At Close Range

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  And when, finally, he entered her, Hannah knew this man had been made for her.

  The night, the passion, was beyond incredible, as though they were making up for all the years they’d denied themselves. And making up for a future they might never have. As though they could escape—even for this moment—the deaths behind them and the danger in store.

  Together they rode frantic waves until they both exploded; and together they made gentle love, holding each other close, and still reaching orgasm together.

  Together they grieved. And together they comforted.

  Then together, they lay sated, different than they’d been when they’d entered the room hours before. Stronger.

  And when the world returned, the stakes were different, too.

  “Please don’t go tomorrow.” Hannah knew she was begging. And did it anyway.

  Brian’s pause told her how much her wishes mattered to him, and it told her more than that. If she pushed hard enough, long enough, she could probably make him stay.

  Her heart recognized the truth and settled.

  “I have to do it, Hannah.”

  “There will always be an Ivory Nation,” she said. “Yeah, we might get Bobby Donahue someday. We might get the guys that work for him. But there will be others like him waiting to take his place.”

  “Regardless of anything else, I have to do this for you. I love you. I have to do whatever I can to protect you.”

  “Getting yourself killed won’t help me, Brian. To the contrary, it’s going to devastate me. I can’t lose you, too. I’d rather the Ivory Nation just kill me and be done with it.”

  His brows drew together, his lids lowered and Hannah knew she had him. He’d stay with her. Protect her…

  “These people are after you,” he said. “I couldn’t protect Cara. Or Carlos. I will protect you. I’ll do whatever it takes to destroy the Ivory Nation.” She didn’t recognize the hardness in Brian’s voice.

  “There might be others,” he continued. “I’m certain there are others, but these are the guys who have targeted the woman I love. These are the ones I have to bring down.”

  Desperate now, Hannah laid a hand on his chest, prepared to do whatever it took, to use whatever emotional blackmail she could find. “Brian…”

  “No, Hannah.” He sat up, his gaze resolute. “If I don’t go tomorrow, and you get hurt, I would never recover. I’d never be able to live with myself.”

  Looking into those eyes, Hannah knew she’d lost.

  The plan was to have Brown bring his daughter in before regular office hours. Brian had insisted, as had Angelo and Boyd, that the office be otherwise empty during this particular rendezvous. He wouldn’t risk innocent lives.

  If anyone got hurt, he needed it to be him alone.

  Kissing Hannah goodbye was the hardest part.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he whispered, wiping her tears as they stood by his front door. She had an hour yet before she had to leave for work and planned to go home to change and feed Taybee.

  With trembling lips she nodded, saying nothing.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Brian turned away then. If he didn’t, he might not be able to. And that would be something he’d regret for the rest of his life.

  Hannah went to work because that’s what she did. Cases were scheduled weeks in advance. People depended on her. And it wasn’t like she could call in a substitute.

  She sat on the bench. She listened. She focused.

  And she waited.

  “Hey, Brian.” With his two-month-old daughter sleeping peacefully against him, Steven Brown held out his free hand as Brian opened his office door.

  “Steven. It’s an honor to work with you.” Brian had been well coached long into Saturday night. The weight of the bulletproof vest he wore under his blue dress shirt and Piglet tie was a heavy burden—a reminder of what he was doing.

  As was the wire taped to his chest.

  Avoiding looking at the child in her father’s arms, Brian led the way to examination room four. After today he’d planned to turn it into a play area for waiting kids. Brian was never going to be able to treat a child there again.

  Steven Brown moved with purpose, his black hiking boots with their red shoelaces far different from the expensive dress shoes Brian was used to him wearing. In his supremacy garb, the man was a far cry from the professionally dressed doctor Brian knew from the clinic. He found himself staring at the shoelaces.

  Black laces were for new recruits. Red laces for having shed blood for the cause. Other brothers wore white for showing loyalty. Today Brian was taking the accelerated membership course—moving past black and white and going straight for the red.

  Because Bobby Donahue deemed it so and the brotherhood believed every word their prophet uttered.

  “So, let’s take a look at this little one.” Brian trembled inside, fighting back nausea as he took the sleeping infant from her father.

  Tiffany Ann Brown was dressed up for the occasion, in a pink, frilly dress, white tights and tiny black patent leather shoes.

  “It’s her mother’s favorite dress,” Steven said, his voice filled with emotion.

  And for the first time, Brian thought of the child’s mother. A faithful Ivory Nation wife.

  “Does she know?” He had to ask.

  “Of course. I would never do this without her.”

  Brian was going to be sick.

  “We’re very lucky,” Steven said, intent, though shaking as he straightened the child’s dress. “Our baby has been called by God. She’s going to be an angel. What parents wouldn’t want that?”

  The man’s gaze was almost pleading. And Brian faltered again.

  Not because this baby would be harmed by anything other than a brief prick of a needle. Brian had triple checked. The injection he’d prepared for her was pure saline.

  But the thought that her father believed differently, that he could stand there, handing over his still-sleeping daughter, so she could be put to death, was more than Brian could comprehend.

  What kind of faith allowed a man to be so heinous?

  Brian heard buzzing. The pretty pink dress took on shades of rose, then maroon.

  “Just as God called those other babies.” He found the words he’d been told to say at the last second. Pulling himself back. “The little boys who had to die this year.”

  Brown froze, staring. “No way, man. God didn’t call those dirty devils. Satan did. God called me to rid the world of filth.”

  Nodding, Brian said, “I knew you were a saint. Not just because Bobby told me about you in jail, but because I felt it the instant I saw you at the clinic.”

  He was going to puke. Or choke on his vomit.

  “I’ve known I was different since I was a kid,” Brown said, startled out of his reverie when Tiffany whimpered in her sleep. Picking the baby up, he crooned to her, smiling when her eyes blinked briefly open, until she settled back to sleep.

  “So tell me,” Brian said, turning to get his stethoscope ostensibly to listen for a slowing heart rate. “What did it feel like, hearing God? What did He say?”

  Tell me how you murdered six innocent baby boys, you bastard. Tell me how you broke Hannah’s heart when you killed the baby she’d waited so long for. Tell me how she’s ever going to live openly knowing that her son died because she’d brought him to the United States. Knowing that if she’d left Carlos in Mexico, he would have had a chance to grow up. To live.

  She’d talked about all of that and more during the night and though he’d assured her that none of what had happened was her fault, he’d felt completely ineffective—powerless to help her.

  He looked briefly at Brown. Tell me how I’m going to get through this without shoving a needle into your heart and watching you die a slow, painful death.

  The thought shocked Brian. Scared him.

  What was happening to him? What was he becoming?

  And then, as he
listened to Tiffany’s healthy heart and lungs, counted her strong pulse, felt tiny organs that were fleshy and perfectly proportioned, the wiretap recorded the word of God as told to Steven Brown.

  “‘Get that judge,’” Brown recited, his eyes closed while Brian examined his daughter. The infant was now awake, staring up at the lights above her. “‘She’s hurting my work with her decisions. She doesn’t understand. Get her where she’ll feel it most—and rid the world of one of Satan’s men at the same time.’”

  Opening his eyes, Brown looked at Brian. “He told me everything,” he said, his voice an awed whisper. “How to strike right after a doctor’s appointment, how to make it look like it was the vaccine, how to taint the formula. He even gave me the idea of delivering the sample in the mailbox…”

  Ah, little Tiffany, all will be well shortly. You’ll be in a loving home, with people who will cherish and protect you. The baby’s extremities moved freely, her joints limber.

  “I thought, at first, it was just the one, but then God came to me in a dream, he told me that we had a good plan, that there were more to dispose of. And a perfect fall man, if we ever got caught. The fact that you were not only the judge’s baby doctor, but had also contributed to the cause shows you how God works. He has the perfect people for every perfect plan. It’s all preordained. We simply have to be willing to listen to Him. And have the courage to live by His edicts.”

  Brian’s hand slipped. And then he asked a question of his own.

  “How’d you know which of my patients weren’t pure?” he asked, amazement in his voice. “And how’d you know when I’d see them?”

  “‘Get help in the form of a woman,’” Brown said, his voice changing again to the voice of his God. “‘The woman. Bobby’s woman. She’s desperate. She’ll do anything to save her son. Promise her safe and free transport out of this life, out of this state, in exchange for one last job.’”

  Amanda Blake?

  “My Alliance partner said she jumped at the idea,” Brown said.

  “How’d she have access to my office? To my files and appointment book?”

  “I never asked. That part was up to her. But she was well trained by God’s prophet.” Tiffany looked up at her father, blew bubbles, and Brown snuggled her to his chest. “Jesus walked on water,” Brown said over his daughter’s shoulder. “I’m sure Bobby’s chosen had special abilities. It would be nothing for her to sneak in here at night, find the information I wanted and disappear without a trace.”

  And Brian had all he needed.

  Except Brown out in the parking lot where he’d have his last taste of freedom.

  First, Brian had to administer the injection.

  “It’s time,” he said.

  Brown nodded, closed his eyes. “God in heaven, if there be any way, let this cup pass from me.”

  Holding his daughter close, the man waited. One minute. Then two. “Let Thy will be done.”

  The words were a death sentence.

  Opening his eyes, Brown didn’t bother to hide his tears. He kissed his daughter on both cheeks. “I love you so much, little one. You’ve brought more joy to my life than I ever thought possible.” He broke off on a sob. Took a deep breath. And handed the baby to Brian. “Go in peace, my sweet.”

  And then, holding her tiny fingers in his big ones, he watched as Brian injected the child.

  25

  H annah got the news during her morning recess. Her deputy, Pete Shannon, came to her chambers after he took the inmates back to the holding cell where they would wait for their bus to the downtown jail.

  “Steven Brown was arrested an hour ago,” he said, as soon as he’d closed her inner office door behind him. Law enforcement officers were a close-knit group and Pete had been briefed to the plan because he was to protect Hannah if anything went wrong.

  Hannah couldn’t stop the tears that sprang to her eyes. “Thank God. What about Dr. Hampton? And the baby?”

  “They’re both fine. The baby’s a bit bruised. I guess her father wouldn’t let go of her when they arrested him. Said he was going to breathe every breath with her until she died. That it was his right. God had given it to him and they couldn’t take it away.”

  Hannah felt faint. And wondered how Brian had survived the morning. She had to talk to him. To see him.

  And she had four more cases to hear that morning.

  “Have you heard anything else?” she asked, because she had to know all she could. If the plan was going to work on a larger scale, instead of causing mass panic among the brotherhood and inciting riots in the city, the authorities had to move quickly.

  Unless the authorities were Ivory Nation supporters.

  “There’ve been almost twenty arrests in an hour,” Pete said, sounding incredulous. “It’s a record. And from what I heard, every available deputy, and even the sheriff himself, are taking depositions from Ivory Nation members who’ve been instructed by Donahue to confess. They’ve got safe rendezvous points set up all over the city so that each brother thinks he’s the only one.”

  Pete sounded as though he wished he were out with his colleagues on the special duty rather than moving criminals around for her. She didn’t blame him.

  Donahue’s plan was working. Just as Brian had said it would.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this Donahue guy really does have power from God,” Pete continued. “Hundreds of men and women across the state have been trying for years to get these guys and he manages to do it in a day. It’s a true miracle.”

  I’ll be damned, Hannah thought. Stunned.

  Donahue’s ability to manipulate was insidious. His intelligence dangerous.

  And she wondered what he had up his sleeve.

  Hannah didn’t believe in the power of God.

  His work was almost done. In his home office, Bobby Donahue clicked out of the program he’d been working in. All his documents, a lifetime of God’s work, were in the hands of the police. All his e-mail folders, his sermons and even his private journal had been turned over to the authorities. They’d be coming for his computer soon, to dissect the hard drive.

  Maybe they’d find pictures of the women who’d comforted him over the past two years. Maybe someone would call them. Keep them company for a while.

  Closing his e-mail program, he shut down Jewel Quest and the media player—two programs that were always running. And then, leaning back in his chair, he turned off the computer, listening to the silence as the fan stopped.

  He’d thought about visiting a woman himself. One more time. But God wanted him alone. It was just between them. Man and his God. His Maker.

  God would see him home from here.

  Undoing his fly, Bobby pulled out his penis, rubbing carefully as he said goodbye to the flesh, to the needs and pleasures of a body that had served him well.

  He’d be seeing Amanda within the hour. The poor burned bastard in the hospital had told him everything. Stupid of Amanda to trust an Alliance man. She was waiting in a deserted shack out on the Indian reservation just off the Beeline Highway. An Alliance brother was supposed to be there that afternoon with safe transport, money and new identities for her and Luke. She thought they were going to New York, to get lost in the crowds and start a new life.

  Bobby rubbed harder.

  The bitch thought she was taking Bobby’s son to the seat of evil, where every other person was impure. The depot for nonwhites to invade God’s land.

  Up and down he stroked, straining his cock as far as he could.

  And he heard God’s words.

  It’s all good, son. You’re my best boy. It will happen as it’s meant to. I love you.

  “I love you,” Bobby said aloud, his hand gentling. “I love you.” He moved his hips then, in a perfect rhythm, and when the milky juices came, spilling over his fingers, he rejoiced with God.

  “Get up, you sick bastard.”

  His hand still on his cock, Bobby froze as he recognized the voice behind him. And wai
ted for the voice from within.

  “Leonard, I thought you’d left the country.”

  “You made one vital mistake, Donahue.”

  Bobby didn’t make mistakes. He acted upon the word of God. “What’s that?” he asked, standing to face the terrorist trainer he’d done business with a couple of years before. He stroked his penis one last time, a grateful goodbye, and then, wiping his hand on his shirt, buttoned and zipped his jeans.

  “You didn’t count on the power of a mother’s love for her son.”

  Leonard Diamond was no fool. If anyone knew as much as Bobby about taking lives—and about self-defense—it was Leonard. But Bobby had divine protection and that won out every time.

  “Amanda called you.” He should have thought of that.

  “She wants you gone,” Leonard said, coming closer, his hands in the pockets of his nylon running pants. “Across the country isn’t far enough away. She knows you’ll find her. She’ll never have peace.”

  Hearing the words, Bobby grew calm again. Perhaps this was God’s way. Perhaps Diamond would be the one to take him home to his maker.

  But not yet. Not without Luke. He had God’s word on that.

  “I’m surprised you let a twit like her interrupt your work.” Diamond trained killers, excelling in survival technique, physical fitness and assassination.

  “You underestimate me. All she did was prompt a few phone calls. You’ve turned on the brotherhood, Bobby.”

  Leonard came even closer and the voice in Bobby’s head started to speak.

  “I knew you’d squeal on our arrangement eventually,” Diamond said, and Bobby leapt at him, shoving both palms up to Diamond’s nose, pushing the bones back into his brain.

  When Diamond fell, his shock still visible on his face, Bobby rid him of his various weapons, knowing exactly where to look for them, and, then rid him of his life. With one last look around the home that had served his earthly existence well, Bobby Donahue went to claim his son.

  And meet his maker.

  Shaking and slightly nauseous, Brian trailed down the hallway behind Boyd and Angelo, making his way to the private office in the back of the downtown Phoenix precinct. They were his personal bodyguards until this was all over.