Broken Angels (27 page)

She reached for Noah, pulled him close to her heart while she stroked the sand from his hair. “Oh, baby,” she crooned. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Her own tears fell to dampen his head as he curled against her—so small, so fragile, like the infant she’d once rocked in her arms. In that moment the last seven years slipped away as surely as the sand rolling off the dunes. Suddenly, he was that round-faced toddler with the ready smile once more. He was the baby who, at one time, had preferred her to his own mother.

Zach slouched back on his haunches, his shoulders slumping even as his face tightened with disapproval. “What were you thinking, Noah, running off like that? You could’ve been killed. If Kristen hadn’t told us about this place—” He paused, blew out a mouthful of air.

The boy was trying really hard to stop crying. She could tell by the stiffness in his limbs, the slight tremors that coursed through him.

“Why’d you do it? Why’d you take off without telling us?” Zach persisted.

Rebecca shook her head in silent warning. This wasn’t the time to antagonize the child. He was too shaken.

Zach did what men do best; he ignored her. “We went half crazy with worry.”

Noah ripped his body from her embrace. “Why?”

“Why?” Zach shook his head in pure bafflement.

“You don’t give a damn about me. I just annoy you. You keep sending me to my room so you don’t have to look at me.” The tears came again, fast and violent. “Nothing I do is right. Ever.”

Zach’s face crumpled, and all the emotions he fought to conceal broke free. “That is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.” His inflection simmered with a potent combination of shock and frustration. “I send you to your room because I do care. I care too damn much. You’ve got so much anger inside you it’s eating you up, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

The boy hugged his knees again, as if to protect himself from the deluge that threatened to overtake him. Or maybe he was just struggling to hold himself together and keep from shattering.

“We’re family,” Zach told him. “Families don’t always get along, but they care about each other, watch out for each other, no matter what. You got that?”

Noah shook his head with a fierceness that matched the turbulent assault of the waves on the coast. “I don’t have a family anymore. I don’t deserve one.”

“Of course you do,” Rebecca reassured him. “Everyone deserves a family.”

“No!” The vehemence with which the word was spoken was like a physical blow. “I screwed up. Don’t you get it? I’m the reason they’re dead.”

Confusion slammed into her. She tried to stroke her nephew’s damp hair, but he scampered out of her reach. “Don’t touch me!” He was frantic. She barely recognized his voice. It was sharp and piercing, like an alarm. An alarm she would do best to heed.

Then his eyes rose to her face, wet and miserable, and her heart splintered into a million fragments of helpless sorrow.

“I saw him.” He mumbled the words. “The man who killed them.”

Zach was speechless. His gaze met and held hers.

“I thought everyone was asleep, so I got out of bed and went down to play on the computer. I saw the guy break in, saw the gun. He was dressed in black.”

Noah’s whole body shook from the force of his sobs. She wasn’t sure there was enough of him to contain such agony. “I should’ve yelled out, warned them. But I was too scared, so I hid behind the stairs. Then I heard my mom scream.”

Zach ran his palm down his face. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I thought you’d hate me.” A ragged gasp, followed by another sob.

Incredulity seeped in to soak Zach’s features. “Scratch what I said before.
That
is the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed past the pain. “I could never hate you. You’re my sister’s son. I love you like you’re my own. Hell, you are my own.”

Noah’s cries settled into a low whimper. “But I could’ve saved them and I didn’t.”

Zach reached out and gripped his nephew’s arms, gave him a brisk shake. “Hiding was the smartest thing you could’ve done. Probably kept you alive. You think you could’ve taken on a guy with a gun and won?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“No maybes. You did the right thing. Your parents wanted you safe. They would’ve given their lives in a flash to keep you that way. So would I.” He pulled his nephew hard against his chest, held him like the whole world was about to end. “You did the right thing,” he said over and over again, as if wanting to ensure it sank in. Moisture sparkled in Zach’s eyes as he held the boy in the protective loop of his arms and allowed him to cry out his grief.

Rebecca’s stomach muscles bunched. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t find her voice, so she just watched them. Watched as the clouds momentarily parted and sunshine spilled down to halo their heads. Watched as Noah’s body went limp against his uncle’s and his fists clenched around a handful of Zach’s shirt. Watched as the man she loved fought to contain the turmoil churning within him so as to comfort this lost, guilt-ridden boy.

After a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, they broke apart. Noah mopped away his tears with the back of his hand. “Sorry I cried on you,” he said, embarrassed.

Zach shrugged in a manner befitting his nephew. “No big deal. I was already wet.”

The boy’s lips twitched, but they failed to curl into a smile. “Are you gonna tell anyone? What I told you?”

“Why don’t we worry about that later?” Zach filled his lungs with air, released it nice and slow. “Let’s get you back to the house first, clean you up. You look like hell.”

The three of them stood. Rebecca and Zach flanked their nephew, each taking hold of one of his hands. Then they advanced, a strong, united front, over the dunes and across the beach to the boat.

“Where’s the canoe?” Noah asked.

“Probably halfway to China by now.” Zach’s lips quirked at the corners. “Thankfully, the dinghy’s still here ’cause I, for one, have absolutely no desire to swim back.”

“You can swim?” Noah’s surprise was unmistakable.

Zach looked offended. “Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”

Rebecca couldn’t help but smile, despite the worrisome thoughts that nagged at her.

Together they dragged the boat into the sea and climbed in. Seconds later, they drifted onto the vast ocean and floated toward home beneath an unpredictable sky, warmed by the intermittent rays of a fickle sun.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Noah saw the bastard?” Pat’s back went ramrod straight. Blatant interest twisted his features. “Are you shitting me?”

Zach had pulled Liam’s old buddy aside while the kids were swimming and the women busy supervising them. “He told us a couple of days ago. This is good, right? We can nail the son of a bitch now.”

Pat looked skeptical. “It’s a break, no question about that. But kids aren’t always the most reliable witnesses.”

Zach’s fists tightened, but he fought to keep his frustration under control. “It’s more than we had a week ago. He saw the guy’s face. What more do you want?”

“A goddamn picture would be nice.”

“Then set up a session with a sketch artist. See if Noah can flesh this guy out for us.”

Pat shook his head. “In my experience, when a child witness is involved, a sketch is pretty useless.”

Zach didn’t get it. A few days ago the guy had been all gung-ho about catching Liam and Lindsay’s killer, and now he was stonewalling him. “Still worth a shot,” he persisted.

A beat of silence followed. “Sure. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe book something next week in Boston. I’m just telling you not to get your hopes up.”

Noah raced out of the harbor, shot a questioning look their way. Zach couldn’t help but sense the kid knew what he and Pat were discussing. Then Becca ran up to him and lovingly swathed him in a towel. This time, the boy didn’t push her away.

Progress
, Zach thought.

Ever since that day at the Seashore, they seemed to have made some kind of breakthrough. They’d gone from butting heads to actually acting like a family. A family he needed to protect, even if that meant forcing Noah to look fear in the eyes and beat it into submission. Truth was, the kid wouldn’t find peace until the monster who shattered his world was caught. And Zach had every intention of ensuring that happened.

“Do you mind if I question him?” Pat asked. “Find out exactly how much he knows?”

Zach’s gaze found and held Noah’s, who still watched him curiously. “Be my guest. Not sure how open he’ll be to the idea, though. He’s convinced himself that he’s to blame for his parents’ death, that he could’ve saved them. It’s embarrassing for him to admit he saw the killer and did nothing.”

“What could he have done? He’s just a kid.”

“That’s what I told him. But I get how he feels. I’d probably feel the same way in his shoes. It’s hard to see someone you love hurting and not be able to do a fucking thing to stop it.” He understood that kind of helplessness, the toll it takes on you. He’d experienced its crippling effect with his mother, with Becca, and now with these kids. But there came a time when a guy had to take back some of the control life stripped away from him. This was Noah’s chance to do just that.

“I’ll talk to him,” he told Pat. “See if I can convince him to speak to you.”

Pat nodded. “There’s no point booking a sketch artist if Noah doesn’t want to describe this guy.”

“He will.” Zach’s tone was firm, resolute. “He has to. It’s the only way for him to move on.”

“I won’t do it.” Noah turned to face Zach, his body wired. “You can’t make me!” He looked like a coiled snake, wrapped tight, ready to spring.

Zach took a step forward. Drizzle hung around them, a wet mist that refused to dissipate. Kristen was already in bed, wiped out from another full day of swimming. Becca was in the living room, attempting to soothe an inconsolable Will.

Fed up with his brother’s caterwauling, Noah had slunk out onto the back porch, where Zach had followed him and broached the subject of Pat.

“He’s the assistant DA,” he told his nephew. “He can help nail this son of a—” He caught himself, bit back his anger.

“You can say it. I’m not a kid anymore. Son of a bitch is too nice for him anyway. How about shitfaced asshole?”

It was his own fault, really. How could he expect his nephew to watch his mouth when he could barely watch his? “Insults aside, Pat can work with the police to catch this guy. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I’d rather shoot him dead, the way he shot my parents.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s what he deserves.” The conviction on his nephew’s face chilled him.

“Maybe so, but it’s not your job to do it. But you can help the police do theirs.” Suddenly weary, he lowered his body onto one of the matching wicker chairs until his eyes were level with Noah’s. “Talk to Pat.”

“He’ll think I’m a wuss. He’ll tell Jason.”

“No he won’t. Whatever you say to him will be confidential.”

A snort punctured the night. “Yeah, right.”

“This is your chance, Noah. Your chance to help your parents.” He knew it was low to play on his nephew’s guilt, but it was the only way to get through to him. The boy wouldn’t heal until he felt vindicated. If Noah helped nail this bastard, he’d reclaim the self-esteem he’d lost on that godforsaken night when—how had he put it?—the shitfaced asshole had crushed his sense of security to bits.

Noah hunched his shoulders, blinked to hold the tears at bay. “Won’t bring them back.”

“No. But it might help you let go.”

“I don’t want to let go.” Bravado melted away. Only naked honesty remained.

“You don’t have to let go of the good stuff, just the pain.”

“The pain helps me remember.”

Zach reached out, squeezed the boy’s shoulder in a gesture of understanding and affection. “I’ll make you a promise right here and now. As long as I’m alive, you’ll never forget your parents. I’ll make sure of it.”

Noah nodded. Dampness pooled in his eyes, glinted silver in the moonlight. Then he did something that shocked the air from Zach’s lungs and made his heart grow so damn tight it hurt. He hugged him.

Noah huddled in a chair in Jason’s kitchen, repetitively tapping a spoon on the smooth wooden surface of the small table. Not oak, he noted, something else. His other hand played with the silver ring hanging from his neck. Across from him, Jason’s dad waited for him to stop stalling.

“Noah, I know this is hard.” Mr. Jenkins covered his hand with his, took the spoon away. “But I need you to tell me exactly what you saw.”

He shifted in his chair, then raised his shoulder. “I saw a guy open the front door and walk in.”

“Did you hear anything prior to that? Him picking the lock, maybe?”

“Just a click, like he had a key or something. Then he was inside.”

“Were the lights on?”

“No.”

“Then how did you see his face?”

“The blinds were open. Streetlamps were on outside.”

“Did he see you?”

Noah shook his head. “I was in the shadows.” The butterflies in his chest linked their wings, closed around his heart until it had trouble beating. “I saw the gun and hid behind the stairs.”

“Can you describe the gun for me?”

He fought not to fidget. “Aren’t cops supposed to figure this stuff out from the bullets or something?”

Mr. Jenkins’ lips shook a little at the corners. “Just trying to see how much you remember.”

“So this is some kind of test.”

“Does that bother you?” Mr. Jenkins’ eyes cut into him like lasers.

“No. I’m good at tests.” The hand that no longer held the spoon curled into a fist. “It looked like a gun. Dark gray, maybe black, I don’t know.”

“Was it big or small?”

“Small with a long barrel. The barrel looked different from the rest of it, had these squares on it. I remember ’cause it made me think of Checkers.”

Mr. Jenkins scribbled something in the notepad he held. From across the table, Noah caught a glimpse of what he’d written:
Norrell silencer.
Didn’t mean anything to him, but Jason’s dad looked interested…and confused. “You were able to see that much detail hiding behind the stairs with only the streetlights on?”