At Close Range. Tara Quinn Taylor
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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.”
“With him being well, didn’t that give you hope?”
“Sure it did.”
“That must’ve made it even harder when he got worse.”
She couldn’t believe they were talking about this. Jason was a topic held very close to her heart, taken out only when she was alone. And yet, tonight, with Brian, sharing him felt right.
“Is it ever easy?” she asked. The question wasn’t rhetorical and they both knew it.
“No, of course not.”
“So which is better? To know beforehand, to be able to prepare, but to spend those last days in mourning? Or is it better to have your loved one there, perfectly normal and happy, enjoying what you think is a long life together, and then be left in shock when he’s snatched away with no time to say goodbye?”
Brian shrugged. “They both suck.”
It was her word. Her one leftover from the hardened teenager she’d left behind. She’d never heard him use it before.
“Yeah, but look at it this way, Brian. Most people are looking for that one great love, wishing for it, missing it if they’ve settled for less. Some of them will never know what it’s like to find your soul mate. We had that. We know.”
He studied her for several seconds, lips tight as emotion shone from his eyes. “You’re right.”
“I’d choose those three years with Jason over a lifetime of settling.”
He nodded. “Me, too.”
As a boy, Bobby Donahue had had trouble sleeping. Getting under his bed quickly enough to avoid a drunken attack from his father was impossible when he was unconscious.
Since taking control of his life, however, and later, control of the lives around him, the only nights he’d been up late involved a woman.
Usually the same woman.
Tonight was no different. The hours between Friday night and Saturday morning, he spent alone in the Flagstaff home he’d once shared with the two people he’d loved above all else. His wife and son.
He sat, dressed in nothing but his skin, and searched for his woman—Amanda Blake.
Stripped down he was completely raw, the man his Father in Heaven had crafted him to be.
Nudity kept him grounded when life was throwing him more challenges than he’d bargained for.
He was prepared for the hard work. Could handle anything he was given. He didn’t doubt that. Not for a second.
He’d just found some things easier to conquer than others.
The trial had not gone well that day, but he had things in hand. One way or another, Kenny Hill, a zealous young man Bobby dearly loved, would be alive to continue his good works.
But Kenny wasn’t the reason Bobby was up. Living without his son, knowing that a year had passed in Luke’s life, a formative year, was slowly eroding Bobby’s peace of mind.
He’d never loved anyone like he’d loved his son. Never.
Not even Amanda, the boy’s mother. Luke’s kidnapper.
The Internet was a wonderful tool. And his ability to hack into more sites than God didn’t hurt—not that anyone else knew about that ability.
He stared at the screen.
“Father, I give it all to You,” he said aloud. “Thy will be done. If Thou would have me search until my eyes go blind, I will do so.” There was a clue here somewhere. He was certain of it. A newspaper article, a picture, a mention of a homeless woman’s arrest, or better yet, some illegal activity for which he knew Amanda was well trained. Like breaking and entering.
With a twist.
Amanda would only go to homes that were empty. She’d pick the lock. She’d take food, clothes and any cash she found. Nothing else.
Amanda was a class act.
And she’d only rob others if she was desperate.
Which she’d have to be, on the run, not only from the law, but from their church—the Ivory Nation.
No one escaped the brotherhood forever. Amanda had already set a record for length of time on the loose avoiding Ivory Nation capture.
With Bobby’s son.
While he knew God would have him find the woman, bring her to penitence, Bobby also admired her. The only woman he’d ever loved. Amanda was good. The best. Which was why God had given her to him in the first place.
They’d had a great work to do together. Had done it well. And if she’d remained faithful, they would’ve done so much more.
Bobby reached for the hand gripper he kept close by and started to squeeze. When that didn’t ease his tension he scrolled faster through the Web sites, reviewing incident after incident, detail after detail, looking for the telltale signs in police logs across the country.
And without his permission, visions of Amanda ran through his mind. Visions of her when she’d been a zealous follower of the Ivory Nation, proselyting on campus, while the brothers went about the seamier business of cleaning up God’s world for His people.
He’d loved her.
And she’d loved him, too. For the first time ever, he’d known what love felt like. Known what it meant to have it in his home.
In those first couple of years they’d never gone more than a night or two without making love. He, who’d had all the sex there was to have, wanted only one woman. He couldn’t get enough of her. No matter how often Amanda spread her legs, no matter how long they were together, he always felt blessed by her beauty.
She’d been so much more than sex. She’d been his companion. A believer in his cause. A missionary.
She’d been a true daughter of God.
Bobby had seen the Lord’s work in Amanda’s ability to reach people,