Broken Angels

by Anne Hope

  “You can swim?” Noah’s surprise was unmistakable.

  Zach looked offended. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”

  Rebecca couldn’t help but smile, despite the worrisome thoughts that nagged at her.

  Together they dragged the boat into the sea and climbed in. Seconds later, they drifted onto the vast ocean and floated toward home beneath an unpredictable sky, warmed by the intermittent rays of a fickle sun.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Noah saw the bastard?” Pat’s back went ramrod straight. Blatant interest twisted his features. “Are you shitting me?”

  Zach had pulled Liam’s old buddy aside while the kids were swimming and the women busy supervising them. “He told us a couple of days ago. This is good, right? We can nail the son of a bitch now.”

  Pat looked skeptical. “It’s a break, no question about that. But kids aren’t always the most reliable witnesses.”

  Zach’s fists tightened, but he fought to keep his frustration under control. “It’s more than we had a week ago. He saw the guy’s face. What more do you want?”

  “A goddamn picture would be nice.”

  “Then set up a session with a sketch artist. See if Noah can flesh this guy out for us.”

  Pat shook his head. “In my experience, when a child witness is involved, a sketch is pretty useless.”

  Zach didn’t get it. A few days ago the guy had been all gung-ho about catching Liam and Lindsay’s killer, and now he was stonewalling him. “Still worth a shot,” he persisted.

  A beat of silence followed. “Sure. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe book something next week in Boston. I’m just telling you not to get your hopes up.”

  Noah raced out of the harbor, shot a questioning look their way. Zach couldn’t help but sense the kid knew what he and Pat were discussing. Then Becca ran up to him and lovingly swathed him in a towel. This time, the boy didn’t push her away.

  Progress, Zach thought.

  Ever since that day at the Seashore, they seemed to have made some kind of breakthrough. They’d gone from butting heads to actually acting like a family. A family he needed to protect, even if that meant forcing Noah to look fear in the eyes and beat it into submission. Truth was, the kid wouldn’t find peace until the monster who shattered his world was caught. And Zach had every intention of ensuring that happened.

  “Do you mind if I question him?” Pat asked. “Find out exactly how much he knows?”

  Zach’s gaze found and held Noah’s, who still watched him curiously. “Be my guest. Not sure how open he’ll be to the idea, though. He’s convinced himself that he’s to blame for his parents’ death, that he could’ve saved them. It’s embarrassing for him to admit he saw the killer and did nothing.”

  “What could he have done? He’s just a kid.”

  “That’s what I told him. But I get how he feels. I’d probably feel the same way in his shoes. It’s hard to see someone you love hurting and not be able to do a fucking thing to stop it.” He understood that kind of helplessness, the toll it takes on you. He’d experienced its crippling effect with his mother, with Becca, and now with these kids. But there came a time when a guy had to take back some of the control life stripped away from him. This was Noah’s chance to do just that.

  “I’ll talk to him,” he told Pat. “See if I can convince him to speak to you.”

  Pat nodded. “There’s no point booking a sketch artist if Noah doesn’t want to describe this guy.”

  “He will.” Zach’s tone was firm, resolute. “He has to. It’s the only way for him to move on.”

  “I won’t do it.” Noah turned to face Zach, his body wired. “You can’t make me!” He looked like a coiled snake, wrapped tight, ready to spring.

  Zach took a step forward. Drizzle hung around them, a wet mist that refused to dissipate. Kristen was already in bed, wiped out from another full day of swimming. Becca was in the living room, attempting to soothe an inconsolable Will.

  Fed up with his brother’s caterwauling, Noah had slunk out onto the back porch, where Zach had followed him and broached the subject of Pat.

  “He’s the assistant DA,” he told his nephew. “He can help nail this son of a—” He caught himself, bit back his anger.

  “You can say it. I’m not a kid anymore. Son of a bitch is too nice for him anyway. How about shitfaced asshole?”

  It was his own fault, really. How could he expect his nephew to watch his mouth when he could barely watch his? “Insults aside, Pat can work with the police to catch this guy. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “I’d rather shoot him dead, the way he shot my parents.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yeah, I do. It’s what he deserves.” The conviction on his nephew’s face chilled him.

  “Maybe so, but it’s not your job to do it. But you can help the police do theirs.” Suddenly weary, he lowered his body onto one of the matching wicker chairs until his eyes were level with Noah’s. “Talk to Pat.”

  “He’ll think I’m a wuss. He’ll tell Jason.”

  “No he won’t. Whatever you say to him will be confidential.”

  A snort punctured the night. “Yeah, right.”

  “This is your chance, Noah. Your chance to help your parents.” He knew it was low to play on his nephew’s guilt, but it was the only way to get through to him. The boy wouldn’t heal until he felt vindicated. If Noah helped nail this bastard, he’d reclaim the self-esteem he’d lost on that godforsaken night when—how had he put it?—the shitfaced asshole had crushed his sense of security to bits.

  Noah hunched his shoulders, blinked to hold the tears at bay. “Won’t bring them back.”

  “No. But it might help you let go.”

  “I don’t want to let go.” Bravado melted away. Only naked honesty remained.

  “You don’t have to let go of the good stuff, just the pain.”

  “The pain helps me remember.”

  Zach reached out, squeezed the boy’s shoulder in a gesture of understanding and affection. “I’ll make you a promise right here and now. As long as I’m alive, you’ll never forget your parents. I’ll make sure of it.”

  Noah nodded. Dampness pooled in his eyes, glinted silver in the moonlight. Then he did something that shocked the air from Zach’s lungs and made his heart grow so damn tight it hurt. He hugged him.

  Noah huddled in a chair in Jason’s kitchen, repetitively tapping a spoon on the smooth wooden surface of the small table. Not oak, he noted, something else. His other hand played with the silver ring hanging from his neck. Across from him, Jason’s dad waited for him to stop stalling.

  “Noah, I know this is hard.” Mr. Jenkins covered his hand with his, took the spoon away. “But I need you to tell me exactly what you saw.”

  He shifted in his chair, then raised his shoulder. “I saw a guy open the front door and walk in.”

  “Did you hear anything prior to that? Him picking the lock, maybe?”

  “Just a click, like he had a key or something. Then he was inside.”

  “Were the lights on?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did you see his face?”

  “The blinds were open. Streetlamps were on outside.”

  “Did he see you?”

  Noah shook his head. “I was in the shadows.” The butterflies in his chest linked their wings, closed around his heart until it had trouble beating. “I saw the gun and hid behind the stairs.”

  “Can you describe the gun for me?”

  He fought not to fidget. “Aren’t cops supposed to figure this stuff out from the bullets or something?”

  Mr. Jenkins’ lips shook a little at the corners. “Just trying to see how much you remember.”

  “So this is some kind of test.”

  “Does that bother you?” Mr. Jenkins’ eyes cut into him like lasers.

  “No. I’m good at tests.” The hand that no longer held the spoon curled into a fist. “It looked like
a gun. Dark gray, maybe black, I don’t know.”

  “Was it big or small?”

  “Small with a long barrel. The barrel looked different from the rest of it, had these squares on it. I remember ’cause it made me think of Checkers.”

  Mr. Jenkins scribbled something in the notepad he held. From across the table, Noah caught a glimpse of what he’d written: Norrell silencer. Didn’t mean anything to him, but Jason’s dad looked interested…and confused. “You were able to see that much detail hiding behind the stairs with only the streetlights on?”

  Noah shrugged. “Guess I got really good eyes.” Truth was, he’d followed the guy to his dad’s office, watched him press that checkered barrel to his mom’s head.

  “Did the gun make noise when it went off?”

  The butterflies grew fangs. “Just a popping sound.” Then blood staining his mom’s shirt. Rivers of it streaming from his dad’s chest, his dad’s mouth…

  Noah’s hand closed around the ring, nearly ripped it off the chain.

  “Can you describe the shooter for me?”

  He surprised himself by finding his voice. “Tall, round around the edges. Looked a bit like a turtle.”

  “A turtle?”

  “Yeah. Eyes far apart, big nose, not much hair.”

  “Did you notice anything specific, like a tattoo—”

  Something sparked in his memory. Something he’d forgotten. “He had a birthmark on the back of his neck. Dark red, like a burn.”

  Mr. Jenkins’ expression changed, grew pinched and serious, and Noah realized he’d said something important. “Did you get a good look at it?”

  “Yeah. It was shaped like a heart. I remember thinking it was weird for a guy with a gun to have a heart on his neck. Maybe a skull, but not a heart.”

  “What happened when he went into the den?”

  “What do you think?” He shot my parents, genius. Shot them dead while I hid like a total coward. The words whirled inside his head, took tiny nips out of him.

  “Did you see or hear anything?”

  The fridge stopped buzzing. Somewhere in the distance a faucet dripped. “I don’t know. I think my dad gave him something.”

  “What did he give him?”

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t want to answer any more questions, didn’t want to remember. But Mr. Jenkins wouldn’t let him be. He kept pushing and pushing.

  “Did they speak at all?”

  “I told you I don’t know.” The shadows were closing in on him, suffocating him. “Can we please stop now?”

  “Tell me what you heard, Noah, and this will all be over.”

  “Please. I can’t— I don’t—”

  “Think, damn it, think!”

  The door burst open, and Uncle Zach came rushing in. “Take it easy, Pat. We can hear you all the way outside.”

  Mr. Jenkins tossed his pencil on the table. It made a clunking sound, then rolled across the shiny surface. “Just trying to get to the truth, like you asked.”

  His uncle gathered him off the chair and held him hard against his side. It felt good, all that strength pouring into him, keeping him on his feet even as his knees wobbled. “Not this way.”

  Jason’s dad closed the notebook and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Sorry. Guess I got a little carried away.”

  Uncle Zach said nothing. He just led him out of the kitchen, through the back door and into the bright day. The shadows retreated. But they’d be back. Memories, same as nightmares, never really went away. They hid like snakes in the grass, waiting to pounce on him when he walked into a familiar room, played a favorite game, watched a friend build a sandcastle. They were part of him now.

  Still, there was one thing he didn’t get. Why did his parents’ faces keep getting fuzzier and fuzzier, when their killer’s ugly mug seemed to grow clearer by the day?

  “You fucked up.” His employer rarely swore, so Raymond knew this was bad. Perhaps even bad enough to get him discharged, permanently.

  “I downloaded everything. If the information wasn’t on there, then I was right. Birch didn’t make a copy.”

  Static filled the line. “This has nothing to do with the files. It’s about the kid. He saw you pop his parents.”

  For a second Raymond heard nothing but the annoying buzz in the untraceable cellular phone his boss had given him when he’d first hired him. Then the words took shape, sharpened. “Impossible. I’m always thorough, never leave witnesses behind. You know that.”

  “Not this time.”

  “How can you be sure?” Dread crusted along his spine, made ice chips congeal in his blood. A lifetime of being invisible, of blending into the crowd, and he was about to be exposed by a nine-year-old. It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t allow it.

  “I’ve got my sources.”

  “Want me to take care of him?”

  A long, aggravating pause. “No, I want you to hang low. Your cover’s blown. He knows what you look like.”

  That wasn’t good enough. He needed this problem fixed. Now. “You can’t expect me to just sit on my ass—”

  “That’s exactly what I expect.”

  “But what if he talks?” Sweat beaded on Raymond’s forehead. His hands grew so damp the phone nearly slipped from his grasp.

  “I won’t let that happen. The plan’s back on track. Meet me at the safe house tomorrow morning at seven.”

  “What are you going to do in the meantime?”

  The phone line crackled, drowning out the roar of Raymond’s heart as he waited for his boss to answer. “Damage control.” The words rose above the hum, buzzed in his ear. Then, without warning, static melted into silence.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The night was deep and silent as Rebecca slipped into the children’s room to check up on them. Will had taken an exceptionally long time falling asleep again. He’d been restless, more fussy than usual, and she couldn’t help but worry. This whole mothering thing was new to her. She still couldn’t tell the difference between a hungry cry, a teething cry or a something-is-seriously-wrong cry, which made her paranoid. How did mothers do it? How had Lindsay?

  For now the baby slept peacefully enough, though not in his usual spot. At some point since she’d laid him down, he’d climbed out of his playpen and crawled into bed with his older siblings. The three of them huddled together in the king-sized bed, like little pixies trapped in a cloud. Concern slid into affection, wrapped in a ribbon of possessiveness.

  They were hers, and they needed her.

  No one had ever needed her before. It was crazy, the way children made you feel important, indispensable. They changed everything. You suddenly found yourself wondering what would happen to them if you weren’t around. Who would make them breakfast, brush their teeth, give them a hug when they needed it? Who would guide them and teach them what it meant to be a better person? Who would love them the way only a mother could?

  Because that was what she’d become to them now—their mother—whether she’d asked for it or not, whether she was ready for it or not.

  Zach crept up behind her, wrapped his arms around her middle. His touch was as familiar as the sun, yet new somehow. Things were different between them, better than they’d ever been before. This time they were partners, equals in every sense of the word. She no longer felt like the ugly stepsister dancing with Prince Charming. For once in her life, she honestly believed she deserved him. They hadn’t been able to build a life on the burning flames of passion alone, but maybe they could build one on love, understanding and mutual respect.

  “I finally get it.” His warm breath brushed her ear and sent a pleasant tingle skating down her neck.

  “Get what?”

  “Why they call them angels.” His voice was thick and sweet, like candy melting in the sun.

  She studied the children’s peaceful expressions and knew exactly what he meant.

  Then Will stirred, scrunched up his little face, and let out an ear-splitting scream. Bol
t scampered into the room, happy for any excuse to bark. Both Noah and Kristen jackknifed in bed, their hair ruffled, their eyes glazed with sleep.

  Rebecca swept the wailing baby in her arms as Zach chased the dog from the room. She hastened out after him, with the toddler wrapped securely in her embrace, leaving Kristen and Noah to drift back to sleep.

  Small fists flailed as an inconsolable Will fought to free himself from her grasp.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Zach took the baby from her, attempted to soothe him.

  “I’m not sure. He was restless all evening.”

  “Must be teething again. I’ll give him some Tylenol. That’ll help settle him down.”

  Nearly an hour later, Will finally succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep. “Let’s keep him in the room with us tonight,” Zach proposed. “Keep an eye on him.”

  Rebecca couldn’t have agreed more. They placed the dozing toddler between them, flanked him like bodyguards. Then, soothed by the gentle rhythm of his breathing, they, too, yielded to the numbing pull of sleep.

  Noah spent a good hour tossing and turning, then decided it was useless. Will had snapped him out of a deep dream, and now he was wide awake. Beside him Kristen snored like a warthog. Not that he knew for sure that warthogs snored, but if they did, he was willing to bet that was the sound they’d make. Careful not to wake his sister, he hopped out of bed and fled the room. The house was really dark, so quiet it hurt his ears, same as when he was underwater and pressure built around his eardrums. The eerie silence almost made him miss Kristen’s warthog snoring.

  A floorboard creaked beneath his feet, and he nearly flew out of his skin. He stood statue-still, waited to see if his aunt or uncle had heard the noise. No one stirred. With feather-light steps, he slunk down the stairs. It was hard to find his aunt’s laptop without turning on the lights, but he managed all right. He carried it to the kitchen, flipped open the screen and pushed the on button. Within seconds the machine came alive.

  As usual, he logged on to Falcon World. This time it didn’t surprise him to find Night-Owl waiting for him.