marry him.

  Or even talk about their relationship. Their future. He’d asked her to live with him and left it at that.

  She was a wonderful woman. A fabulous mother. Sexy. Smart. She’d stood by him in his time of crisis.

  And there was something missing.

  Brian searched for words. Searched again. Felt Cynthia’s hand take his, pull him along to their room, to their bed.

  He cared for her. A lot. It wasn’t her.

  It was him. Cara. When she’d died, a part of him had died, too. That had to be it.

  Without speaking, Cynthia stripped him, caressing his body as she bared it to her touch. And then she stripped, too, slowly, putting on a show that would’ve made him hard if he hadn’t already been aching for her.

  Or for sex.

  Take care of yourself, my friend. His words to Hannah earlier that day popped into his brain. As did her softly uttered, I will.

  He hoped to God she was okay.

  Cynthia pushed him back on the bed, and Brian let her, giving her the lead as she explored him with her tongue. And then he rolled over on top of her, pleasuring every inch of her, showing her with his body what he couldn’t tell her out loud.

  Showing her that she was precious. Valuable. That she deserved love in her life.

  And when he closed his eyes, visions of another woman, another face appeared in his mind. He entered her. He moved in and out. He rode the waves.

  But it wasn’t Cynthia beneath him.

  And it wasn’t Cara, either.

  21

  W hen the phone woke her early Saturday morning, Hannah jumped for it. She’d talked to Brian during cartoons the previous week. Her right arm bumped the bed table as she grabbed the phone and when it didn’t hurt, because it was numb, memories of the previous day came flooding back.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, hon.” William.

  “Hi.”

  “You’re still mad. Okay, I deserve that,” he said. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she nodded. And said nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Hannah. So sorry. I don’t know, it’s just…ever since Las Vegas, you drive me crazy, you know?”

  “Yeah.” She didn’t want to understand. But she did.

  “It’s like all of a sudden I feel possessive. I’m in deeper than I bargained for.”

  He was going to tell her he loved her again. And Hannah didn’t want to hear it.

  Not this morning anyway.

  She was too raw. From too many things.

  “It’s okay, Will, seriously. I understand. I know you’re worried and it’s hard to sit there and do nothing. If it helps any, I’m in the same boat. I’m also worried and feel like there’s nothing I can do.” She was talking too fast. And she kept talking.

  “And before you say it, no, I can’t do what they want. Not only because I have to do my job, but because to do so would give them power over me. Will, can’t you see that? If I buckle under their pressure even once, I’m facing a lifetime of the same. I can’t live like that.”

  William was a good man. She cared about him a lot.

  “Can you understand that?” she asked softly, rubbing her numb arm, as if she could make herself begin to feel it sooner.

  “Yes.” His response, especially after his silence, surprised her. “Unfortunately I can see it,” he added. “And I’m not sure where that leaves us.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure, either. She hadn’t shed a tear the night before. Not one. If she loved him, she would have, wouldn’t she?

  Unless she was just as numb as her arm?

  “Let’s just take things as they come,” she suggested slowly, as she realized she wasn’t ready for life without William, either. “So much is going on right now, for both of us. You’ve just got Francis back, so that was bound to change things for us again, anyway.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?” His genuine horror at the idea tugged at her heart.

  “No, William, I’m not,” she said, certain about that much at least. “We’ve been through a lot together. And we haven’t given this a chance to settle in.” She hoped that was true. “I’m just suggesting that we not ask any more of ourselves and each other than we’re comfortable with.”

  “Are you comfortable with seeing me tomorrow? Francis called and I’m taking him to a Suns game tonight.”

  “As long as you’re comfortable with pork chops and a movie at home. I’m having a quiet weekend.”

  “That sounds wonderful.”

  “And, William? Don’t worry, okay?”

  “Yeah.” He wasn’t convincing.

  As Hannah hung up, she wondered if staying in implied asking him to spend the night at her house. And hated herself for hoping he wouldn’t.

  Brian did the grocery shopping that week, leaving Cynthia at home with Joseph. He’d been insisting on pulling his share of chores since she’d moved in.

  He’d also welcomed the chance to get out alone. Breathe. And just be.

  And after an hour of wandering up and down aisles, comparing brand-name prices against generics, finding everything on the list he and Cynthia had made earlier that morning, he felt better. More in control. He’d been letting life get to him.

  Wasting energy on things he couldn’t control so much that he’d lost sight of those things he could. Focus was the key. He knew that. Had always known that.

  Keeping that thought in mind, he walked into the kitchen, grocery bags in hand, ready to tell Cynthia the truth. That he was confused. But that he cared about her and wanted her in his home. That he’d take good care of her and J
oseph.

  She wasn’t in the kitchen.

  Or in the family room, either.

  Setting the bags on the counter, he frowned, listening for the sounds of a television. Cartoons. Joseph. A mother speaking to a child.

  All he heard was silence.

  Odd.

  He’d left the Jag in the drive and come in the front door, so now he checked the garage for Cynthia’s old Chrysler.

  It wasn’t there.

  And she hadn’t left a message.

  Odder yet.

  There was no sign of injury. No drops of blood on the floor, towels lying around, plastic bags for ice. No signs of a hurried exit.

  As he turned back, looking for any activity Joseph might have left in a hurry, the cleanliness that met his vision bothered him.

  Where was Joseph’s new booster chair?

  And the plastic box that held his toys?

  Brian took the stairs two at a time, hurrying to Joseph’s room. The bed was stripped. The drawers and closet bare.

  Cynthia’s side of the master closet, her vanity in the ensuite were also empty.

  As empty as he felt.

  He found the note last—though he should have seen it easily propped in clear view against his pillow. And it eliminated any doubt he might have had.

  She’d left him.

  Because she felt so guilty for the hell she was putting him through, on Sunday Hannah broke down and told Will about Courtney Moss’s confidential testimony. Putting their personal issues aside, William was the best judge she knew. And she’d struggled all weekend with what she should do regarding the girl’s testimony.

  She knew her legal options were severely limited. Will could only confirm that.

  Still, it felt good to share the angst with someone who understood.

  “I’m going to have to make her testify if she’s called,” she told him, though she was pretty certain the state wouldn’t do so now. There wasn’t enough to be gained that couldn’t be brought in another way. And the danger to the minor child was immense.

  For once, William agreed.

  And on Monday morning, she informed Susan of her rulings, adding that she’d have a judgment written up that afternoon to file with the clerk of courts and pass on to the attorneys. Until then, if anyone should ask, no decision had been rendered.

  Because she wanted time to change her mind?

  “You’re going to make her do it?” Wearing a denim skirt and checked sweater, Susan looked almost as young as their witness.

  “I have no reason not to,” she said. Then added, “With luck, no one will call her. Why would they at this point?”

  “But if they do,” Susan said, following Hannah to her door, “she either perjures herself or her life is as good as over.”

  Hannah stopped. “How do you know that?” she asked her assistant.

  Susan pointed to the speaker above her desk. “I heard the testimony,” she said. “I didn’t want to leave in case you needed me.”

  The sound system allowed Susan to hear into the courtroom.

  “That was a confidential hearing,” Hannah reminded her employee.

  “I always watch your back, Judge. It’s my job.”

  Relenting, Hannah nodded and went back to her desk. She was truly overwrought. Being too hard on everyone. William. Susan. The people who’d been supporting her for years.

  She hoped to God this Donahue case went to trial as scheduled. The sooner this one was over, the better.

  Angelo was back. Coming into the waiting room after an appointment Monday afternoon, Brian saw the detective enter and his heart sank.

  What now?

  He soon found out.

  “We had an anonymous tip this morning,” Angelo said when they were alone in Brian’s office. “I have a warrant to search your residence.”

  “You were already there,” Brian said. He was wiser this time around—experienced. He didn’t cower with fear.

  “And we’re going again,” he said. “Because you’re friends with Judge Montgomery, we’re here to give you the option to be present.”

  Brian could refuse. And they’d go anyway.

  “I’ll have my receptionist reschedule the rest of my appointments,” he said.

  And then, when it seemed the detective was going to wait right there, Brian asked, “I’m assuming I can drive myself?”

  Angelo conceded with a single dip of the head.

  Riley Constance, the east complex presiding judge, was waiting in Hannah’s chambers, chatting with Susan, when Hannah came off the bench that afternoon. Unless it was time for Judge Performance Review scores, a visit from the presiding judge wasn’t generally positive. October wasn’t time for JPR scores. Or transfers, either.

  “Riley, how are you?” Hannah shook the other woman’s hand. “Come on back.” She led the way to her office.

  “Fine,” Riley’s reply was short. Succinct. Never a good sign.

  “What’s up?” Hanging up her robe, Hannah took a seat behind her desk, rubbing her right arm, happy she could feel it again.

  “I’m concerned about your decision to rule for testimony that could put a seventeen-year-old child at risk,” Riley said. “Especially considering the circumstances.” Riley’s hair, always well coiffed, had turned grayer over the past several months. But her sixty-year-old body was as slim and stylishly dressed as ever.

  Hannah felt a bit underdressed in her slacks and sweater, although these days, some judges even wore jeans under their robes.

  “The circumstances?” she asked. No one knew—with the exception of Susan and William—that she’d made her decision. She hadn’t even written it yet.

  “The girl admitted she’d perjure herself. Her testimony won’t be worth anything once a jury finds out. And if she tells the truth, she’s betraying not only her father, but according to her, the Ivory Nation as well. They don’t take that lightly. If something happens to her when she testifies, and it comes out that you knew of the potential danger and did nothing…well, I’d hate to see what the papers would do with that one.”

  Hannah sat unmoving, slowly freezing from the inside out.

  “Her father’s a senator, for God’s sake, Hannah! You shouldn’t have taken this kind of risk with such a high-profile case. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he sues the state for putting his daughter at risk.”

  Was Riley suggesting that Hannah not do what the law required? Which was to allow the witness? Because of who her father was?

  “Based on what Courtney said in front of the defendant and her father, the only way to protect her is to allow the testimony. To do otherwise would raise suspicions.” She told her superior what she’d realized herself.

  “I’m banking on Julie Gilbert not calling the witness. The state’s case wouldn’t benefit from the testimony,” she added.

  “I don’t like it, Hannah.”

  “Are you writing me up?”

  “No. Of course not. You’re within the boundaries of your job. I’m just concerned.”

  “About the press. And the state’s money.”

  “And you.” Clearly Hannah was a distant third.

  “How did you know about my decision?” Hannah heard herself ask. As numb inside as her arm had been.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to say. I promised to keep my source confidential.”

  “I understand,” she said. And repeated the words several more times before the presiding judge ran out of steam and left.

  Left Hannah sitting at her desk, afraid to move.

  “Judge!” Susan stood before her, eyes wide. “I have no idea how she heard about your decision. I didn’t tell her. I swear I didn’t. When she came in, she asked me what I knew and I told her that she’d have to talk to you. But I couldn’t help overhearing what she was saying and…Oh, Judge, I’m so sorry.”

  Sorry because she’d made a mistake? Betrayed her boss? Or sorry because she’d been caught?

  “Did you put the scorpion in my dra
wer?” Hannah asked, staring hard at her young assistant. “And leave the picture on my desk?”

  It all made horrifying sense. Susan had a key. She knew everyone. Talked to everyone. If someone wanted to get to Hannah, Susan would be the obvious way.

  And if someone as powerful as Bobby Donahue threatened her, blackmailed her, she’d cave. She had a husband. Young kids. She was vulnerable.

  “Of course not! I would never do anything to hurt you. You have to know that!”

  The wringing hands were a smart move. As were the tears. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Judge. I love this job. I love working with you.”

  Hannah didn’t know what to believe. If Susan hadn’t done this—and in spite of herself, she was inclined to believe her—that left only William. He was the only other person she’d told of a decision that wasn’t even official yet.

  “Am I fired?” Susan asked, choking on her tears.

  “No,” Hannah said. And then, “I don’t know. Go home for now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Susan had never called her that before. “Should I come in in the morning?”

  “Yes.” If nothing else, the young woman would need to collect her stuff.

  Brian counted the rings. Just counted. He didn’t worry. Didn’t sweat. Just counted. And when she didn’t answer on her office phone, he dialed her cell.

  “Brian? What’s up?” Hannah sounded beat. Defeated. And then he remembered that she had to file her opinion on the Donahue case. Unfortunately he only had a few minutes.

  “This is my one phone call,” he said simply.

  “You’re downtown again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  It seemed like years since he’d talked to her, instead of three days. He should have called when Cynthia left—would have—except that their friendship had somehow started to color his relationship with Cynthia. Crying on Hannah’s shoulder had just seemed wrong.

  “Angelo got a call this morning saying there was HGH in the guesthouse, behind a paneling board in the bathroom.”

  “What!?”

  “He served me with a warrant this afternoon. And went right to the spot.”

  “There was a hiding space behind the paneling?”