Broken Angels (9 page)

So, although she wasn’t willowy like Ms. Orloff and did not possess a fraction of her grace, she was still in relatively good shape and hoped to keep it that way.

Ms. Orloff demonstrated a pirouette. Eleven little girls in pink tights followed her lead. Kristen didn’t. She spun the wrong way, lost her balance and fell. Ms. Orloff frowned and pinched her mouth in a way that reminded Rebecca of a plucked ostrich. Kristen cowered and slowly dragged herself to her feet.

The mother sitting beside Rebecca clucked her tongue disapprovingly, and Rebecca shot her a withering look.

“Chassé,” Ms. Orloff instructed, skating across the dance floor. Eleven little girls floated through the room, as graceful as swans. Kristen moved a little too fast and crashed into the girl beside her. Ms. Orloff’s chest heaved with an exasperated sigh. The same mother snickered and shook her head.

Rebecca angled a glance her way. “Is there a problem?”

“That girl’s got two left feet,” she said, unaware that Rebecca was Kristen’s aunt. “She’ll never be a dancer. I don’t know why her mother keeps bringing her.”

She leaned closer, whispered conspiratorially, “I haven’t seen her around these past few weeks. Maybe she’s too embarrassed to stay and watch.”

Rebecca wanted nothing more than to wipe that self-satisfied smirk from her face. What a wretched, wretched woman. “That’s because she was shot to death two weeks ago,” she informed her. “I’m Kristen’s guardian now.”

The woman’s features fell. Purple blotches blossomed on her cheeks. “I’m sorry— I had no idea— I didn’t mean—”

Rebecca noted the despair on Kristen’s face, the way she inched away from the group and stared at her pink slippers as if they were the source of all her misery. She felt her pain. Her embarrassment was her own. It would probably take years for this little girl to find herself, and when she did, it most certainly would not be here in this stodgy studio.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “Kristen may never learn to be a ballet dancer, but at five she’s already learned compassion, decency and common courtesy.” She shot the woman an accusing look infused with bitter meaning. “Things so many adults still fail to grasp.”

The woman’s lips parted with an unvoiced protest, but Rebecca didn’t wait for her reply. She stood and tore into the classroom, not caring that she was interrupting the lesson. She walked up to her niece and crouched beside her. “Are you having fun?”

“Excuse me,” Ms. Orloff reprimanded with a hint of haughtiness, “we’re in the middle of a lesson.”

Rebecca ignored her. “Sweetie, are you having fun?” she asked again.

The girl shrugged. “I’m no good. I can’t dance.” Self-reproof shimmered in her bruised irises, making her look far older than her years. She was too young to know of failure, of loss, of death. Too young to know anything but joy.

“That’s not what I asked you. I asked you if you were enjoying yourself.”

With a wary look at her teacher, Kristen reluctantly wagged her head.

“That settles it then. We’re blowing this pop stand.”

“You cannot leave in the middle of a lesson—”

With no hesitation at all, Rebecca took hold of Kristen’s hand and stalked past the dried-up old prune of an instructor. She no longer envied her willowy charms or pretentious grace. Without stopping to look back, she barreled past the startled mothers—who watched her as if she were a couple of baskets short of a picnic—raced down the stairs and burst out the front door.

The hot July sun welcomed them, sprinkled kisses along their skin as a warm breeze caressed their faces. The thick wooden door swung shut behind them with an angry clunk. In the street, cars whizzed by at breakneck speed, the drivers hardly noticing the cotton-tailed clouds chugging across a cornflower-blue sky or the way newly planted trees saluted them with a wild flutter of leaves. In a few months those leaves would be mottled with orange and gold before they slowly abandoned the safety of their branches in favor of an icy grave. But for now a stunning burst of color streaked the day.

Rebecca cradled Kristen’s small hand in hers and walked away from the redbrick building with its impeccably polished floors and stone-hearted inhabitants. The lost little girl gazed up at her tentatively, her expression brimming with confusion and something else—trust.

Rebecca’s heart swelled until it could barely beat. The strangest feeling came upon her. A feeling more powerful than despair, more paralyzing than self-recrimination, more gripping than longing. It was one of purpose, and it brought with it a bone-deep conviction that made her insides shake. She would help these damaged children heal, grow and find their place in the world…and God have mercy on anyone who dared get in her way.

“Finally. U came,” Night-Owl wrote the moment Noah logged on to Falcon World. “I’m bored.”

“Yeah, me 2.” With Kristen gone and Uncle Zach busy taking care of Will, Noah was completely on his own. Being alone sucked. He’d made a few drawings for the comic book he was working on, but now he was sick of drawing. He’d called up his friend Jason to see if he wanted to get together at the park or something, but no one had answered.

So he’d snuck into his dad’s office, turned off the speaker on the computer and stepped into Falcon World. Being in this room still made a swarm of bees buzz around in his stomach, but he fought to ignore them.

Chicken-shit.

He was happy that Night-Owl was here. “Still glad school’s out,” he added.

“KWUM.”
Know what you mean
, Night-Owl typed. “Rather be bored at home than in some dumb classroom.”

“School is total B/S.”

“Total.” There was a short pause. “What R U doin this summer?”

“BTSOOM.”
Beats the shit out of me.
“It’s up to my aunt and uncle.” As soon as Noah pressed Enter, he regretted it. He hadn’t told Night-Owl about his parents dying. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain. Just thinking about the shooting made the bees in his belly angry enough to sting.

“How come?”

A thick, wet knot rose to clog his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to answer. The words were all tangled up in the ugly images in his head.

“Raptor, R U there?”

“I’m here. Wanna play a game?” he wrote instead.

“Checkers?”

“No. How bout Chess?”

“K.”

So they played and Night-Owl didn’t ask him any more questions about his parents. For a few minutes Noah forgot they were gone. Forgot the shiny black gun with the long barrel that had taken them from him. Forgot how shitty the world could be.

He was just a kid again, having fun with a friend, and he liked it.

Chapter Eight

Becca and Kristen should have been back over an hour ago. Zach had tried calling to see what was holding them up, but Becca’s cell phone was off. He told himself it was too early to worry, but he couldn’t help it. After what had happened to Liam and Lindsay, he saw disaster around every corner. A truck could have rammed into Becca’s car, crumpled the metal and trapped them inside. A distracted driver might have passed a red light as they crossed the street, flattening them on the pavement. Even now, a strung-out gang member could be roaming the streets with a loaded gun in hand, determined to use pedestrians for target practice. Danger was a shadow, barely visible yet ever present, waiting for the perfect opportunity to bury you.

He tried to distract himself by entertaining Will, but it didn’t work. The grandfather clock in the living room kept catching his eye. Every damn tick was torture. When the doorbell rang, relief flooded his veins. He didn’t bother asking himself why Becca would ring the doorbell when he’d given her one of the spare keys that morning. He simply rushed to open it.

Disappointment sliced through him when he found Martin Birch standing on the front porch instead.

“Hey, Zach,” he greeted, squeezing in past him.

Martin was Liam’s older brother, a slick financial advisor with more arrogance than common sense. Zach had never liked him much. There was something about his perfect row of pearl-white teeth and icy blue gaze that left a greasy feeling in Zach’s gut.

“We weren’t expecting you,” Zach said a little too curtly. “I thought you were out of town.”

“I was. Sorry I missed the reading of the will, but I had a seven-digit deal to close and couldn’t get out of it.”

Of course, what could be more important than a million-dollar deal? Certainly not the fate of his niece and nephews. Zach thanked God Lindsay and Liam had had the good sense not to appoint Martin as guardian. He was single, emotionally crippled, and marked each new day on the calendar with a dollar sign.

“How are the kids doing?”

Zach wanted to say,
“What do you care?”

Instead, he tamped down his bitterness and followed Martin to the living room. “As well as can be expected. They need a little time to adapt.”

“I bet they do.” Martin bent his body at midriff, placed his hands on his knees and flashed an exaggerated grin at Will, who sat on the rug chewing on a carrot. Zach had read somewhere that it helped with the teething.

“Where are the others?”

“Noah’s upstairs in his room. Kristen’s at dance class.”

“Business as usual, huh?”

“I’m trying to keep their routine as normal as possible.” He didn’t like having to explain himself, especially to the likes of Liam’s snake-oil salesman of a brother.

“Sounds fair enough.” Martin swaggered to the couch, dropped into it and stretched out his arms like a king staking a claim on his throne. Dressed in a pair of crisp black slacks, a designer shirt and Italian loafers, he looked like he should be on the cover of
Business Week
. “Have you gotten around to clearing out Liam and Lindsay’s things yet?”

Anguish serpentined around Zach’s chest, a hungry python that squeezed him until his lungs hurt. “No,” he said a little too adamantly. “Haven’t found the time.”

“If you need help, give me a ring. I don’t mind lending a hand.” He glanced at the wedding picture hanging over the fireplace and had the decency to look remorseful. “I still can’t believe my baby brother’s gone.”

For once, Zach had to agree with him. He understood Kristen’s refusal to accept her parents’ death. Hell, he could barely wrap his brain around it himself.

“If you need a break, I can take them over the weekend,” Martin offered. “Now that the big deal’s behind me, I’ve got some down time.”

“Thanks, but Becca moved in yesterday. She’s assuming some of the responsibilities, so things have gotten a lot easier.”

Something dark and predatory flared in Martin’s cool gaze, but he quickly subdued it. “How’s that working out?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s gotta be weird, living with your ex again.”

Zach bristled. Becca had always been a sore subject for them. “We’re both adults. We can be civil to each other. The kids have to come first.”

A humorless chuckle resonated in Martin’s throat. “If I ever moved in with one of my exes, she’d skin me alive. You know what they say about a woman scorned.”

“Becca’s different.”

“Sure she is. Bet she’s never fantasized about raking you over burning coals.”

You wish.
He fought to tamp down his growing irritation. Martin had the annoying habit of assuming he knew his wife better than he did, and as hard as he tried Zach couldn’t squelch the prickling fear that the jerk might be right.

Noah ambled into the living room, an iPod clipped to his belt. The moment he saw Martin, he pulled the plugs from his ears. “Hi, Uncle Martin. Are you moving in, too? ’Cause if you are, we need a bigger house.”

Martin’s face lit up at the sight of his eldest nephew, and he laughed. “No, bud. I’m not moving in.” He patted the couch cushion, invited Noah to come sit beside him. When the boy complied, Martin wrapped an arm around him and drew him hard against his side. “So how you holding up?”

Noah gave one of his trademark shrugs and wriggled free from the man’s grasp. He was old enough for open displays of affection to make him uncomfortable. “I’m fine. But Will whines all the time and Kristen’s a pain in the ass—”

Zach skewered the boy with a quelling look. “How many times have I told you to watch your mouth?”

“What’s the big deal?” He slid his thumbs through his belt hoops and slumped back in the couch. “You swear all the time.”

Martin watched Zach with a reproachful look that made him want to ball his hands into fists. What right did the cocky son of a bitch have to judge him? While Martin was off wheeling and dealing, Zach was here rolling with the punches, trying his damnedest to keep this family together. He had to put aside his own ambitions, bury his pain even as it struggled to eat him from the inside out and work to mend the three young lives tragedy had left in shambles. The way he saw it, he was damn well entitled to a swear word or two.

“So, bud,” Martin said after a short pause, “are you still a fiend for video games?”

Noah’s belligerent expression vanished, replaced by excitement. “What do you think?”

Martin laughed. “Then I’m sure you’re gonna love what I’ve got in my car for you.”

The boy rocketed to his feet. “DSI?”

As if the kid needed another handheld device he could hide under his sheets.

“Not exactly. Come take a look.” Noah needed no further incentive to follow his uncle outside.

When they returned a few minutes later, Noah had his hands wrapped around a brand new video game. “Look.” He showed Zach the game. “Uncle Martin got me
G.I. Joe: Rise of the Cobra
for PlayStation 3!”

Great. Now the kid would spend the next five hours glued to the television set. “Are you old enough to play that game?” he asked, since he was the only responsible adult in the room.

“You’re never too young for G.I. Joe.” Martin gave Noah a playful punch on the arm. Noah beamed.

Zach shook his head and swallowed a grunt. This was going to be a very long afternoon.

In line with his thoughts, the clock chimed the hour. The pendulum swung on well-oiled hinges as the small hand fell to rest upon the one. Kristen’s dance class had ended two hours ago. The python tightened its hold on him, baring hungry fangs.