Praise for the suspense novels of
TARA TAYLOR QUINN
“Combining her usual superb sense of characterization with a realistically gritty plot, Quinn has created an exceptionally powerful book.”
—Booklist on Behind Closed Doors
“I was riveted from the first page to the last. Behind Closed Doors is a thoroughly enjoyable read.”
—All About Romance
“I could not put the book down; it is a character-driven, riveting story from beginning to end. Leave the lights on; Behind Closed Doors will scare you silly. I stayed up late into the night to finish, turning the pages at a rapid pace.”
—Romance Junkies
“With In Plain Sight, Tara Taylor Quinn delivers a riveting, suspenseful story…crackles with action.”
—Bookreporter.com
“Character-driven suspense at its best with rapid-fire pacing that makes you feel as if the pages are turning themselves.”
—Hallie Ephron, author of Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel, on In Plain Sight
“This character-driven thriller will hook the audience from the onset until the final new beginning.”
—Harriet Klausner on Behind Closed Doors
“Behind Closed Doors is a powerful, riveting read that’s impossible to put down. Tara Taylor Quinn writes a believable story.”
—Bookloons
“Behind Closed Doors is a thrilling suspense.”
—Authors After Dark
“One of the skills that has served Quinn best is her ability to explore edgier subjects.”
—Publishers Weekly
Dear Reader,
We’re in Phoenix, Arizona. Young men are being brutalized. A judge is receiving death threats. And a woman and her young son are missing. Several baby boys have died, apparently of SIDS—but some people are beginning to wonder if that’s really the cause and they point to a pediatrician as the prime suspect. A larger-than-life scenario? Sure.
But come a little closer. At close range, things can look very different.
You trust the folks you’ve known and associated with for twenty years. You trust your most valued employee, your right-hand man. They’ve always been there for you. Or have they?
At close range, religion isn’t always spiritual. Cops aren’t always good.
And at close range, the person in the bed next to you might not love you at all.
What people say isn’t always the truth—when you get close enough.
And up close, what you see is only one perspective.
At close range, you’re mostly alone. Nothing is clear. And fear awaits.
Come a little closer….
I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me at www.tarataylor.com or P.O. Box 13584, Mesa, AZ 85216. Let me know what you think—and how you feel—about this book.
Tara Taylor Quinn
At Close Range
Tara Taylor Quinn
To Mindy Barney, whose intelligence, dedication and
heart bring promise to a world that needs them, help to children who might otherwise be lost and cohesion to a family that loves you very much.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
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.”