Broken Angels (37 page)

He was about to urge Noah down the thin trail that led to the boat, in case Martin and Becca had found Kristen and taken shelter there, when something hard and cold dug into his neck.

“Don’t take another step.” The voice was cultured, familiar. “One move and I’ll shoot you both.”

The doctors and nurses at the Martha’s Vineyard Hospital in Oak Bluffs were fast and efficient. The second Kristen arrived, they’d strapped an oxygen mask on her, infused with a very strong dose of Ventolin, then whisked her away on a gurney. Rebecca had tried to follow, but they’d forced her to stay in the waiting room. Her heart thumped a million beats a minute as she paced, waiting for news. Martin, keeping his word to return for Zach and Noah, had left almost instantly. She had yet to hear from him or Zach. She’d called Tess to check up on Will and give her an update. Tess still hadn’t reached Pat, but she promised to keep trying.

Now all Rebecca could do was wait, and she hated it. Hated the questions reeling in her head, the knot of fear in her chest, the unabated tension crawling through her limbs. But most of all she hated the sense of helplessness that had gripped her. She should’ve been in there holding Kristen’s hand or out there helping Zach find Noah. Instead, she was stuck in this stark room, alone with her dark thoughts.

“Why don’t you sit down, dear?” The woman’s voice jarred her out of her quiet musings and Rebecca turned to face the stranger. “You’re wearing yourself out. Not to mention the floor.” The lady’s smile was warm, comforting. Liquid brown eyes met and held hers, filled with compassion and a glint of humor. Was she a hospital employee, a patient, someone waiting for news about a loved one?

“I can’t.” Rebecca crossed her arms over her middle, hoping to hold in the pain, to crush the anxiety that thrummed beneath her skin. “Not until I know my—” She’d been about to say niece, but stopped herself. “Not until I know my daughter’s going to be all right.” That was what she considered Kristen now, her daughter, her baby. She couldn’t have loved her more if she’d felt her grow inside her.

Love was more than DNA. She understood that now. Love was holding a child in your arms while she fell asleep, comforted by your embrace. Love was nursing a baby through an ear infection, hoping a hug could lessen his pain. Love was staying awake at night worrying, defending a kid’s honor, telling him you understood even when you didn’t. Being a parent wasn’t about getting it right. It was about doing what needed to be done, even when you were in way over your head.

“Dear, do you need something? A cup of coffee? Water?” The older woman with the kind face and the salt-and-pepper hair was still watching her.

Rebecca shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

If only the same could be said about her family.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Neil urged Ryler and the kid through the woods to where his boat waited. Anxiety made his breath come in short, jagged gasps. He was getting too old for this. Maybe it was time to retire. He’d been thinking about that a lot lately. He had a house in the Cayman Islands, several offshore accounts set up. It wouldn’t be difficult to disappear.

“It’s over, Hopkins.”

Neil shoved Ryler as they wended their way through the trees, just a few yards from the bluff. “Shut up. Unless you want a hole in the back of your skull.”

The boy whimpered. Neil ignored him. The kid would be out of his hair soon enough.

“We found the evidence Liam collected,” Ryler persisted. “It’s in the hands of the ADA right now. Your cover’s blown. Everyone knows what you are.”

Neil’s stomach caught fire. “Impossible. You’re lying.”

“Dates, names, drop-off points and pictures. Lots of pictures.”

He wasn’t lying. Neil’s finger twitched against the trigger. There was no way Ryler could know what the files contained unless he’d seen them. But how? York had wiped the hard drive clean, fried the computer.

Unless there was another back-up out there. Something he’d overlooked.

Sweat misted over his face. A sharp pain lanced through him. He should have been more careful, destroyed the records, deleted the pictures. But they were his insurance policy. Over the years he’d kept detailed accounts of all his transactions, the people he’d dealt with, the places where drops had taken place. The Broken Angels knew that if he was to suddenly disappear or die mysteriously, all the evidence would be promptly turned over to the authorities and their smooth, nearly untraceable distribution network would be severely compromised. He’d left clear instructions, had scattered the evidence in several locations to ensure the Broken Angels didn’t uncover it.

His biggest treasure trove, however, was here at the vineyard. This was where he kept all the pictures—every snapshot he’d ever taken of every child he’d ever relocated. They’d become trophies of sorts, something he could hold on to when his best years were behind him. In time the need to remember the faces of all the children he’d placed had morphed into compulsion. He wondered about them sometimes, asked himself what had become of them. Many—the ones who’d survived—would be adults by now. What if he crossed one on the street and didn’t recognize him? What if someone came back with an ax to grind?

“If you let us go, Pat Jenkins may be persuaded to cut a deal with you.” The man was relentless. “But if you hurt us, he’ll make sure they lock you up and throw away the key.”

No way he’d cut a deal…or go to jail. He had money, options. He just needed to make this last drop, collect his finder’s fee, then make a run for it. It wouldn’t be difficult to steer his boat north and head to Canada. He always carried fake ID on him, just in case. He could take a flight from there to the Cayman Islands, start fresh. There was enough money in his offshore accounts to ensure he lived out the rest of his life comfortably.

But first he had to get out of the States. For that to happen, he needed the cash his associate had promised him. Noah Birch was his ticket to freedom, and Zach Ryler was a thorn in his side.

They reached the bluff. His boat came into view, a hazy shadow in the damp night. Using the butt of his gun, he struck Ryler hard on the back of his head. The man instantly crumpled. He considered shooting him, then decided against it. The last thing he wanted was for the kid to freak out on him before the drop.

Ignoring Noah’s terrified scream, Neil hooked his arm around the boy’s waist and carried him down the bluff to his boat, where the vast sea rippled beneath the wind in silent welcome.

When Zach came to, he was momentarily stunned, disoriented. Rain poured over him, drenching him to the bone. A fierce ache pounded at the base of his skull. He peeled himself off the ground, flinching at the sharp throb that speared through his brain. Shaking the haze from his head, he stumbled to his feet and crested the bluff.

Dread and fury wrapped unforgiving arms around his ribs and squeezed. Neil Hopkins’ boat was gone. And so was Noah.

Fighting a wave of dizziness, he sped down to the beach, where another boat still sat docked. Martin’s yacht was nowhere in sight. What the hell was going on tonight? Where were Martin and Becca and Kristen? And where had Hopkins taken Noah?

He closed his eyes against the pain, forced himself to think. The man was desperate. He’d built his entire life on a house of cards that was about to collapse. What would a desperate man do?

Run.
The answer sliced through his brain like a blade. Hopkins’ next move was to cut his losses, grab as much cash as he could and get the hell out of Dodge. But for that to happen, he needed to sell Noah to the Broken Angels.

A list of drop-off points scrolled through his mind, one in particular—an unpopulated island just south of Chilmark. The location had marked him because it was the closest to Hopkins’ vineyard. Zach was willing to bet a kidney that was where the son of a bitch was headed.

Urgency gnawing a hole through his gut, he sped across the beach, trudged through knee-deep water and jumped into the unfamiliar boat loitering there. He didn’t know much about hotwiring boats, but damn it, he was about to learn. Or not, he thought when he noticed the key in the ignition. Now for lesson two, steering this thing.

It took him a few seconds, but he finally figured out how to lift the anchor and back out of the cove. Next thing he knew, he was cutting a strip through the choppy waves.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d spent nearly his whole life avoiding the sea like some lethal disease. And now here he was again, braving the snapping swells in search of his kid. He would’ve sailed through a fucking typhoon to get to Noah. He would’ve swum across if he’d had to. No one would hurt his boy. He’d die before he let that happen.

Determination rose to submerge him, more consuming than any ocean, more feral than the most violent storm. Neil Hopkins was going down, and Zach was going to be the one who drowned the bastard.

Relief doused Neil when he saw the other craft bobbing on the water, exactly where it was supposed to be. So his associate had stuck around, despite the fact that Neil was nearly half an hour late. That struck him as strange. He’d been half convinced his contact would be long gone. Still, he was too ecstatic to dwell on it. Finally, things were going according to plan. Everything was back on track.

He dropped anchor and went to retrieve the boy, whom he’d locked in a small cabin below deck. The kid’s eyes were red and swollen from all the crying he’d done. He looked like someone had punched him. Neil hoped that wouldn’t take another chunk out of his fee. Then again, most of the kids he placed with the Broken Angels looked beaten by the time the trade took place.

“Time to go.” He’d used his tie to bind the boy’s wrists. Noah Birch had proven time and time again that he couldn’t be trusted.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” The kid tried to look tough, failed miserably.

“I’ve had enough of your insolence. Get up.”

Noah didn’t budge. He just sat there staring at Neil with blazing hatred in his eyes. Neil grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to his feet. This trade was going to happen, even if he had to fling the brat over his shoulder.

“Let go of me! You’re hurting me.”

Good. Maybe you’ll finally learn to behave and do as you’re told.

The rain had stopped. Now only a fine drizzle hung suspended in the air. Moisture beaded over Neil’s skin—he wasn’t sure whether it was the mist or his own perspiration—as he lugged the kid above board. Then, half dragging, half pushing his uncooperative captive, he mounted the neighboring boat.

“Sorry I’m late.” Neil shoved Noah a few steps closer to the bow and approached the dark shadow standing at the helm. The man didn’t turn around to face them. “I ran into some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” The voice was low, raspy.

Neil’s gut twisted in a series of painful knots. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. The Broken Angels didn’t appreciate trouble. Of any kind. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

The man stared out at the churning waves. “So what have you got for me today?”

“A nine-year-old boy, in perfect health, as handsome as they come. Your clients will be very pleased.”

“Send him over.”

The boy tried to wrestle free, and Neil tightened the grip he had on him. “Not until I see the cash.”

The man stood statue-still for the longest time. Anxiety pulsed in the air, sharp and electric. Then his associate spoke. “Do you doubt my intentions?”

“I didn’t get where I am today by taking people at their word. Nothing personal.”

Noah took advantage of the distraction and kicked Neil in the shin. Hard. Pain shot up his leg, quick and jolting. He stifled a cry, reined in his temper before he reciprocated and seriously hurt the brat. The last thing he wanted was to damage the merchandise.

Thankfully, his associate didn’t notice the commotion. Instead he bent over and retrieved a briefcase. “It’s all in here, like we agreed.”

After securing Noah to a metal rail with the tie that still dangled from his wrists, Neil approached the other man. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it. He slipped his free hand in his pocket, reveled at the cool feel of his gun against his palm. “Turn around and hand it to me.”

The man slowly pivoted on his heels. Neil took a step back when he got a good look at him—not his contact, but a complete stranger. “Who the hell are you? Where’s Carlos?”

“He couldn’t make it tonight. The Broken Angels sent me instead.”

Neil’s fingers twitched, and he prepared to withdraw his Glock at the slightest move. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Trust is cheap.” The man opened the briefcase and flashed several thick wads of hundred-dollar bills. “This suitcase isn’t. Hand me the documents and the boy, and it’s yours.”

Wetting his lips, Neil studied the cash. “All of it?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I don’t have the girl I promised you?”

Something glinted in the other man’s eyes—a hesitation, a flicker of doubt. “What happened to the girl?”

“She got away. Don’t worry. She’s as good as dead.”

Another hard look. “Accidents happen. I’ll just tell my superiors she died in transport and I threw her body overboard.”

Why did Neil feel he had a rattlesnake uncoiling in his stomach, spilling venom? “I didn’t expect you to be so…understanding.”

“I’d like to keep doing business with you.”

From the rear of the vessel, Noah let out an ear-splitting scream. “Help! Somebody help me! I’ve been kidnapped.”

Neil rolled his eyes. The kid just wouldn’t quit. “Shut up. There’s no one out here but us.”

The boy kept right on screeching.

“Let’s get this over with,” Neil told the other man. Letting go of his gun, he opened his briefcase and pulled out the manila envelope. “The paperwork is all in order.” He handed his new associate the documents. “Now the cash.”

The man kicked over the briefcase that held his finder’s fee. The moment Neil’s hand closed around the handle, the traitorous bastard reached for the weapon holstered at his waist. “Freeze.” He pulled out a compact firearm—a SIG-Sauer from the looks of it. Neil knew his guns, and this one was of military caliber. He’d gotten a similar one for Raymond York.