Broken Angels (12 page)

Unfortunately, Birch had survived the car crash and had become more determined than ever to find the person behind it. If he’d been smart, he would have backed off. But he hadn’t. The trip to Martha’s Vineyard had sealed his fate…and that of his wife.

But three deaths were enough for one month. More bloodshed was sure to raise suspicion, so Raymond worked extra hard to be invisible. He wasn’t the kind of man people normally noticed. He was of average height and build, with boyish features and a prominent forehead. There was nothing threatening or extraordinary about him, and that very commonness was what made him special. He could melt into a crowd as effectively as ice cream on a sunny day. That was the reason he was so good at what he did. When a crime was committed, no one spared him a second glance because he looked like any middle-aged accountant, someone’s next-door neighbor, a dad or an uncle.

Tonight he was a ghost. He made no noise as he slid across the hardwood floor. The fabric of his pants didn’t sigh when it brushed his legs. His breath was steady and silent.

So he couldn’t help the surprise that rocked him when the sky thundered, and the house erupted in a fit of barking.

All of Raymond’s instincts sharpened. Adrenaline coursed through him and, although he loathed the thought of using it, he drew great comfort from the reassuring weight of his gun.

Rebecca jolted awake. Her drowsy brain swam toward awareness. At the foot of her bed, Bolt barked up a storm, then bounded to the floor and scratched at the door.

Reluctantly crawling out of bed, she fought the irritation that swept over her. “Shh, you’ll wake the children. It’s just thunder.”

A predatory growl rumbled in his throat.

With a sigh, she padded across the room and released him. Instantly, the animal lunged into the darkness and nearly flew down the stairs. She was about to return to bed when a thought struck her. What if nature called? The last thing she wanted was to have to clean up a puddle of pee or worse come morning.

Decisively swiping her sleep-tousled hair from her face, she ignored the bed’s beckoning call and followed the puppy downstairs.

Raymond didn’t like surprises. He liked dogs even less. For some reason, as dumb as they looked, they weren’t fooled by his boyish cheeks and winning smile. Most of them growled whenever they crossed his path, as if they could smell the stench of blood forever imprinted in his skin. They made him feel tainted, dirty, and if there was one thing Raymond couldn’t stand, it was feeling unclean. He showered three times a day, sometimes more. He was obsessed with cleanliness and couldn’t abide some stinking mutt looking down its snout at him.

Still, he had no intention of shooting the animal, no matter how much the worthless creature deserved it. That would leave an awful mess behind and draw undue attention to him.

“I don’t want anyone to know you broke in,”
his employer had said. Raymond always followed orders. Except for the times when he had no choice but to improvise. He feared this might very well be one of those occasions.

A prickle of frustration needled his gut. Anywhere he hid, the canine was sure to sniff him out. His best bet was to make a speedy exit and leave the search for another day.

But the mutt had other ideas. It came tunneling down the stairs at the speed of a hurricane. Raymond had no choice but to seek refuge in the very room he’d come to search—Birch’s home office. The walls seemed to narrow, swallow him whole. He could still smell the nauseating stench of death, see it spill to saturate the carpet, then slowly trickle toward the window…

A thin film of sweat formed on his brow. With the back of his hand, he swiped it away before it could leak into his eyes.

Keep it together. You have a job to do.

In the dark he made out the black silhouette of a desk, the back of a chair, a bookcase lining the far wall. From the heart of the room the twenty-four-inch computer monitor beckoned him. If Birch had made a backup of the hard drive he’d stolen, this is where he would have stored it. But would he have time to locate the information before the dog caught a whiff of his scent and alerted the new residents?

A bark exploded outside the door, followed by the persistent hiss of claws scraping wood.

It didn’t look like it.

Rebecca had expected Bolt to make a beeline for the back door. Instead, she found him in front of the den. The fur on his back bristled, and a low, menacing snarl thrummed through his body.

Annoyance tumbled into alarm. What if a thief was in there? Or worse, what if Lindsay and Liam’s killer had come back to finish the job he’d started? Ice-cold fear doused her. Voula’s words echoed in her head:
“He wasn’t there to rob them. He was there to kill them.”

She placed her ear to the door, heard nothing but her own ragged breathing.

You’re being paranoid
, she told herself.
Only an idiot would return to the scene of the crime.

Unless he’d failed to get his hands on what he’d wanted the first time around.

Decisively, she inched away from the door. There was only one thing to do. Imitating Lindsay’s quiet-as-a-mouse walk, she tiptoed to the kitchen, grabbed the phone and began to dial nine-one-one.

Chapter Ten

Zach awakened to the drilling sound of barking, drowned by the occasional bout of thunder. With a grunt, he dragged himself out of bed, checked on Will to find the baby still sound asleep, then trudged to the door. The racket was coming from downstairs.

“Damn dog.” As if three kids didn’t make enough of a ruckus. Now he had furball to contend with. If the mangy beast woke the kids, he’d have his balls sliced off.

He found the puppy barking and whimpering outside the office. Exasperated, he scooped the frantic animal in his arms, marched to the back door and tossed him outside.

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.