At Close Range. Tara Quinn Taylor
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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 Withdrawn into herself.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 judge 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