Broken Angels (14 page)

Heat trickled down his neck to pool in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so peacefully, even with his legs folded awkwardly beneath him and his body half sprawled across the floor. He should’ve felt like a total wreck this morning, but he didn’t. He felt better than he had in years.

“You two seem to have hit it off.”

She graced him with a wobbly smile. “I think the fact that I’m scared out of my wits makes me less intimidating.”

Laughter scratched at his throat. “Then why does he scream bloody murder every time I get within two feet of him?”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard. You’re so determined to do everything right you’re shooting yourself in the foot.”

Her statement floored him. He’d never looked at it that way before.

She traced the curve of Will’s ear with unmasked tenderness, then leaned back in her chair. “You have to let them come to you.”

Defeat weighed heavy on his shoulders. “What if they never do?”

“Then you’ll just have to accept it.” A glance, laden with meaning, passed between them. “Who ever said love was easy?”

She had him there. In his experience, love brought nothing but grief. Still, the heart kept right on loving. There was no organ more self-destructive, more addicted to pain. He’d proven that last night when he’d kissed her. He should have known better, he should have kept his hands off her, but fatigue and loneliness had conspired against him. Now he couldn’t get the taste of her out of his mouth.

As if sensing his thoughts, she averted her gaze. Trembling sunlight spilled over her, set her curls on fire. She’d always hated the copper highlights in her hair. Once, ages ago, she’d gone and dyed it a nasty shade of mousy brown. He’d been mad as hell. Spent the better part of the year harassing her until she’d given in and gone back to her natural shade. Thankfully, she hadn’t messed with it again after that.

“It’s my turn,” Kristen’s voice rang out. “Give it to me.”

“You throw like a girl.” Noah tauntingly dangled the ball over his sister’s head, while Kristen struggled to grasp it. She rose on the tips of her toes, jumped several times to no avail. Then the exasperating boy flung it across the yard. At lightning speed, the dog scampered over the lawn in eager pursuit.

“Not fair,” the girl screamed. “It was my turn.”

Both children galloped after the animal. Wagging his tail, Bolt dropped the ball. Noah and Kristen simultaneously lunged for it, tripping over each other to wrestle in the damp grass.

A sparrow screeched from one of the trees above as a fat cloud scuttled across the sun. Below, the two children kicked and screamed. The dog stood beside them, round-eyed, his tongue lolling while he followed the ball with his gaze. Fed up with being ignored, he released an indignant bark.

Zach gulped down his coffee, took a second to savor it, then plowed across the lawn to break up the fight.

Another day had officially begun.

Noah hated being treated like a kid. He was nine years old—big enough to make his own decisions. Tomorrow Uncle Zach was forcing him to go back to summer camp, when all he wanted to do was stay home and play his video games. Why did he have to go to stupid summer camp anyway? The truth was, his aunt and uncle wanted to get rid of him.

And why wouldn’t they?

His own parents hadn’t wanted him around. He was too much trouble, too loud, always scrapping it out with Kristen. He argued, refused to do as he was told. He tried to be good, he really did, but his true nature always got the better of him. He wished he could be sweet like Kristen or cute like Will. He wished he could make people smile. Instead, all he seemed to do was make everyone angry.

He was angry, too, all the time. Everyone got on his nerves, especially his douche bag sister. Uncle Zach had sent him to his room for fighting with Kristen again. Now he was bored out of his wits. His uncle had forced him to turn over his Game Boy, so he had nothing but Lego and stuffed animals to help pass the time. He was too old for stuffed animals, and he’d had his fill of Lego for the day.

He shuffled to the door and peeked outside. Nothing but silence greeted him. Maybe Uncle Zach and Aunt Becca were still out in the yard. He took a few tentative steps into the corridor, closed his bedroom door behind him and stole a look over the railing. The house seemed empty.

All the better for him.

Quietly, he scurried down the stairs and sneaked into his dad’s office, where the computer—and Night-Owl—waited. Night-Owl would understand why he was so bummed. Unlike him, his friend got to play on the computer all day long. He didn’t have to go to stupid summer camp. He could do whatever he wanted. Night-Owl’s parents were way cooler than his own had been, way cooler than Uncle Zach and Aunt Becca.

Feeling guilty for thinking this way, Noah peered over his shoulder, booted up the computer, then settled into the chair. Nothing happened. The screen seemed to be dead. All he got was an endless sea of blue.

Panic screamed through him. Before he could stop it, a shrill cry blasted from his mouth. “Uncle Zach!”

Noah’s scream tumbled from the open window, and Zach jackknifed to his feet. With long strides he bridged the distance to the house and hastened inside, expecting a disaster of inordinate proportions. Maybe the kid had cut himself, broken a leg or set the house on fire. Anything was possible with Noah. Instead he found him in the office in a state of panic, slapping the computer screen and knocking the mouse on the desk.

Frustration nibbled at his patience. “What are you doing in here?”

“The computer. It’s dead. I can’t get it to work.” The tears he fought not to shed trembled in his voice.

Zach approached the boy and assessed the blank screen. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. I just booted it up. It’s not my fault!”

Zach struggled to stay calm. “Move aside. Let me take a look at it.” For once Noah listened.

Zach fiddled with the keypad, then tried rebooting the machine with zero success. “I think it crashed.” The power outage they’d had last night was probably to blame. That was why the computer had been off, when he specifically recalled leaving it on. An electrical surge could have easily fried the hard drive.

“But everything’s in there. My games, all the pictures—” His voice hitched. A sob quivered in the boy’s chest.

Suddenly, he understood the source of his nephew’s distress. If he’d reacted so passionately to a broken picture frame, how would he react to losing every snapshot ever taken of his parents? Zach’s heart withered at the thought.

“I sent out a bunch of shots yesterday to be developed,” he reassured him. “I even downloaded a handful of them on your iPod.” He opened the desk drawer and withdrew the device in question.

The boy’s face instantly brightened. For a second Zach thought he was going to hug him. Instead, he reached for the iPod, holding it with such care one would think it was made of fine crystal. His fingers shook as he turned it on. Zach leaned in and promptly showed him where he’d saved the files.

A weak smile throbbed on Noah’s lips when the pictures appeared on the small screen. “They’re not gone,” he whispered.

Zach tenderly squeezed his nephew’s shoulder. “No, they’re not gone.”

The office building was exceptionally quiet, empty save for one man sitting at his desk. Cars sped below, but he was too high up to hear the roar of motors revving beneath their hoods, the shriek of brakes or the occasional honking of a horn. Beyond his window, the city yawned, vibrant and alive, yet he failed to see any of it.

His gaze was riveted to his computer monitor, across which all his secrets stretched like a goddamn exposé—names, dates, even faces. A spool of anger threaded with admiration unfurled inside him. Liam had been nothing if not thorough.

He’d made one mistake, and the bastard had rounded on him like a bloodhound on the hunt. The traitor had dug up everything he’d spent years cleverly concealing. And here it was, contaminating his screen, every sordid detail that could earn him life in prison and bring down the intricate global network that was his livelihood.

But luck had been on his side. He’d intercepted a phone call meant for Liam and had put two and two together before any serious damage was done.

He should’ve known better than to underestimate Liam, should’ve stuck to his game plan. But after years of avoiding discovery, he’d grown confident, hungry for a challenge.

He’d gotten his wish. Liam had proved a more formidable opponent than he’d ever anticipated. Now that that particular thorn in his side was gone, he felt empty, void of purpose. Especially since York had decided to fry Liam’s hard drive.

He told himself it was for the best. The smartest thing to do was to walk away and never look back. There were other challenges to be had.

Swiveling around in his chair, he stared out at the bustling city below. A bitter burn spread to coat the walls of his stomach. Why then was it so difficult to let go?

Chapter Thirteen

The next few days were uneventful, quiet except for the occasional scuffle between the kids. Noah and Kristen returned to summer camp after a two-week sabbatical, giving Zach enough time to take care of some of the things he’d neglected—including packing up Lindsay’s and Liam’s belongings. He hadn’t wanted to undertake the painful task while the kids were at home. He could only imagine how traumatic it would be for them to watch him get rid of their parents’ stuff, especially for Kristen, who fully expected them to return one day.

Hell, it was traumatic for him. Every item he touched reminded him of his sister—the red jersey dress she’d worn last Christmas, the cashmere sweater and matching scarf he’d given her for her birthday, the scruffy slippers she’d had since she was a teen because she just couldn’t bear to part with them. Each item told a story. Each was a testament to the short life she’d led. Each carried the faint hint of her perfume.

He didn’t understand how scent had such power to evoke emotion and dredge up old memories. How it slid long-reaching fingers inside him and somehow turned back the hands of time. The medley of aromas in his mother’s kitchen still haunted him. To this day he couldn’t smell waffles and coffee without being reduced to childhood.

He placed sweaters, slacks, shoes and any other item his sister had seen fit to crowd in her closet into a nondescript cardboard box. This was what life was ultimately reduced to—a cardboard box. The thought depressed him. There was nothing like death to put everything into perspective and remind you just how pointless life was. All the hours he’d wasted stressing over a campaign gone wrong, losing sleep over a bad print job or a poorly executed ad, pointless. He was a damned moron. He should have found a way to make every second matter. Especially the years he’d had with Becca.

In answer to his thoughts, she padded into the bedroom. The expression on her face was as grim as his musings.

“Did you get Will to sleep?” he asked.

She nodded. “It took a while. I think he’s teething.” She shuffled closer and kneeled beside him. “How are things coming along in here?”

“As well as can be expected. I’m almost done packing up Lindsay’s things.” His voice rang flat, void of the turmoil raging within him.

She reached into the box, pulled out an alligator pump. A nostalgic mist rolled over her eyes. “I was with her when she bought these. She always wanted alligator pumps, but they were too expensive. Then she found these. They’re imitations, but you can’t really tell.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “God, it was so long ago, but it feels like yesterday.”

She tenderly placed the shoe back in the box, shook her head. “We don’t realize how quickly time flies, how fragile life is.”

“I was just thinking the same thing. We gotta make every minute count.” His gaze settled on her face. “Life is a gift, even when it feels like a burden.”

She met his stare, and an unspoken memory slid between them—the day he’d come home to find her passed out in bed with a bottle of sleeping pills on her nightstand and a blanket slung across her hips. She’d been pale as death, completely unresponsive. If he hadn’t gotten her to the hospital in time…

The thought was too black to even contemplate. A world without Becca was like a world without light. He’d realized two things that day: leaving her was the only way to save her, and he loved her enough to let her go.

“You still don’t believe that it was an accident,” she said, her voice made husky by disappointment. “That I didn’t try to kill myself.”

When she’d awakened she’d explained to him and the doctors that she’d been having trouble sleeping. No sedative had been strong enough to dull the sharp edge of her anxiety. So she’d tripled the recommended dose.

“I never meant for things to turn out that way,” she insisted. “I just wanted to sleep.”

He would have liked nothing more than to take her word for it, but he couldn’t help but think that on a subconscious level she’d wanted to end things. That was how deep she’d sunk into depression.

She watched him, waiting for a reaction he couldn’t give. Then her shoulders sagged with defeat and she dug into the box again. She withdrew an old college T-shirt and hugged it the way she would a person, with both arms crossed over her chest.

“I wasted so much time hurting,” she said, “being angry. I pushed everyone that ever mattered to me away. I just wish—” Her voice faltered. “I wish I could tell her how sorry I am.”

He slid his hand up her back. “You don’t have to. Lindsay knew how you felt about her. That’s why she entrusted you with her children. Every time you smile at Noah or take Kristen’s hand or rock Will to sleep, you’re making amends.”

With a jerky nod, she lowered the T-shirt onto her lap and folded it. “Do you mind if I keep this?”

“Go right ahead. I kept several things myself. I even put some aside for the kids.”

She traced the college emblem with her index finger. “Kristen sleeps with Lindsay’s favorite sweater.”

“I know.” His sides throbbed, as if he’d just taken a swift jab to the ribs. “I’ve seen her.”

She closed her eyes, inhaled deep and hard. “How will they ever survive this?”