At Close Range

As she drew closer, her pulse quickened yet again. The blob didn’t look like packaging. It looked…furry. Like an animal.

The exact size of Callie Bodacious.

Hannah’s beloved eleven-year-old cat. The direct offspring of a gift from Jason, the man she’d married—the man who, at seventeen, had been diagnosed with leukemia and, at twenty-three, had died in the bed she’d shared with him.

“No!” Throwing the car in Park in the middle of her quiet street, Hannah got out, the door of the Lexus wide-open behind her as she sped to the shape in the road.

Callie wasn’t a purebred. Wasn’t worth much in a monetary sense. She was basically an alley cat. One who wasn’t particularly fond of people—other than Hannah.

And she was all the family Hannah had left.

Dropping down on her knees, reaching out to the animal, Hannah blinked back tears so she could see clearly. The black between the eyes told her it was definitely Callie.

And she was still breathing. Sobbing now, Hannah glanced up, around, looking for help. And then grabbed the cell phone out of the case hooked to her waistband.

Addled, frustrated that there was no ambulance she could call for cats, no feline 911, scared out of her wits, she hit the first number programmed into her speed dial.

He answered. Thank God.

“Brian? Where are you?”

“On my way home. What’s wrong?”

“It’s Callie! She’s hurt. Oh, God, Brian, what am I going to do? She needs help and I’m afraid to move her. Her head’s at a bad angle.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Hannah wailed, growing more panicked with every second that passed. “She’s in the road so she must have been hit by a car, but I don’t see a lot of blood.”

Brian asked her to check a couple of things, including lifting the cat’s eyelids. And then he told her to sit tight and wait for him.

Brian wished he could say he’d never seen Hannah Montgomery in such a state. Wished it so hard the tension made his head throb. Watching his good friend grieve was not a new thing to him.

And not a distant memory either. It had been less than a year since he’d sat on this very same sofa, in this very same house, sick at heart, holding this vibrant, beautiful, intelligent woman while she sobbed uncontrollably.

Less than a year since another little body was carried out of this home.

“I…I…she…I…she must’ve slipped out this morning. And…”

She couldn’t finish as another bout of sobs overcame her, the sound harsh, discordant in the peaceful room.

“I was just…so…pre…pre…preoccupied….”

He held her, 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.