Broken Angels (11 page)

A warm, languid feeling unfurled silky wings beneath her breastbone. “That’s a great idea. I’m sure it will please him.”

“He’s hurting, Becca.” His eyes fastened onto hers, deep and dark and troubled. “He’s hurting but he refuses to let it show. And it’s killing him.”

“Why does he keep it all inside?” If anyone could answer that question, it would be Zach.

He shook his head. “I wish I knew. Something’s eating him up—I can tell. But he doesn’t trust me enough yet to tell me what it is.”

“Give it time.” She walked toward him, buried her hands in her pant pockets to keep from sliding her palms over his wide shoulders and down the length of his sinewy arms. “He just lost his parents.”

“I know.” He bent his head forward and rubbed his eyelids to wipe the stress away. “Damn it, I know. I just feel so useless.”

“You can’t fix everything, Zach.” Losing the battle, she brought her fingers to his temple. Spiky threads of black twined with silver to scrape her fingertips. Something sparked in his gaze, dark and hot and gripping. It shocked her, branded her flesh with the force of an electrical charge, and she withdrew her hand.

“Some things just have to run their course,” she added in an effort to distract herself. “There’s no magic cure for grief. Every heart heals at its own pace.”

She took a step away from him, but he clasped her hand. The heat of those long, strong fingers wrapped around hers seeped into her system, a startling surge that flooded her chest.

“Has yours healed, Becca?”

She tried to pry her hand from his, but he refused to release her. She had no choice but to look into his beautiful face as her traitorous heart continued to tap-dance against her ribcage. Pretense fell away. All that remained was honesty. “I don’t know. I didn’t believe it ever would. But today I did something I never thought I’d have the courage to do. I shopped for the kids.

“I walked into the children’s section, looked at all those adorable little outfits, and you know what? I didn’t fall apart. So who knows? Maybe it will. Maybe it already has.”

He wanted to believe her. She could tell by the flicker of interest in his eyes, by the glimmer of hope that struggled to break through.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.

Oh, that was low. So low. Those simple words tangled up her insides until she felt as if a contortionist had crawled into her abdomen to perform his tricks. She’d never been very good at resisting him, but when he looked at her that way, when his voice took on that silky quality, all her defenses collapsed and left her needy, completely at his mercy.

He leaned forward, drew her closer. His thumb stroked the underside of her wrist. For one thunderous heartbeat she forgot herself and narrowed the distance between them. She still remembered the intoxicating feel of his mouth on hers, secretly hungered to taste it again. And here he was, so close, glazed by starlight and watching her with a glittering intensity that flattened her resolve and made her belly ache.

Then, like a sudden draft sweeping in to banish the heat, he severed all physical contact, and the insanity melted away.

“The kids need a woman around.”

She was a fool. An honest-to-God fool. How many times did she have to get rejected before she learned her lesson?

She walked to the window, desperate to place a safe distance between her and the man who’d been toying with her heart ever since she’d been unlucky enough to grow boobs. “Glad to help.” She sounded bitter, but she didn’t care. She was tired of pining after Zach Ryler.

“Did you get the dog settled in?” He stood, placed his hands on his lower back, and stretched. The thin cotton fabric of his black T-shirt reached across his chest, outlining every delicious muscle. Long, lean, jean-clad legs just begged to be noticed.

Refusing to give them the satisfaction, she looked away. “I made a nice little area for him downstairs, but I think he prefers my bed.”

“Can’t say that I blame him.”

She pinned him with a startled gaze.

“Who wouldn’t prefer a soft mattress to a hard floor?” he clarified.

“For your information, I made him a bed. He’s just being difficult. Luckily, I’m used to dealing with difficult males.”

“You’ve known quite a few of them, have you?” Was that a note of jealousy she caught in his voice? Had he spent the last two years wondering, the way she had, who was warming her bed at night?

She was tempted to put him out of his misery and tell him Bolt was the first since he’d left her, but revenge was far too sweet. “Wouldn’t you just love to know?”

A cryptic smile curved her lips at the proprietary look that fell to darken his features. Maybe he did care after all. Or maybe he didn’t like the idea of someone else taking what was his. Some men were like that. Even though they didn’t want a woman, they hated the thought of anyone else having her.

She glanced past the glass at the hazy sky. Boiling clouds smothered the stars, bringing with them the promise of rain. Come to think of it, the air itself smelled musty, cool and damp as it trickled in to fill her lungs.

“Looks like it’s going to rain,” she said, hoping to pierce the sudden silence that enveloped them.

He came to stand behind her, leaned over her shoulder and stole a glimpse of what lay beyond the window. Energy surged between them, made her skin prickle and a shiver glide along her spine. Swallowing a sigh, she embraced herself and rubbed away the stubborn goose bumps that had risen to pebble her flesh.

He moved in closer and slid his hands up her arms. “Are you cold?” His touch enfolded her like a pocket of sunshine, set off tiny explosions along her nerve endings. She closed her eyes and sank into it, powerless to resist its lure. Her back sought support from his chest as a thrilling current swept in to fuse their bodies together. He was hard and warm and familiar. He was everything she’d ever wanted and everything she could never have.

The sharp pain that lanced through her brought her back to her senses. She jerked out of his arms and nearly sped out of the room. “I should get some work done now that the kids are asleep.” She sounded winded.

“Don’t stay up too late. I know how you get when you start writing.”

She edged to the door, reluctance pulling at her heels. It would have been so easy to stay here with him and let the memories devour her. So easy to fall right back into that old destructive pattern, full of fire and quiet desperation, rapture and heartache.

His loneliness sang to her, beat in perfect tune with her own, but she didn’t allow its lovely strains to seduce her. She left him standing at the window, surrounded by navy blue shadows, with only the suffocating moon to light his face.

PART TWO

Surrender

Ah, when to the heart of man

Was it ever less than a treason

To go with the drift of things,

To yield with a grace to reason,

And bow and accept the end

Of a love or a season?

Robert Frost, “Reluctance”

Chapter Nine

Raymond York wasn’t one to ask questions. He did as he was told, followed the directives he was given with the cool detachment of a machine. He wasn’t burdened by something as cumbersome as a conscience, didn’t spend hours pondering things like ethical behavior or moral responsibility. He got the job done, pure and simple, and his employer always rewarded him with a thick wad of crisp hundred-dollar bills.

When his cell phone rang, he answered immediately. His last assignment had been one of those rare occasions when things hadn’t gone according to plan, and he was eager to make it up to his boss. In his line of work, mistakes didn’t get you a pink slip—they got you a bullet to the brain. If you were lucky.

“It’s time,” the man told him in a familiar voice that was both cultured and chilling. “I need that backup.”

A sliver of apprehension lanced through Raymond, and he tightened his grip on the phone. “Are you sure he made one? Birch panicked when he saw me. He surrendered the information before I even asked for it.”

“That’s how I know he made a backup. Liam wouldn’t have given in that easily, even for the sake of his wife.” Silence stretched between them, thick and stifling. Then, “We wouldn’t be in this bind if you’d done things right the first time.”

Ice crusted along Raymond’s spine. “I didn’t have a choice. The neighbor showed up before I could search the place. If I hadn’t left when I did, she would’ve discovered me.”

“And if she had? You could have shot her, too.”

True, he could have. But all that blood had turned his stomach. He’d been crippled by the overwhelming compulsion to race home and wash the unsavory stench from his flesh. Raymond usually made it a point to keep his intense aversion to blood a secret, even from his employer. Especially from his employer. He’d only divulged his particular weakness to the Birches because he’d known he was about to shoot them. With the wife, his aim had been dead on. Her heart had stopped instantly, stemming the flow of blood. The husband had been a different story.

Raymond thought fast. “I was afraid she called the cops when she ran back to her place to get the key—”

“Enough excuses. Stop wasting my time. Just get the job done.”

With agile fingers, Raymond holstered his gun—the 9mm SIG he’d used to terminate the Birches. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“And the kid?”

“Not yet. I don’t want anyone to know you broke in. The last thing I need is for some gung-ho vigilante to start digging again.”

Raymond understood. He wouldn’t mess up this time. He couldn’t.

His life depended on it.

The night was as deep as Zach’s sleep was restless. Every so often, lightning flared beyond the bedroom window, but no rain pounded against the rooftop. Will slept soundly, temporarily spared from the teething pain that afflicted him more often than not.

Zach wasn’t nearly as lucky.

Thoughts of Becca continued to torture him. He could still feel the imprint of her soft curves, the arousing fragrance of lavender and sage tickling his nostrils, the feathering caress of her fingers in his hair. His body had come alive, absorbing the sensations the way the earth absorbs water after a long drought, and now it was drunk with need.

For two years he’d denied himself the pleasure of a woman’s body. He’d remained true to Becca even after the divorce was finalized. It didn’t make one iota of a difference how many papers he signed. In his heart he was still married to her, and he always would be.

At first he’d missed her with a fierceness that bordered on physical pain. But in time his body had grown numb, and he’d slowly learned to live without her. Now, long-forgotten yearnings stirred within him, red-hot and insistent. All he could think about was going to her, slipping into her bed, touching her the way he knew she liked to be touched. It wouldn’t be all that difficult to seduce her. He just had to glide his hand up the nape of her neck, massage the base of her skull, sprinkle moist kisses along the curve of her cheek and throat…

The taste of her filled him, the memory of it burning brighter than the sizzling blades of light cleaving the sky, and that snapped him back to reality quicker than a sharp slap. He was treading on dangerous ground, going places he’d sworn he’d never go again.

Had he made a mistake staying true to her? It wasn’t that opportunities hadn’t presented themselves. He’d had his share of seductive glances and heated innuendoes, not to mention overt offers, over the past two years. If he’d acted on one or more of them, would it have made it easier to move on? Maybe then he wouldn’t be so tempted to do the very thing that could destroy the one woman he’d do anything to protect.

Cutting her loose had been the best gift he’d ever given her. He’d realized that, if nothing else, tonight. She’d said it herself; her heart was finally healing. If he gave in to temptation and made love to her, he risked breaking it all over again. Nothing was powerful enough to compel him to do that. Not even the pounding need inside him, screaming to be appeased.

He turned over in bed, tried to get comfortable even as desire fought to ensure he didn’t. Outside, thunder boomed. Lightning lacerated the bruised sky. In the crib beside him, Will softly snored. And a few doors down the hall, barely a heartbeat away, the woman he ached for lay sleeping, oblivious to his torment.

The townhouse slept, swathed in gray gloom, the windows dark, save for the occasional slash of lightning reflected in the glass. Behind him the night yawned, bottomless and hungry. With the help of his LAT-17 snap gun, Raymond disengaged the lock and crept inside, happy the new occupants hadn’t had the good sense to install an alarm. Not that an alarm would have dissuaded him. Breaking and entering was his specialty. Still, no matter how adept he was at this sort of thing, he didn’t consider himself a thief. Those days were behind him. Now he was a facilitator, the middleman. He got the job done, no matter how dirty, and in the process he kept his employer’s hands clean.

Around him, silence pulsed like a living creature holding its breath. Oily shadows stretched across the floor and ceiling. His 9mm SIG was strapped to his belt, within easy reach should trouble arise, though he hoped not to have to use it. Another break-in would be sure to raise some eyebrows, and the last thing his boss wanted was for the cops to start connecting the dots.

There had been too many incidents already. First was the death of Adrien Gorski, the computer geek who had assisted Birch in his investigation. Raymond had learned that Gorski suffered from a heart condition and was on a drug called Digoxin. A few weeks ago he’d broken into the guy’s house and made him ingest five times the recommended dose. Gorski had died of a heart attack that very night. Since the cause of death was obvious and given Gorski’s medical history, the authorities hadn’t bothered with an autopsy.

Then there had been the first attempt on Birch’s life. When Raymond had gotten his orders, he’d devised a plan to get rid of the target without having to personally spill any blood. He’d punctured one of the tires on Birch’s fully equipped Volvo sedan. The car had been new from the looks of it, the black paint gleaming in the morning sun, without a nick on it. It obviously paid to be a lawyer in Boston. But not as much as it paid to be a middleman.