At Close Range

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Epilogue

1

Members of the Phoenix press filled her courtroom. Tension filled her gut. Maricopa County Superior Court Judge Hannah Montgomery leaned forward.

“We are back on the record with case number CR2008-000351. Would those present please identify themselves?”

Hannah heard the attorneys state their names for the record. She knew both lawyers well. Had been listening to them drone on for six days now in this trial that seemed as though it would never end.

But she wasn’t looking at them.

Her eyes locked on the dark-suited man who’d just slipped quietly into the back of the room. There wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about him. He was twenty-nine years old. Average height. Average weight. His straight brown hair was thick and short. Wholesome. Businesslike.

Hannah couldn’t seem to pull her focus away from him. Because she’d been dreading this moment for the entire nine months she’d been administering this hideous case? If so, the nondescript man would have been a disappointment.

Surely an icon, a godlike figure to his followers, should stand out more.

He met her gaze and nodded, his expression properly respectful. Taking a seat in the second row, arms at his sides, he glanced around with an air more curious—more childlike—than controlling.

Jaime, Hannah’s bailiff, cleared her throat, catching Hannah’s attention.

Robert Keith, attorney for the defense, had reintroduced the young man at his side, Kenny Hill. Mr. Hill, wearing a navy suit today, made eye contact with the jury.

Just as he did every time he was introduced.

The eighteen-year-old had more bravado than years and sense combined. As had his Ivory Nation compatriot who’d sat in that very seat twelve months earlier, in a trial almost as long as this one. That kid, another young “brother” in Arizona’s most influential white supremacist organization, had cried in the end, though, when Hannah had sentenced him to twenty years for breaking and entering, kidnapping and weapons theft.

Her judgment had been overturned on appeal while Hannah was taking family leave, mourning for the adopted son she’d lost to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. A mistrial had been declared and that young man was free.

Sweating beneath the black folds of her robe, Hannah glanced at Keith. “You may call your next witness.”

“The defense calls Bobby Donahue, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Donahue.” She forced herself to look at him again. And to look away. “Please step forward and be sworn in.” She indicated Jaime, who’d risen from her seat to Hannah’s left.

“Please raise your right hand and state your name.” Jaime’s voice didn’t falter, and Hannah made a mental note to congratulate her youngest employee. Jaime had been nervous at the prospect of facing this dangerous leader.

“Bobby Donahue.”

Bobby. Not Robert. Not Robert G. Just Bobby.

Bobby, who couldn’t appear that morning, in spite of the subpoena, due to a Wednesday church service he’d officiated without absence for more than five years. Bobby, who’d offered to appear in her court at 1:30 that afternoon instead.

In the interests of justice and saving the state the money it would cost to enforce the original subpoena, Hannah had approved the request.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth…”

Jaime’s voice faded as Hannah watched the witness, getting too clear a glimpse of the man’s eyes. Ghost. God. Infallible. Unstoppable. All words she’d heard applied to Bobby Donahue over the years.

“I do.” Donahue regarded Jaime with apparent respect.

He’s vindictive. That was the warning Hannah and her staff had been given by other court employees, the press, even the honorable William Horne, Hannah’s social companion and fellow judge who’d officiated far more Ivory Nation trials than Hannah.

While he had yet to get caught at any offense, Bobby Donahue never allowed a wrong to go unpunished, a disloyalty to go unavenged.

Or so they said.

And Hannah, having fought her way off the streets and into college, didn’t compromise the law for anyone.

Dr. Brian Hampton was not in the mood to cooperate. Especially with a reporter. And dammit, why wasn’t Hannah answering her phone? She’d said she was staying in her chambers for lunch, preparing for the afternoon session of a trial that was taking far too much out of her.

That last was his assessment. Not hers.