Broken Angels

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my children for their relentless squabbles, their fierce devotion to each other and their refusal to do anything I ask of them. But most of all, I thank them for reminding me every day what it means to be a parent and for teaching me just how deeply the heart can love.

A very special thank you to Deborah Nemeth for her guidance and to Imogen Howson for making
Broken Angels
shine.

Prologue

Evil has many faces. Even that of a loved one, a friend.

Liam Birch sensed time was running out. The shadows were closing in on him, the darkness drawing nearer. He wouldn’t be able to keep the pretense up much longer. Shock, horror and repugnance were not easy feelings to mask, and he suspected he’d already given himself away.

Still, he’d waited before going to the cops because deep down he’d hoped his hunch was wrong. He should have known better than to question his instincts. All his doubts had been put to rest this morning when he’d taken a trip to Martha’s Vineyard. Now he had all the evidence he needed to act.

But first he had to back up the files, just in case.

He’d already downloaded the photographs he’d snapped in a mad rush. Photographs of important documents he’d found in a secret location, deep in the woods, hidden beneath a cover of innocence. Now all that was left to do was copy the hard drive he’d stolen.

His hands shook as he attached the device to his home computer. He clicked open the files, and the children’s faces flashed on the screen. Sad, lost, terrified faces. As a lawyer he observed the dark corruption of society on a daily basis, but not like this. Never like this. There were many kinds of predators in the world, but none as loathsome as this one.

A leaden weight crushed his lungs. Why hadn’t he seen it sooner?

Because he’d trusted the man, had secretly looked up to him.
Idiot
.

All that had changed when the bastard had targeted his family. Now the gloves were off, and the son of a bitch was going down.

“I need to know what’s going on.”

He jolted at the sound of Lindsay’s voice. She stood in the doorway, looking so intense his stomach clamped. They would be married eleven years next month. It felt like only yesterday he’d watched her glide down the aisle toward him, draped in silly flowers and white silk. The memory only fueled his knee-weakening desire to protect her and the kids.

He pressed Save and minimized the screen to hide the snapshots. “Have you finished packing?”

“No. And I won’t until you tell me what we’re running from.” She approached him, almost floated into the room. Lindsay never made a sound when she walked.

Bitterness lumped in his throat. He didn’t have the energy to fight with her again. “You need to trust me.”

“Not until you trust me enough to tell me the truth. Why do you want me to take the kids to Ireland tomorrow?”

When he didn’t answer, she fell to her knees and grabbed hold of his hands. “Liam, please. You’re scaring me.”

Desperation and defeat tugged at his shoulders. Maybe he was wrong to shut her out. He couldn’t keep her in the dark forever. She needed to know what they were up against if she was to be on guard.

So he told her.

When he was done, the same shock and disgust that had twined inside him when he’d first realized what was going on shone in her eyes. Dread rolled off her in sheets. “I don’t believe this.”

“Believe it.” He unhooked the drive, shut off the computer, then stood and pulled her to her feet. They had little time to waste.

Lindsay shook her head in silent denial. “He’s always been so good to us, to the kids…” She lifted her gaze to his face. “Does he know you know?”

“I’m not sure. But I’m not taking any chances. I’ve gotta act. Fast. But I can’t until you and the kids are safe.”

She nodded feebly, buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her hair brushed his cheek, a soft, comforting caress. “What if he comes after you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Just get the kids as far away from here as possible.”

Lindsay stepped back but seemed reluctant to let go. “I’ll go pack.” After a lengthy pause, she finally released his shirt and headed for the door.

She never made it out. Someone sprang from the shadows, blocked her way. Before Liam could react, the dark figure grabbed her and dug the black barrel of a gun—equipped with a silencer—into her forehead.

Liam instinctively took a step forward, but the man stopped him with a quelling look, tightening his hold on the trigger. “No sudden moves or she bleeds,” he threatened in the smooth voice of a schoolteacher. “I’d really hate to have her bleed all over me. I don’t like blood. The stench is practically impossible to wash off.”

He wasn’t wearing a mask, which convinced Liam he had no intention of sparing them. His round, boyish face was oddly familiar. Where had he seen him before?

Then he remembered, Ringgold Park, the rendezvous point. No one else had been there that day, apart from a bunch of teenagers shooting hoops.

Liam’s heart hammered a steady beat against his ribcage. Suddenly, he knew precisely who had sent him. This was no random break-in. “Let her go, and I’ll give you what you want.”

The man smiled, unnerving in his calmness. “And what do I want?”

He showed him the hard drive. “This.”

“Hand it over. Slowly.”

Lindsay begged him with her eyes not to give in, but her terrified expression shattered his resolve and left him broken inside. He’d do anything to protect his family—even let a monster go—so he did as he was told.

The man approached, with his thick arm still fastened around Lindsay, and reached for the drive. The moment his fingers closed around the device, he shoved Lindsay to the ground, then shot her, point-blank, in the heart. A scream rose in Liam’s throat, but he swallowed it. He couldn’t risk waking the kids. Red-hot agony speared through him. With a burst of fury, he lunged, intending to tackle the murderous bastard. He’d barely taken a step when the bullet struck him hard in the chest. A numbing haze enfolded him, cold and silky, like Lindsay’s wedding gown.

Darkness danced along the edges of his vision as he slumped to the ground. He should have felt pain when he hit the floor, but he didn’t. He felt only weakness. Weakness and an intense sadness…for his children, for the children he’d failed to save. Seconds before the black shroud of death descended upon him, he heard a thumping sound and feared his kids had awakened. He tried to call out to them, to tell them to run, but the only thing that spilled from his mouth was blood.

Then he saw them—three pale white silhouettes shimmering in the darkness, reaching for him—and two words, sharper than a metal blade, sliced through his mind.

Broken Angels.

PART ONE

Broken

A simple child,

That lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death?

William Wordsworth, “We Are Seven”

Chapter One

Three children.

Was the universe playing some cruel joke on her? Rebecca wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but all humor evaded her. Instead, she stared dumbly at the stern-looking, gray-haired attorney in the expensive Hugo Boss suit, fighting an onslaught of symptoms she hadn’t experienced in months—the damp palms, the erratic heartbeat, the all-too-familiar stabbing sensation beneath her ribs. They gripped her with steel claws as she sat on the comfortable brown leather couch next to the man she’d sworn to love a lifetime.

A lifetime that had lasted but eight sweet, miserable years.

His familiar scent wafted toward her—that musky fragrance of mint and rain, peppered with a dash of aftershave. It strangled her almost as much as the word
children
had.

“There must be some mistake.” She hardly recognized her own voice. It was hoarse and held a barely noticeable trace of terror that only someone who knew her well could detect.

Of course, Zach caught it. Sympathy sped across his face, and she wanted to scream. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want anything from him anymore. He’d walked out on her when she’d needed him the most. He’d discarded her like a defective piece of merchandise. He’d left her to wallow in a sea of pain and misery so deep she’d nearly drowned.

But she hadn’t. She’d taken all the hope in her heart and locked it away in that dark little box where all her demons dwelled. Then she’d picked herself up and learned to move on and live again. Two long, hard years she’d worked to regain her sanity and accept the blow fate had dealt her. Two long, grueling years.

And after all was said and done, it took only that dreadful word,
children
, to make it all come crashing down on her again. And Zach just sat there, looking at her as if he understood all too well how she felt.

“I assure you, Mrs. Ryler—”

“James.” The word popped out before she could stop it.

Confusion pleated the attorney’s bushy brows. “Excuse me?”

“My name is Rebecca James. Mr. Ryler and I are divorced.” She could almost feel Zach flinch beside her. She angled a glance his way, noted the sharpness of his features, the way his lips tightened and his dark blue eyes suddenly refused to meet hers. Had she intentionally said that to hurt him? A part of her—the part he’d torn to shreds when he’d walked out on her—probably had.

He looked thin, drawn. His usually tanned skin was pale beneath the harsh glare of the fluorescent overhead lighting, his midnight-black hair—although still as thick as the day she’d met him—laced with gray at the temples. Grief had taken its toll on him, but he would rather swallow a glassful of nails than show it.

His ability to bottle up his emotions, to take control of a situation and accept life’s twists and turns with grace and a humbling sense of self-discipline had always driven her crazy. Why wasn’t he shaking his fists at the sky, screaming bloody murder at the heavens? His baby sister and brother-in-law had just been shot to death, leaving his niece and two nephews orphaned. That should have been enough to send even Gandhi over the edge, but not him. Nothing shook Zach Ryler. Not death, not heartache and certainly not the slow, devastating loss of a dream.

Sensing the tension between them, the attorney—Neil Hopkins, or was it Hawkins?—cleared his throat and continued. “I assure you, Ms. James, there’s no mistake. I had the benefit of working with Liam for over ten years. I deeply hope he saw me not only as his boss, but as his friend.” He paused, took a second to compose himself.

“What I’m trying to say is that I knew Liam on a personal level, and he and Lindsay made their wishes very clear. You and your husband—ex-husband—” he corrected, “have been named legal guardians of their three children.” Errant sunbeams trickled in from the window and gilded the smooth surface of the mahogany desk that dominated the room. Behind it, the lawyer sat, looking aggrieved.

Panic expanded inside her.
Get a grip. Don’t lose it.

“I’ll take care of my niece and nephews on my own.” Zach’s voice scraped the air like sandpaper. This was the first time he’d spoken since they’d entered the stifling office in the downtown Boston high-rise. “I don’t want or need Rebecca’s help.”

Why did his dismissal cut her so deep? He was giving her what she wanted—a way out. She should’ve been thrilled. Instead, a wrenching ache blossomed in her chest.

“Social services may take issue with that,” the lawyer replied. “A man raising three young children on his own—”

“Widowed and divorced fathers do it all the time.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, his hands fisted between them. She recognized the non-negotiable stance, noted the square set of his shoulders and the slight spasm in his jaw. He was digging in his heels, literally and figuratively. His eyes, however, remained shuttered—as clear and flat as a calm sea on a windless day.

Fighting to keep her wits about her, Rebecca rose. Her nails dug painfully into her palms. “I’m sorry.” She slanted a beseeching look Zach’s way. “I loved Lindsay like a sister—you know that—but I can’t do this. I just can’t.”

The lawyer looked stunned and, for the first time since he’d called them into the leather-scented office, at a loss for words.

Zach simply nodded. “I know.”

Rebecca steeled her heart and broke the unsettling eye contact, then shot out the door. It slammed behind her, a loud, hollow reminder of what a coward she was. She was an expert at slamming doors. She’d slammed the door on her marriage, she’d slammed the door on all her dreams of home and family, and now she’d just slammed the door on the second chance fate had seen fit to grant her.

The thought of letting Lindsay down gnawed at her. Lindsay wasn’t only her sister-in-law but her lifelong best friend. Or she had been until Rebecca turned her back on her. Ever since she’d separated from Zach, she’d been unable to bear being around Lindsay anymore. Lindsay—with her perfect marriage and three beautiful children—had been a reminder of everything she’d never have. Just thinking of her had jammed painful needles in her gut, had driven in her failures with the force of a sledgehammer.