Broken Angels (22 page)

“Dropped the ketchup bottle,” Tess said sheepishly, then hurried to clean up the mess she’d made. “Better go change.” She blew out an exasperated sigh. “And rinse out this shirt before it stains.”

“I heard salt works wonders,” Rebecca offered.

“I’ve got about a gallon of Spray and Wash in the laundry room. Be right back.”

Deciding to pick up where Tess left off, Rebecca grabbed a few Tupperware containers and began placing them in the fridge. The house was still, peaceful, the silence broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional giggle or scream that trickled in from the open window.

The sudden sound of Pat’s voice coming from the living room startled her, and she nearly tipped over the orange juice. One more inch and she would have needed some of Tess’s Spray and Wash, too. “You know I’m vacationing with the family right now,” he said. “You promised to back off and give me some time to regroup.”

Obviously, he wasn’t talking to his wife or Zach, for that matter. Probably on his cell, she reasoned.

His footsteps thundered as he approached the kitchen. “I’ve done everything I can. I’ve been working with Interpol and the OSCE—” There was a long pause. “’Course I care about the kids. I got two of my own. But these sons of bitches are about as slippery as mud. The only witness we had turned up face down in the harbor.” Another pause. “I understand. I’ll do my best. But without another witness or some kind of lead, I’m just spinning my wheels.”

She heard his cellular slam shut right before he barreled into the kitchen. “That Dan’s got a brick up his ass. He expects me to crack this case wide open while he sits in his office sipping goddamn martinis and playing with his dick.”

Rebecca closed the refrigerator door, turned to look at Pat. His sunburned skin was flushed with anger. The moment he caught sight of her, his already ruddy complexion turned an even deeper shade of red. “Sorry, I thought you were Tess.”

“She went to change. I’m just finishing up here.”

Pat cleared his throat. Embarrassment had him staring at her feet. “About what I just said—”

“Don’t worry about it. I was married to Zach for eight years. I’m used to a swear word or two.” She smiled, hoping to defuse the situation and ease his discomfort.

Before the tension could escalate further, Kristen slunk in, her hands clenched in front of her, her eyes downcast. She crept up to Rebecca, tugged on her sarong and mumbled something.

“I didn’t hear you, sweetie.”

Rebecca leaned down so the girl could whisper in her ear. “I need to use the potty.”

“Sure. Come, I’ll take you.” She excused herself. Taking Kristen by the hand, she bolted from the kitchen and happily left Pat to his privacy.

Dusk came, slow and steady, with a streak of red so brilliant it set the sky on fire and turned the harbor a deep, shimmering rose. Rebecca watched the small waves from the window as she tucked Kristen into bed. She’d go for a late-night swim, she decided, get a few laps in before she called it a night. She didn’t have the benefit of a gym here, so she had to get her exercise any way she could.

Will was teething, so Zach was in the other room with him, trying to calm him. Once the baby settled, Zach would place him in his playpen, which was set up in Noah and Kristen’s room. Hopefully, Noah and Kristen would already be asleep by then. Though, judging by the way Noah sat in the armchair across the room playing with his Game Boy, she highly doubted it.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asked.

“Not tired yet.”

“It’s late.”

“I’m nine,” he argued. “I can stay up later than my baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby,” Kristen tossed in, obviously offended. “If Noah can stay up, I can, too.”

Rebecca closed her eyes and sighed. “All I know is that you better be in bed when your uncle brings Will in, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

Noah ignored her. Kristen on the other hand sank into bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. She looked troubled, pensive, as she had ever since she’d walked into the Jenkinses’ kitchen earlier today. Rebecca had been meaning to ask her what was wrong, but hadn’t known how to go about it. She wasn’t sure the girl felt comfortable enough to confide in her yet. But she had to try. “Did you have fun today?”

The girl gave a feeble nod. “I like playing with Jason and Amy.”

“So no one did anything to upset you? One of the kids, maybe—”

Kristen wagged her head.

“You’re sure?”

She nodded again.

Concern strained Rebecca’s brows, and she realized with a twinge of alarm she’d probably just given herself another wrinkle…and a few gray hairs to go along with it. She really wished she had some idea what she was doing. Wished she knew how to get Noah to make eye contact and Kristen to share her worries. But she didn’t. She was as lost as the thin wisp of a girl buried in the king-sized bed.

Defeated, she stood to leave.

“Aunt Becca,” Kristen called as Rebecca reached the door. “Am I going to disappear, like my mommy and daddy?”

Rebecca’s pulse gave a nice, swift kick. “Of course not. Where did you get an idea like that?”

Kristen shrugged. From across the room, Noah snorted. “Probably from one of her dumb baby shows.”

“I’m not a baby!”

“Noah, please.” Rebecca begged the boy to be quiet, not caring if she sounded pathetic. She returned to the girl’s bedside, reached out to grip her small hand. “You’re not going to disappear.”

Kristen bit her lower lip until it turned white. “But Amy’s dad said the children are disappearing because the angels are broken.”

Confusion streamed in to crowd out distress. “Pat? When?”

“I heard him when I went to use the potty. He was screaming in the phone.” The lip she stopped worrying trembled dangerously. “Is it true? Are the angels broken?”

“No.” Rebecca lifted her hand, allowed it to stroke the child’s hair, surprised when the act didn’t sting. “The angels aren’t broken. They’re strong and they’re whole and they’re watching over you. Every day and every night, they’re watching over us all.”

She lifted her gaze to rest on Noah, and this time his eyes locked with hers. There was anger and pain in them, but hope, too. In his turbulent stare she sensed a desperate need to believe that the bad really could be kept at bay.

Kristen hugged Lindsay’s sweater. Pulling her favorite teddy bear close with her other arm, she turned on her side. “I don’t want to disappear,” she muttered into the brown fur.

Rebecca shocked herself by doing something she didn’t believe she was capable of doing. She leaned over and brushed a kiss on the girl’s forehead. “You won’t,” she promised. “I won’t let it happen. Ever.”

She didn’t know who Pat had been talking with on the phone or why he’d gotten so angry. But she knew one thing—an adult always had to be on guard around children, because they listened, and they heard, even when they didn’t seem to be paying attention. Every inadvertent word spoken had the potential to plant doubt and the power to devastate.

She waited until Kristen drifted off to sleep and Noah finally decided to climb into bed. Then—her heart heavy yet full—she tiptoed out of the room, down the stairs and out into the cool night, where the sea beckoned her.

So they’d gotten through another day. That was how Zach measured success now—not in terms of award-winning advertising campaigns or multi-million-dollar accounts, but in terms of meals consumed, games played and a minimum number of tears shed.

The sun had set over an hour ago. The sky was a deep indigo spattered with stars. Silver moon shadows hopped along the edges of the water, making it pulse with a neon-blue glow. Normally, he didn’t have much use for the ocean. It was a death trap, if you asked him. Still, he liked the sound the waves made when they slapped the shore. He listened to that sound, let it soothe him, while he sat on the porch steps staring into the black void of night.

Life looked so simple from this vantage point, and he almost convinced himself everything would sort itself out. He was probably a fool to think they could all start over, but he didn’t give a shit. He wanted to savor this strange peace that had fallen over him.

The kids were safe, healthy, able to smile occasionally. That was something, he guessed. Yeah, they were torn to shreds inside, but that would right itself in time. It had to. The body had a self-preservation mechanism that forced you to survive, whether you wanted to or not.

Take Becca, for instance. She was living proof that time healed all wounds. He could see the change in her. There was something solid and composed about her that hadn’t been there before. Something that told him maybe history didn’t have to repeat itself. She could smile through her pain, wrap her arms around a crying baby, listen to a mother talk about her children without shriveling inside. And that gave him hope. Maybe she’d learned to accept what she couldn’t change. Maybe she’d finally made peace with fate.

Just the same, he couldn’t help but wonder if she could ever really be happy with their makeshift family or if she’d always feel cheated, always crave the one thing he couldn’t give her.

The harbor shivered, and from its depths a figure sprang. She walked toward him, bathed in starlight, her body glistening, her hair streaming wet and wild down her back.

Zach’s next breath snagged in his throat.

A siren, he thought. A mythical creature rising from the sea to seduce him.

His lungs felt crushed, deprived of air. The walls of his throat narrowed as an electrical charge pulsed across his nerve endings.

Then he realized the siren was Becca. She’d gone for an evening swim. She loved swimming at night because the water was always warmer then. Shadows played along her curves, making her hips rounder, her stomach flatter, her breasts fuller. Her hair was a deep bronze, her skin a translucent ivory in the pale light of the moon.

His body instantly responded to the sight of her, hardening, aching, until he couldn’t remember why he’d vowed to keep his hands off her. None of it seemed to matter anymore.

She grabbed a towel from the porch railing and swathed it around her figure, and it took all of his self-control to bite back the protest that scratched at his throat.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to,” he muttered instead. His voice sounded gruff.

“After I tucked Noah and Kristen in, I decided to go for a swim. You were busy with Will, and I can always use the exercise.” She lowered her body next to his, smelling of the sun and the sea. Water dripped from her hair. Rivulets trickled over her shoulders and slid down her arms.

Unable to stop himself, he captured one of the drops with the back of his index finger. It was cool against her warm skin, silky. Their gazes locked, and awareness sizzled between them.

“Did Will go to sleep okay?” Her question pierced the cloud of lust enveloping him.

“Yeah.” He let his hand fall away before he was tempted to explore more of her. “He was exhausted after all that crying.”

“Not to mention all that fun in the sun.” A hazy smile ghosted across her lips. “We had a pretty full day. The kids were really excited, weren’t they?” The tenderness on her face shook him. It was the same look Lindsay always used to get whenever she spoke of the kids.

He eyed her steadily. An image of her playing in the waves with the pack earlier today flashed through his mind. “You’re really something with them.” He couldn’t suppress the note of wonder in his voice. “I never expected it.”

She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Half the time—correction, most of the time—I feel like I’m in way over my head.” Bolt ambled onto the porch to sit beside her, and she stroked him absently. Zach’s gaze was drawn to the gentle rhythm of her fingers as she threaded them through the dog’s lustrous coat. He remembered how those hands had felt on his body when she’d massaged him last night, the way they’d twined in his hair and chased the tension from his limbs.

“But I understand them. Understand how they feel,” she added, oblivious to the dangerous path his thoughts were taking. “I get Noah’s anger, Kristen’s totally delusional hope, Will’s tantrums.”

Zach made a sound that was half laugh, half snort. “At least one of us does.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself as usual. You’re great with them. I can see how much they look up to you.”

“That’s because I’m tall.”

Her heartfelt laughter filled the night. God, he’d missed hearing her laugh. The sound of it made a strange energy pulsate in his pores and burrow deep within the marrow of his bones. It took all his self-control not to reach out and touch her again. Instead, he clasped his hands together and let them hang between his knees.

“Can you answer a question for me?” He stared at his joined fingers, unable to look her in the eyes for fear of what he would see there.

“Sure.”

“When I suggested adoption, why did you refuse? I thought maybe you believed you couldn’t love a child that wasn’t biologically ours. But now that I see you with these kids I can’t help but wonder—”

“You thought I couldn’t love a child I didn’t give birth to?” She sounded offended.

He ventured a glance in her direction. Even in the dark he couldn’t miss the indignation that flamed in her cheeks.

“I didn’t know what to think,” he answered honestly. “You were so set against it.”

“Because I was angry. Because if I couldn’t have what I wanted, then I wanted nothing at all. It was the injustice of it, the unfairness. Why should I be deprived the joy of feeling my child grow inside me when it came so naturally to everyone else? Adoption felt like acceptance, like throwing in the towel.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

“At the time, yes.”

“And now?”

She hesitated. The light breeze lifted her wet curls from her shoulders, sent them rioting around her face. “It doesn’t really matter anymore,” she whispered. “The choice is no longer mine to make.” He barely heard her past the whoosh of the waves.

“That sounds oddly like acceptance.”

“Maybe it is. Even I have to give up sometime.” Her inflection held a hint of amusement, but he wasn’t buying the flippancy.

“Is that what this feels like to you, giving up?”