by Anne Hope
“Getting us out of here.” The barrels nearly slid out from under him, so he grabbed the metal frame that held them in place to keep from falling.
Kristen crawled over to him, crouched at the bottom and watched him with a funny mix of hope and fear in her eyes. Noah reached the window and tried to unlatch it.
“Is it open?”
He pushed it, but it wouldn’t give way. “It’s painted shut.” Using what little fingernails he had, he peeled away the paint. One by one, the chips fluttered to the ground like snowflakes. He shoved the glass again.
Nothing. It didn’t budge an inch.
That was when he noticed the nail. It was old and rusted. He began to jiggle it, thinking if he played with it, it might come loose. From the looks of it, someone else had had the same idea because it moved around easily.
“Noah.” Kristen’s voice was frantic. “I think he’s coming.”
Keys jingled in the lock, and Noah’s stomach did a belly flop. As fast as he could, he scurried back down, praying the barrels wouldn’t collapse beneath his weight.
With a reassuring look directed at his sister, he jumped to the ground seconds before the door swung open.
Chapter Thirty
Rebecca managed to swallow a couple of spoonfuls of soup, but that was the extent of her appetite. The sandwich still sat on her plate, untouched. Thankfully, Will had eaten a decent supper and was now amusing himself exploring Tess’s house, carefully monitored by Jason and Amy.
Beyond the windows, twilight stretched. The painful void in Rebecca’s chest pulsed. Another day was drawing to a close, and the children had yet to be found.
Tess watched her with a somber look, her hands clasped nervously over her bent knees, as she sat across from her in the living room. “Zach should be back soon,” she told her.
Rebecca nodded feebly. “If they’d found them, we would have heard by now.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Zach would have called.” Her tone was flat, monotonous. Despair was creeping in. She was familiar enough with the feeling to recognize it. Only this time she wouldn’t recover from it. It would eat her alive and spit her out in pieces.
“I never knew,” she admitted to Tess. “I thought the absence of love was the worst thing a person could endure, but it isn’t. Love is far, far worse.” She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. “What am I going to do, Tess? Now that I’ve known them, how do I go on without them?”
Tess reached out and clutched Rebecca’s trembling fingers. “Don’t think like that. It isn’t over yet.”
Rebecca wanted desperately to believe her, but every minute that passed fueled her worst fears. “How am I going to get through another night, knowing they’re out there somewhere on their own? What if they’re hurt?”
Tess tightened her grip on Rebecca’s hand but didn’t speak. There was nothing her friend could say that would provide any real comfort. It would be like trying to mend a broken bone with a Band-Aid.
“Don’t touch that!” Jason yelled, following Will into the living room. Pat’s prized figurine collection had caught the toddler’s eye, and he wanted to get his pudgy hands on one of the porcelain figures—an angel with golden wings. Jason ran to block him. Will, who didn’t appreciate the interference, let out an indignant yowl.
Rebecca pulled free from Tess’s grasp and rose. “I should take Will home. He’s about due for his next dose of penicillin.”
Tess nodded and followed Rebecca as she went to retrieve the toddler. “Will you try to get some sleep tonight?” The concern lacing the neighbor’s words was thick, almost tangible.
Rebecca’s lips curled into a meek smile that trembled at the corners. She didn’t even have the energy to answer.
“Hold on a sec.” Tess quickly disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned, she clasped a small bottle. “Sometimes I have trouble sleeping,” she told her. “The doctor prescribed these. They’re a mild sedative.” She placed the pills in the palm of Rebecca’s hand. “I think you need them more than I do.”
“I really shouldn’t—” Her last experimentation with sleeping pills had been a disaster.
“Take them, just in case,” Tess insisted. “You won’t do these kids any good if you’re too tired to stand on your own two feet. You need to rest.”
With an uncertain nod, Rebecca pocketed the bottle. She was too tired to argue. “Thank you, for everything,” she told Tess. “You’ve been a great friend.” And with that, she lifted Will and left the warm bosom of Tess’s home to return to her own, where another sleepless night awaited her. There was no way she was going to take a single one of those sedatives. The last time she had, it had destroyed her marriage and nearly killed her.
Pills numbed not only the senses, but the mind, and she was determined to stay sharp and alert no matter what. She would hold herself together, bite down on the pain and somehow find a way to believe that the universe wasn’t out to steal every pathetic ounce of happiness she was blessed enough to find.
When Zach got home that evening, adrenaline coursed through him like a drug. He’d never been the kind of guy who punched holes in walls, but right now that was exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to pummel every object in sight. Helplessness ate away at him, laced with a potent dose of fear. The cops had waited too long. They should’ve brought the dogs yesterday, searched through the night. Now, whoever had nabbed the kids had a thirty-hour head start and they had nothing. Nothing but questions.
Becca trudged down the stairs, her hair tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Her complexion was pale and drawn. The light had gone out of her eyes, replaced by a flat look that left him suddenly spent.
She’s withdrawing into herself again.
Her expression blackened the second she realized he was alone. “You didn’t find them.” Her tone rang flatter than her gaze.
Zach stared at the blank wall behind her. He couldn’t bear to look at her, couldn’t bear to see the pain and disappointment on her face. “No.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he just shook his head. “Where’s Martin?” he asked, changing the subject.
“He went back home to pack up some things.”
He snorted in a way that reminded him of Noah. The thought of his nephew poured lemon juice over the gaping wound in his abdomen. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before the jerk jumped ship.”
“You’re not being fair. He didn’t even have a change of clothes with him. He said he’d be back to help as soon as he could.”
“You should have told him to forget about it. We don’t need his brand of help.”
Fatigue and exasperation tugged at her lips and brows, and she didn’t bother to acknowledge his bitter comment with a reply. “Did the police find anything?”
She waited for an answer he was hesitant to give. How could he tell her Lieutenant Mason’s theory without crushing her hopes, adding another layer of worry to the multitude already weighing her down?
Her patience finally snapped. “Zach, please talk to me. I’m dying here.”
Sadness scraped the walls of his throat. “They found tracks out in the woods.” He forced himself to meet her dampened gaze. “They belonged to the kids. The dogs led us to a house up on Ministers Lane. It was empty.” It had taken over an hour for the warrant to arrive, while they’d sat on the back steps with the sun bearing down on them, sweating inside and out. “The owners put it on the market over a year ago. Lieutenant Mason and his crew tracked them down and questioned them. Their alibi checks out. They were nowhere near the house yesterday afternoon.”
“I don’t understand. If the kids were playing in an abandoned house, why didn’t they come home?”
“The cops believe someone else was in there. There were traces of a man’s shoes imprinted in the dust, signs of a struggle.” He swallowed to wash down the bitterness that spread through his mouth. “Lieutenant Mason is convinced w
hoever was in the house took the kids.”
Becca shook her head and covered her mouth with her fingers. “Is this all speculation or fact?”
He ran his own hand over his face, felt the stubble scratch his palm. “Does it really matter? It makes sense. If they’d wandered off, we would’ve found them by now.”
“I don’t understand any of this.” She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth or comfort, he couldn’t be sure which. “First Liam and Lindsay, now Noah and Kristen.”
“Maybe it’s all linked.”
Her head snapped up. “What are you saying?”
“Noah confesses to seeing the guy who killed his parents, then disappears. Pretty convenient, don’t you think?”
Fear came into her eyes, sharp enough to slice him in two. “You think the killer took them? Oh, God.” Hysteria shook her voice, and he wanted to smack himself for speculating out loud. All he needed now was to push her over the edge. But she pulled herself together, gathered her thoughts enough to ask, “How could he possibly know?”
Guilt slammed into him. “Because I pushed Noah into talking to Pat, urged Pat to book a session with a sketch artist. Maybe Pat went ahead and shared what he knew with the Boston PD—”
“Don’t tell me you’re trying to take responsibility for this.” Her tone was hot enough to melt steel. “You’re doing it again. Trying to control everything. To shoulder the blame.”
“It’s all I know how to do,” he answered honestly. “What got us into this mess in the first place. If I’d only let sleeping dogs lie—”
“Stop. Just stop.” She closed her lids to block out the sight of him. “We’ll blame the sick bastard who took them. That’s who we’ll blame.” She bridged the distance between them, waited for something he was unable to give.
He went as far as to lift his arm, but as much as he ached to pull her to him and reassure her everything was going to be all right, something held him back. Maybe it was his sense of inadequacy. He didn’t know how to be the man she needed, never had. With a short, exasperated breath, he let his arm drop to his side.
She studied him. The broken look on her face stabbed him, dead-center, in the heart. “It’s happening again,” she whispered so softly he barely made out the words. “You’re pulling away from me. I’m losing you.”
Her statement bowled him over. She was afraid of losing him? Maybe he wasn’t the man she needed, but she was all he’d ever wanted. He’d die before he let her go again. This time when he reached out, he wrapped his fingers around hers and drew her close. Her heat singed him, thawed the splinters of ice in his bloodstream. Her bottomless eyes drew him in, swallowed him like quicksand, and his lungs suddenly felt heavy, full of mud.
He slid his palms up her arms. “I sucked at being a husband,” he confessed. “Turns out I suck at being a father as well.”
She shook her head in protest, and he silenced her by pressing his finger to her lips. “But I’m in this for the long haul. In good times and in bad. For better or for worse. Isn’t that what we promised each other? I forgot that for a while. But I remember now.”
He gripped her shoulders, gave her a nice, hard squeeze. “I need one more promise from you, though. You’ve got to stay with me this time because I can’t bear to watch the pain bury you again.”
Clutching his shirt for support, she nodded feebly and curled up against him. Her softness, her tender heat sapped all his energy. The overwhelming urge to collapse in a heap on the ground with her tucked safely in his arms seized him. But he kept standing, infusing her with whatever strength he had left. Stress and despair hollowed out a space inside him he was desperate to fill, so he crushed his mouth to hers. He needed to believe that all wasn’t lost, that some hope still remained. He wanted to chase away the crippling numbness that had clung to him for days, to feel alive again, if only for a few minutes.
She went limp in his arms, and he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the couch where they’d made love for the first time, before things had gotten so complicated. He just wanted to hold her, kiss her, press her to him and know she was still his. He was drowning again, grasping at an elusive lifeline, struggling to stay afloat any way he could.
He couldn’t think, could barely breathe. He just wanted to feel, to bury himself in the one woman he just couldn’t teach himself to live without. There was a limit to how much loss a man could handle, and he’d reached his. This was his way to strike back, to tell fate it wouldn’t take another damn thing from him.
With a fire in his blood that bordered on desperation, he peeled the blouse from her shoulders, kissed her creamy skin, tossed her sweater on the floor…
Something fell out of the pocket and plunked to the ground, distracting him. He shot a cursory glance at the heap of wool at the foot of the couch, and stilled. It looked like fate had taken him up on his challenge, happily turned around and kicked him in the teeth yet again.
Next to Becca’s gray sweater—rolling ominously toward him—was a small bottle of pills.
Chapter Thirty-One
The look on Zach’s face when he saw the tranquilizers said it all. Rebecca scurried off the couch, cursing herself for ever being stupid enough to let Tess talk her into taking the bottle.
She leaned over to retrieve it, but Zach beat her to it. “What’s this?” The cold accusation in his voice froze her solid.
“Sedatives,” she admitted warily. “Tess insisted I use them to help me sleep. I just took the bottle to get her off my back. She can be very persistent.”
He didn’t believe her. She saw it in the stiff set of his shoulders, the thin line of his lips. There was a hard glitter in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Seconds later, he echoed her thoughts. “I don’t believe this. I’m such an idiot.” His fingers tightened around the bottle before he pitched it on the table. His anger was tangible. She could feel it fisting around her, taste it in the thickening air, hear it in the deafening silence pulsing between them.
He jumped to his feet, the muscles on his back rippling beneath his shirt. He refused to meet her gaze. “This was a mistake,” he spat at her. “I knew we’d end up right back where we started.”
Her own anger flared. She’d had enough of being continuously reeled in only to be tossed aside. “You’re really full of shit, you know that?”
Shock momentarily sliced through his fury. “I’m full of shit? I’m full of shit?”
She wanted to punch him. Badly. Almost as badly as she’d wanted to kiss him earlier. “One minute you’re jumping my bones, the next you’re telling me it’s a mistake. Make up your mind, because I’ve had about as much as I can take. You either want me or you don’t.”
“Is that what you think this is about? Wanting you? Good God, Becca, wanting you was never the problem. The problem is that I’m too damn selfish to let you go.”
His statement floored her. Anger dissipated until only weakness remained. “If you want me so darn much, why have you spent the last two years pushing me away?”
The dam broke, and a sea of anguish shone in his midnight blue gaze. “Because I’m bad for you. This relationship never seems to work. Things always go south, and I just don’t know how to fix them.” His anxiety was finally catching up to him, and his voice splintered under the pressure. “I’ve failed you over and over again. Now I’ve gone and failed my sister’s kids, too.”
It all became clear then. Every question that haunted her turned to dust and rolled away. He hadn’t walked out on her because of her failures but because of his own. The weight of his responsibly crushed her. “You’ve failed no one. No matter how strong you are, no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop life from happening. You can’t live in a bubble, and neither can the people you love. Believe me, I’ve tried. Pain still finds you. The only difference is that you have to bear it alone.”
Their eyes locked, and raw honesty passed between them. “I wasn’t going to take the pills,” she told him with as much pa
ssion as she could muster, and this time she almost sensed he believed her.
He took a step toward her, his expression alight with a burning intensity that incinerated her flesh and left her bare, exposed. She wasn’t sure whether he planned to shake or embrace her, and she never found out. He stopped when he kicked something half concealed by the sofa. The blow knocked the object against the leg of the couch, and it shattered. His attention diverted, Zach fell on his haunches and picked up the broken pieces of porcelain. “Where did this come from?”
Rebecca bent over for a closer inspection. One of Pat’s figurines, the angel Will had been fixated on, stared back at her with deadened eyes. “From Tess’s house. Will must have snatched it when I wasn’t paying attention.” Regret slid through her. How was she going to tell her friend and neighbor that they’d broken one of her husband’s prized possessions?
Maybe she could glue it back together. She fell to her knees next to Zach and proceeded to amass the pieces of the broken angel, then stopped short. Kristen’s innocent ramblings from a few nights ago came back to her.
“Amy’s dad said the children are disappearing because the angels are broken.”
Broken Angels.
The words scrolled through her mind. Why did they sound so familiar? Then it came to her. That was the name of the organization she’d seen on the pictures she’d pitched in the trash.
Like a curtain, the fog in her mind parted, replaced by a spark of understanding. She thought of Voula and what she’d told her: “I think Liam may have gotten himself into some kind of trouble. He was acting very strangely before he died. He told me if the kids were here and anyone came knocking on my door, I shouldn’t let them in, even if I recognized them.”
“You were right,” she whispered. “It’s all linked.”
Zach raised a pair of questioning eyes her way.
“Liam and Lindsay’s murder, Pat’s case, the kids going missing…all linked.” The shards she’d collected clunked to the ground as she bounded to her feet. “When you had those photos developed, did you download all of them on Noah’s iPod?”