Broken Angels

by Anne Hope

  He knew he couldn’t very well leave him out there for long. It was bound to start raining at any minute. Still, he reveled in the temporary silence that settled over the house. Even the illusion of peace was better than none at all.

  Rubbing the slumber from his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, hoping to wash the dryness from his mouth. That was when he saw Becca standing in a puddle of moonlight, clutching the phone.

  “Who are you calling at this hour?”

  She started, dropped the phone and spun around to face him. A mouthful of air whooshed out of her upon seeing him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared me half to death.” She shot a curious look at the door. “What happened to Bolt?”

  “I put him outside. He was going to wake the kids with all that caterwauling.”

  She bent over and retrieved the phone, giving him a nice view of her backside. The desire that had battered him for hours before he’d finally drifted off to sleep returned full-force to clobber him.

  “I think there’s an intruder in the house. I’m trying to call nine-one-one, but all I’m getting is static.”

  “Let’s not be hasty. Let me check it out—”

  Her hand clamped over his arm. “Don’t.”

  She’d forgotten to put on her robe. The thin cotton tank top she wore clung to her breasts, outlining every delicious curve, straining over her nipples. Heat lanced through him.

  He pried his gaze away before he was tempted to reach out and touch. “I’m sure everything’s in order. The dog probably freaked because of the storm.”

  “What if you’re wrong? There’s no reason to chance it.” She tapped the numeric keypad, then grunted in frustration. “Why is this phone not working?”

  “It’s the weather. Ever since the bastard cut the line, it hasn’t worked right. When humidity gets in, it goes down. I haven’t gotten around to calling the phone company so they can service it again.”

  “Give me your cell phone. I still haven’t charged mine.”

  “It’s in the office—”

  “Forget it. He’s in there.”

  “Who’s in there?”

  “The burglar.”

  Zach rolled his eyes. “Did you have one of your vivid dreams again?”

  She punched him on the arm, hard. “This is no time to kid around. What if Lindsay and Liam’s killer came back?”

  Her words shocked the humor right out of him. “What kind of moron breaks into the same house twice?”

  “This one, apparently.” Dismay raced across her face. “Oh, no. The kids are alone upstairs. I have to go check on them.” She flung open a drawer and withdrew a scary-looking knife that made the hairs on the nape of Zach’s neck bristle.

  Paranoia was obviously contagious. A million-and-one chilling scenarios raced across his mind. He was a damn idiot not to have had that alarm system installed. He’d gotten quotes weeks ago, but with the funeral to plan and the children to look after, he hadn’t gotten around to scheduling anything. “We’ll check on them together,” he said.

  Becca led the way, her arm stretched out in front of her, the long blade slicing the air as she advanced. They made their way to all three bedrooms and ensured that all three children lay safe and snug in their beds.

  “See, everything’s fine,” he told her. “There’s no one in the house apart from us.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure—her or himself.

  She didn’t look convinced. A frown creased her forehead. “There’s one room we still haven’t checked.” Her freckled nose puckered with distaste. “The office.”

  “I’ll do it. You stay up here and keep an eye on the kids.”

  She bit her lower lip in alarm. “Wait. Take the knife.”

  “You need it more than I do.”

  “But what if he’s armed?”

  “Then I’ll just have to disarm him.”

  A dubious expression drenched her features. “With what?”

  “With these.” He showed her his hands. “They may look harmless, but don’t let that fool you. These babies are lethal weapons.”

  She snorted a laugh. “You’re a runner, not a kung fu master.”

  If he weren’t so tired, he would have been offended by her obvious lack of faith in his strength and virility. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. If push comes to shove, I can always outrun him.”

  Raymond lovingly ran his palm over the computer monitor. The dog had stopped barking, and he briefly allowed himself to hope that the threat of discovery had passed. He attached his zip drive to the USB port and punched in a few keys. Within minutes he would have a copy of Liam Birch’s entire hard drive. That way his boss would know for sure that Raymond had found Birch’s backup, if indeed one existed. His boss had asked him to wipe the drive clean, but he had a better idea. He’d simulate a system crash instead. The next time someone tried to access the computer, all they’d get would be a blank screen.

  With any luck, he’d be out of here soon, away from the blood-tainted room and the sickening memories it triggered. His skin prickled at the thought. He couldn’t wait to get home and shower. Once he scrubbed the pervasive stench away, he’d change into his silk pajamas and sleep, smelling of citrus and sandalwood.

  The tempting thought scratched at his patience. His glance darted to the screen. Only twenty-five percent of the files had been downloaded. Footsteps echoed outside, accompanied by the hushed drone of conversation. Anticipation tangled with frustration to irritate his ulcer. If the machine didn’t speed up, he’d surely be discovered. Then he’d have to shoot his way out, which did little to comfort him.

  At least the dog was gone. He didn’t know if he was fast enough to shoot a dog. A German Shepherd had jumped him once, and he still had the scars to prove it.

  Thirty percent and climbing.

  “Come on,” he muttered under his breath. “Speed up, you worthless piece of junk.”

  Outside, rain began to fall, a slow drizzle that pitter-pattered on the glass. Soon water would bullet toward the earth with the force of a machine gun. He’d most likely get soaked walking the two blocks to his car. He didn’t mind getting wet. What he minded was getting dirty. Rain was polluted, riddled with germs and chemicals and all kinds of unthinkable things.

  Forty percent.

  At this rate he’d be here all night.

  The storm roared. Lightning flashed beyond the glass. Somewhere in the distance the dog barked. Raymond fisted his hands against his thighs, swallowed his impatience and waited.

  As if reacting to a sudden electrical surge, the computer sped up.

  Just as he was about to rejoice, the whisper of footsteps resonated beyond the door. Raymond’s fingers unclenched and swiftly rose to settle on the butt of his SIG.

  Chapter Eleven

  Silence stretched, thick and palpable, and that only made the thunder louder when it boomed. The walls themselves seemed to shake, as if a giant hand fought to pry the house from the ground. Zach grabbed a baseball bat from the hall closet and approached the office door. He knew a bat was no match for a semi-automatic, but he figured he had the element of surprise on his side. Plus, he had a pretty good arm. If he managed to swing before the son of a bitch pulled the trigger, he actually stood a chance.

  He put his head to the door, listened for the telltale signs of an intruder. Then, raising the bat, he pushed the door open and lunged into the room, ready to strike.

  Inky darkness greeted him. He could’ve sworn he’d left the computer on, but the monitor sat on the desk blacker than death. Maybe they’d experienced a brief power outage while they’d slept.

  He turned on the lights, inched farther into the room. Everything seemed in order. No drawers had been opened, no furniture overturned or papers scattered. He searched every corner of the den to find it deserted.

  The tension drained from his limbs. He’d been right all along. No one had slunk into the house in the middle of the night. The
dog had simply reacted to the thunderstorm.

  Rain tap-danced on the window sill. The damp scent of humidity tickled his nose, just as a draft planted an icy kiss on the nape of his neck. Zach turned to find the window wide open. He rushed to close it, unable to recall if he’d shut it before going to bed. He couldn’t imagine leaving it open with a storm brewing. Then again, a lot of things seemed to be slipping his mind lately.

  He left the office, reassured yet slightly uneasy, and hastened to the back door to let the dog in. As soon as Bolt entered the house, he sprinted to the office and sniffed at the floor. How the animal managed to smell anything past the odor of dog and rain that clung to his shiny wet coat was a mystery.

  “Come on, furball.” The puppy whined as Zach hooked an arm under his belly and lifted him off his feet. “Time for bed.”

  He placed the dog in the basket Becca had fashioned for him, then closed the door to the basement so he couldn’t escape. Next, he checked the rest of the house, made sure all the locks were engaged and the windows shut. When he was convinced he’d taken care of everything, he rubbed the strain from his neck and trudged upstairs, happy another crisis had been averted.

  Two blocks away, Raymond York made a phone call. “I’ve got it.” Water pelted on his windshield, reminding him he was soaked, covered in germs. The same germs now rolled off him to contaminate his car. He’d have to have the interior shampooed again.

  “Good.” His employer’s relief resonated in Raymond’s ear. “Did you wipe the hard drive clean?”

  “Better. I crashed the system.”

  An unsettling pause followed. “That’s not what I asked you to do.” The reproach in his boss’s voice was unmistakable.

  Raymond’s hackles rose. “If I’d erased all the files, they would have gotten suspicious. This way is better. There’s a thunderstorm tonight. They’ll just blame the crash on a power surge.”

  His boss didn’t respond, but Raymond felt the other man’s frustration rippling through the line as surely as the white flashes slicing the sky. “Bring me the files.”

  That was the last thing he said before the phone went dead.

  “So,” Becca asked the moment Zach made his way upstairs, “was someone there?”

  “Nope. Just an open window and some rain.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

  Weariness slowly seeped in to replace adrenaline. “I went through the whole place with a fine-toothed comb. Trust me, everything’s fine.” The open window still nagged at him, but he decided to attribute his restlessness to paranoia and a bad case of fatigue and leave it at that.

  “Did you let Bolt in?”

  “I locked him in the basement. Where he’ll spend the rest of the night,” he added in the event she entertained the notion of springing him. “The last thing we need is for his super bark to wake the kids. I’m surprised they slept through all this racket.”

  Becca nodded her acquiescence. “What now?”

  “Now we go to bed.”

  Heat flickered in her eyes, and his gaze couldn’t help but wander downward. He took in the sight of her full breasts—barely concealed by that tiny top—her flat belly, the gentle flare of her hips, and an altogether different kind of tension crawled through his veins. He hadn’t meant to suggest they go to bed together, but the implication was there, hovering like a tangible mist between them.

  She cleared her throat, took a step away from him. “I’ll just head back to my room then.” Was that a note of hesitation in her voice?

  “See you in the morning,” he replied before he was tempted to join her.

  “Sure. In the morning.” With a quirk of the lips, which he interpreted as an attempt at a smile, she inched toward her bedroom.

  When the door closed behind her, his shoulders slumped in relief. Things were getting way too complicated for his liking.

  As exhaustion and desire dueled inside him, he sought the safe comfort of his own room. He’d barely managed to stretch out on the twin mattress and close his eyes when the door opened and Becca sailed in.

  “Zach,” she intoned so softly he barely heard her. “Are you awake?”

  “That seems to be a permanent state with me.”

  The mattress sagged as she sat beside him. A long, unsettling pause followed. He was aware of each inhalation she drew, the whisper of her pajama bottoms as they brushed his sheets. Her familiar fragrance wafted toward him, soothed and enfolded him like a long-lost friend. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” she finally confessed.

  All the feelings he’d crammed into a ball and buried deep within him unraveled all at once. It had been so long since someone had worried about him, since someone had sat at his bedside and whispered softly to him. His resolve ruptured from the weight of his loneliness, until only need and tenderness remained.

  “Ah, Becca…” He reached up and cupped her cheek, let his fingers venture into the sinful web of hair on her head to settle at the base of her skull. Then he drew her to him.

  Their lips met in a furious explosion of fire and need. She tasted the same—sweet and seductive, moist and inviting. Kissing her was like coming home. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth, her tongue, the feel of those fire-kissed curls caressing his arm. He was lost, adrift in an ocean where desire ruled, where thought ceased to be and only sensation mattered.

  The past blurred. Nothing existed but this moment. He trailed his fingers down her throat, slid them over her shoulder. His blood pounded to the rhythm of his heart, fast and furious. The hunger to savor and possess, to cherish and devour assailed him. He hooked his thumb beneath the strap of her tank top and yanked it down, exposing a perfect white breast.

  She sucked in a breath, broke the kiss. “Zach, what are we doing?” Her voice was throaty, short and winded.

  “I don’t know.” He ran his mouth over her cheek, kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear, traced the curve of her neck with his lips. “All I know is that I don’t want to stop.”

  She sighed and went liquid against him. Heat thrummed between them—a living, breathing thing that screamed to be acknowledged. A groan vibrated deep in his throat, and he palmed her breast, loving the weight of it, the warmth of it as it filled his hand. He wanted to draw her nipple into his mouth, to bury himself in her hot, tight folds and drown in her softness. He wanted it so bad every inch of him ached.

  In one smooth sweep he spun her on the bed beneath him. She was warm and supple and willing. Fervency shone in her eyes as she raised her chin to kiss him. He trapped her lower lip between his teeth, nipped and tugged at it lightly. She made a sound that was thin and eager and entirely feminine, then arched her hips against his, only stoking the flames consuming him.

  “Lord, I’ve missed you,” he mumbled against her mouth. Desperate to feel flesh on flesh, heat on heat, he reached down, began to peel off her pajama bottoms…

  Then a shrill wail rang out and snapped them out of their daze.

  Will was awake.

  A string of choice curses zipped through Zach’s brain, but he refrained from voicing them. With a pained grunt, he eased himself off the bed, took a minute or two to quiet the roar of his pulse, then turned his back to the bewitching woman wrapped in his sheets. He needed to get a hold of himself, and gazing down at her swollen lips and exposed breasts wasn’t the way to do it. A cold shower would do the trick, but he doubted Will would be that patient.

  When his blood cooled, settling from scorching hot to a slow simmer, he made his way to the crib and lifted the crying toddler.

  The baby kicked and punched at him, nearly choking on his sobs. “Mama, Mama, Mama…”

  This was nothing new. Will often awoke in a state of panic, calling for his mother. Sometimes it took nearly an hour to soothe him and get him back to sleep. Zach tamped down his exhaustion and prepared for another sleepless night.

  Becca, who’d straightened her clothing and crawled out of bed, came to stand beside him. She watched Will with unmasked dis
tress. “Why is he so upset? Is he sick?”

  “Yeah.” Zach cradled Will, even as the baby fought to break free. “Heartsick.” He held him close to his chest and comforted him as best he could, knowing full well it wasn’t his comfort the toddler craved.

  She said nothing, but he felt her anguish, saw it in the way she raised her fingers to her lips and in the soft shimmer that came into her eyes. “Can I hold him?”

  Her words nearly knocked him off his feet. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded meekly. “I want to try.”

  Reluctantly, he passed her the child. She held him awkwardly at first, as if she didn’t quite know what to do with him. Will struggled against her, shoved her away with his small fists, used his feet to climb up her ribs and push with all his might. Still, she held on, gently stroking his back. She walked to the rocking chair, which squatted at the far corner of the room, and sank into it with the baby safely tucked in her arms. Then she began to rock him, humming softly. Peace descended upon the house, silent and glorious. Will relaxed and closed his eyes, but even after he fell asleep, Becca continued to hold him next to her heart.

  From across the room Zach watched her. He noted how naturally the child fit in the crook of her elbow, how his head nested against her shoulder and his legs curled over hers. They looked like one being, fused by tenderness, two pieces of a puzzle merging to find completion.

  And for the first time, he understood.

  He understood her pain, her longing, her emptiness, the senseless despair that had gripped her, and something inside him died a small death. Never before had he wished so ardently that he could give her everything she wanted, everything she needed to be whole. All he’d ever given her were false reassurances and a truckload of grief.

  Crushed by the weight of his regret, he ate up the distance between them and fell to his knees beside her. Her eyelids were closed, but he knew she was awake because fresh tears glistened on her cheeks. Words rarely evaded him as they did now. Maybe there weren’t any words to express how he felt. Instead, he simply rested his head in her lap.