Broken Angels (7 page)

The door swung open, startling him. Noah shoved his Game Boy under his sheets, but it was Kristen who came crashing in, not Uncle Zach.

“What do you want?” he grunted, getting back to his game.

“I played tag with Kanela.” His sister hopped onto his bed. “I won.”

Noah shrugged, not even bothering to look at her. He had to keep his eyes on the game or he’d lose. “Big deal. That cat is so fat she can barely run.”

“Not true! She’s very fast, but I’m faster.”

He snorted. “Who cares anyway?”

“You’re so mean!”

“And you’re such a baby.”

His sister gave him a nice hard shove. He missed his next move, ended up getting killed. “What d’you do that for?”

“Don’t call me a baby.” She folded her arms over her chest and frowned. “Mommy and Daddy hate it when you call me that. When they wake up—”

Noah had had enough. “They’re not going to wake up! Don’t you get it? They’re dead.” His throat thickened so much it hurt, like he’d swallowed a sourball and it had lodged itself in his esophagus. That’s what it was called, an esophagus. He’d learned it at school last year.

Kristen didn’t know what an esophagus was, just like she was too dumb to understand their parents weren’t coming back—ever.

All because of me.

“Don’t say that.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she started breathing real funny. “The witch—” she panted. “The witch put a spell on them—”

She stopped talking. Her skin turned a frightful shade of blue. His own breath hitched. “Crap.” Noah shot to his feet and sped to the door. “Uncle Zach,” he hollered. “It’s Kristen. She’s having an asthma attack.”

Not bothering to wait for his uncle, he rushed to her bedroom in search of her pump. He found it on the dresser, snatched it and darted back to his room, where his sister lay gasping on his bed.

Don’t die, please don’t die.

He lifted her head, forced her to breathe as he pumped the medicine into her mouth.

Then, fighting tears, he nestled next to her, held her hand and prayed with every inch of his heart.

Chapter Six

The minute Noah called him, Zach’s blood turned to ice water. Kristen suffered from a severe case of asthma. She didn’t get attacks too often, but when she did, they were sudden and brutal.

“Watch Will.” He vaulted off the couch and took the steps two by two, leaving Becca with the baby.

When he got to Noah’s room, he found the kids lying side by side. Kristen rested her head on her brother’s shoulder while he tenderly stroked her hair. She was so still fear sank pointed hooks in his gut. He couldn’t tell whether or not she was breathing. The asthma pump rested on the bed next to Noah, and he realized the boy had acted quickly.

Thank God.

“Kristen?”

Noah released his sister and bulleted out of bed, adopting his usual I-couldn’t-give-a-damn expression.

Kristen opened her eyes, turned her head toward Zach. She looked exhausted, but her skin was rosy and her breathing slow and even. Relief submerged him. He sat beside her, the twin mattress sinking beneath his weight. “How are you feeling, kiddo?”

“Okay.” Her voice was gravelly. “Noah got—” She cleared her throat as mucus rose to clatter in her windpipe. “Noah got my pump.”

He captured his nephew’s gaze, held it briefly. “Nice going. You acted instead of panicking. Probably saved your sister’s life.”

The boy shrugged, staring at the floor. “Didn’t want her croaking in my bed.”

Zach didn’t buy his act for a second. The kid looked terrified. His skin was pale, his hands jittery, his voice thin and winded. He wanted to shake him, hug him, knock some sense into him. There was nothing wrong with being afraid…or caring.

He grabbed the pump and placed it in Kristen’s limp hand. “I want you to have this on you at all times. Understand?”

The girl nodded weakly. “I forgot it.”

Regret swept through him. “So did I.” Was he ever going to get a handle on this parenting thing?

On the edge of the bed Noah’s Game Boy idled, beeping and blinking. Zach shook his head. So much for the boy not playing video games.

Following Zach’s gaze, Noah grabbed the device and turned it off. Color swamped his cheeks. At least he had enough sense to feel bad about trying to deceive him.

“How about you rest a little?” Zach told Kristen. “Would you like me to take you to your room?”

She wagged her head with as much passion as she could muster. “I want to stay with Noah.”

Zach turned an assessing stare toward his nephew. The boy nodded noncommittally. “She can stay, as long as she promises not to be too annoying.”

“I won’t,” she whispered. “Be annoying,” she explained.

Zach bit back a smile, knowing that—despite all his grumblings—his nephew would watch over his sister like a hawk. There was a time when he’d been the same with Lindsay—aloof, condescending, but always the protective older brother, ready to sacrifice life and limb for his younger sibling.

He saw a lot of himself in Noah. That was what scared him.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I left Becca alone with Will.”

“Better hurry,” Noah scoffed. “She might eat him.”

Zach didn’t like the tone in the boy’s voice. “I better not catch you being rude to your aunt or there’ll be hell to pay.”

Thoroughly chastened, Noah retreated to the far corner of his room, where an impressive Lego collection waited.

With a sigh, Zach headed to the door, wondering not whether Becca had eaten the baby, but whether the baby had eaten Becca.

Oh, God. He was crawling her way, giggling and flashing a toothless grin. Well, technically, it wasn’t completely toothless, just partially toothless. Four front pearl-white teeth glistened with saliva. He looked like a rabbit about to bite into a juicy carrot.

The fifteen-month-old stood with the help of the coffee table, then waddled toward her. It was obvious he hadn’t been walking very long. More often than not, he preferred to crawl.

He watched her expectantly as he approached. What was she supposed to do with him now? Pick him up? What if he didn’t want her to?

She flashed her most honeyed grin. “Nice baby.”

Will shrieked. Was that a laugh or a cry? She couldn’t be sure. He shuffled closer, grabbed hold of her leg. Panic doused her, and she froze, afraid to move. The baby bent forward, then greedily started chewing on her knee. Drool spread over her white silk slacks. She made a mental note to wear only jeans and sweats from now on.

His small, pointy teeth pinched her skin, but she fought not to move. If she disturbed him, he might start crying, and then what would she do?

“Easy there, little one,” she cooed, but only managed to sound constipated. The baby squealed, bit harder.

She jolted. “Ouch!”

“I was afraid of this.” Zach’s voice rolled over her like a cool breeze on a hot day. He snatched Will up as if he weighed no more than a feather. “I walk away for a few minutes and you let him drool all over you.”

“Anything to keep him from screaming.” She stood in an attempt to chase the tension from her limbs. “How’s Kristen?”

“Better. She suffers from asthma. It hits her every now and then. That’s why it’s important that she have her pump on her at all times. Otherwise, it could be fatal.”

Rebecca nodded. “It’s a good thing you told me. I’ll make it a point to remind her.”

Will began gnawing on Zach’s shoulder. “He’s teething,” he explained. “He’ll chew on anything he can find.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that.” She looked down at her damp pants. “I better go change into something more comfortable.” Heat flashed in his eyes, and something equally hot flared in her belly, dancing along her nerve endings. “I mean more appropriate,” she amended. “Where did you put my suitcases?”

“In the master bedroom.”

Alarm gripped her. “Isn’t that where you’re sleeping?”

“Not anymore. There’s an extra mattress in Will’s room. Lindsay used to sleep there whenever he was sick or teething. I’ll bunk with him.”

“Are you sure?”

The air thickened. Something hot and electric thrummed between them. “Yeah. He wakes up every couple of hours. I spend most of the night there anyway.”

“All right.” Her fingers twitched. She clenched them at her sides and struggled not to fidget. “I’ll head on up then.”

“Take your time.”

She walked away, making a conscious effort not to sprint, all the while feeling the intensity of his gaze sear her back. Anxiety pulsed through her, and for the umpteenth time she wondered what on earth had possessed her to do this.

The house finally slept, bathed in silence and shadows. The only light came from a blue and white Chinese porcelain lamp with a silver-threaded shade in the living room, which sat opposite the one the kids had shattered earlier. It had taken Zach longer than usual to get the little imps to bed. Their nervous energy had been palpable. Not that he could blame them for being hyper. It had been a pretty wild day. In fact, he highly doubted he was going to get any sleep tonight, either. Especially with Becca just a door away.

He entered the living room to find her sitting on the edge of the blue couch, sewing by the pale yellow lamplight. The soft glow gilded her skin, made her hair shimmer with bronze sparks. She looked so soft, so damn appealing he had to stop and catch his breath. He wanted to touch her, to taste her again. Wanted it with a fierceness that made his heart hurt.

She lifted her chin, latched her gaze onto his face, and something hot and sultry tightened in his chest. For a second the last two years fell away. He almost convinced himself she was still his wife, waiting for him to come home after a hard day at the office.

You’re an idiot
, he told himself.
A flaming idiot. She’s not your wife and never will be again. Accept it.

“What are you up to?” he asked. Maybe if he struck up a conversation, he’d keep his thoughts from venturing into dangerous territory.

“Sewing a baboon.” She showed him the monkey.

“Don’t bother. That thing is butt ugly.”

“I promised Kristen.” She sank the needle into the fabric, pulled it back out again. “I always keep my promises.”

Was that another jab for his benefit? She seemed to draw immeasurable pleasure from driving in the fact that he’d failed her, almost with the same zeal with which she plunged the needle into the toy.

He sat in the armchair across from her, leaning against the backrest and letting his head fall backward. He closed his lids, drew solace from the darkness. In the dark he couldn’t see the bitter accusation in her eyes, the rigid set of her shoulders, the disappointment thinning her lush, sexy mouth. Silence stretched between them.

“Voula said something today that got me thinking.” Her voice was hesitant, as heavy as the silence it pierced. He opened his eyes and looked at her, anxious to hear what was on her mind.

“Are you sure—” She pricked her finger, brought it to her mouth and sucked on it.

The blood in his veins pumped faster, rushed straight to his crotch. He remembered the feel of that mouth, the heat of it.

“Are you sure the shooting was a random break-in and not a hit?” Her words shattered the mood as effectively as a bucket of ice chips.

Tension twined and snapped inside him. “Course I’m sure. A hit—” he shook his head, “—that’s damn crazy.”

Small furrows formed between her brows. “What if you’re wrong? Liam was a lawyer. He interacted with people on the wrong side of the law on a daily basis. What if he got involved in something he shouldn’t have or knew something someone was desperate to keep quiet?”

“Don’t go there, Becca.” He didn’t mean to be short-tempered, but this was a sore subject for him. She was adding salt to an open wound, scraping it open until it bled again. “It’s hard enough knowing that my sister and her husband were murdered for no good reason, now you want me to believe someone intentionally gunned them down?”

“I just want you to acknowledge that it’s a possibility. Voula said Liam was acting edgy lately. Apparently, he and Lindsay argued on the day they were killed. He wanted to ship her and the kids off to his parents’ place in Ireland, but Lindsay refused to go. She was angry because he was keeping secrets from her.”

“Voula’s just a busybody with nothing better to do than stick her nose in other people’s business.”

“I don’t think so. She didn’t strike me as a gossip.”

She was doing it again—looking to make sense of a senseless situation, the way she had when she’d realized she couldn’t get pregnant. She’d dragged him to doctor after doctor, subjected them both to a slew of tests that had left them drained, frustrated and embittered. And for what? Nothing but pain had come of it.

Still, he understood her need for answers. When he first heard about the shooting, he’d wanted an explanation, too. But the truth was, finding someone to blame for a tragedy didn’t lessen the sting of it. All it did was fuel the anger.

He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his spread knees. “Look, no one wants to catch this bastard more than I do.” If he could, he’d tear the son of a bitch apart limb by limb for what he’d done to his sister. “If I had a lead, any lead, I’d be all over it like a dog on a bone. But all we’ve got are theories.”

A leaden sigh blasted from his throat. “I know you want answers. So do I. But letting this Voula character fill your head with delusions isn’t going to do anyone any good. Sometimes we just have to accept things for what they are and move on.”

Fire flashed in her eyes, deepened them to a glittering shade of rust. “The way you did when our marriage fell apart?”

The blade fell, slashing through him, cutting him deep. He thought of all the nights he’d lain awake aching for her, all the times he’d rushed home after landing an account to share the news with her only to find she wasn’t there, all the regrets that plagued him even as he told himself he’d had no choice.

He took in the condemnation twisting her features, the pain no amount of resentment could mask, and spoke the first honest words he’d spoken to her in years. “Who says I moved on?”

Chapter Seven

Who says I moved on?