Broken Angels (26 page)

Despite a healthy tan, his face looked ashen. She caught up in time to hear him say, “It’s gone,” and followed his gaze to where the canoe had been tethered.

All that remained was an empty wooden post. She hadn’t noticed that before. “He didn’t!”

Zach ran antsy fingers through his hair. “Then how do you explain the missing canoe?”

“Maybe he went to the Seashore.” They both turned to find Kristen standing behind them, her arms clasped behind her back, her knees jerking restlessly.

“The seashore?” Zach watched his niece steadily.

The girl pointed east, where the National Seashore acted as a barrier between Chatham Harbor and the Atlantic Ocean. A bramble of trees sat nestled among golden dunes beneath an overcast sky. “Daddy used to take us there all the time in the canoe. Noah likes the dunes at the cove.”

Clomping across the beach, Tess approached them, with her daughter’s hand clasped protectively in hers and Jason following a safe distance behind. “Did you find him?”

Rebecca and Zach shook their heads simultaneously. “But we have an idea where he might’ve gone.” Zach stared pensively at the breathtaking stretch of land at the other side of the harbor. “Doesn’t look too far. I could probably swim there.”

Rebecca’s heart spun and crashed. “You’ll drown.”

He skewered her with a blistering glare. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You don’t swim.”

“Just because I
don’t
swim doesn’t mean I
can’t
.” He ventured a few feet into the water. Rebecca gripped his arm.

Pain and urgency flashed in his cobalt-blue eyes. “I have to find him, Becca. I have to find my sister’s son.” His voice cracked, and something inside her broke.

“Take the dinghy,” Tess interrupted. “The motor’s broken, but you can still row.”

“Thank you,” Rebecca told her. “You’re a lifesaver.” She turned to Zach. “I want to come with you.”

“I don’t need a lifeguard.”

“I’m worried about Noah, too. I’ll go stir-crazy waiting for you to come back.”

Obstinacy slid into compassion. “What about Kristen and Will?”

“I’ll watch them,” Tess offered.

Rebecca could’ve kissed the woman. She squeezed her hand in a gesture of appreciation. “Thank you,” she said again. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ve got kids. I know what you’re going through right now.”

Kristen crept up to Zach and tugged at his shorts. “Bring my brother home. Please.”

Zach fell to his knees, drew her into a bone-crushing hug. “I will,” he promised.

The rowboat was old, its faded cedar hull in desperate need of another coat of varnish. Still, it hopped along the waves with remarkable ease.

The wind roared like an angry beast awakening from a nightmare. Thick clouds pooled in the sky, painting the day gray. Around them, water frothed and thundered, cold and hungry. Year after year, erosion ate away at the National Seashore, often causing large chunks of land to sink into the sea, and that brought the harsher Atlantic tides crashing into the once-peaceful Chatham Harbor.

Zach sat with his back to the stern and labored ahead. With each thrust of his arms, he propelled his body forward, focused on the rhythm of the oars as he plunged them into the greedy mouth of the harbor. Images surged within him, flashes from the past that suffocated his mind as mercilessly as the clouds fisting around the sun.

He fought them, stubbornly crammed them back into the darkened corners of his psyche. He couldn’t let the memories devour him.

Becca was seated across from him, silent and thoughtful, her gaze trained on his face. He ignored her probing stare. With determined strokes, he continued to carve a thin path through the white-capped swells. The rowboat quaked menacingly each time a wave struck it. An oily feeling spread through him, coating the walls of his stomach and rising to fill his mouth, but he tamped it down.

He had to stay in control, had to get to Noah. Nothing else mattered.

Still, memories were nothing if not persistent. They chiseled away at his resolve and crawled through the cracks—waves crashing against the hull, icy water slapping his flesh, a vicious riptide dragging him under…

He shook the disturbing thoughts away and rowed harder.

“Are you all right?” Becca’s voice shredded a hole through the thickening fog in his head. Slowly, it dissipated.

“I’m fine. I just hope Noah is, too. If he fell overboard—”

“He’s a great swimmer.”

“So was I. Once.”

Twenty-five years ago these very waters had nearly claimed him. His father had taken him out in a rowboat similar to this one. The ocean had been calm at first, deceptive. Then it had grown restless. Violent waves had risen to pound angry fists against their small, pathetic craft. Unable to withstand the assault, the boat had capsized.

Instantly, the sea had wrapped frigid tentacles around him, pulled him deeper. He’d fought the brutal current, but no matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t reach the surface. Above him, the sun’s weak rays had speared through the impenetrable blackness. The light had hovered mere feet over his head, as inaccessible as the sky.

Fire had ignited in his lungs while darkness slid in to blur the edges of his vision. Then a strong hand had gripped his arm and pulled him out.

His father.

Cool, salty air had trickled down his throat to extinguish the flames. He still remembered the delicious taste of it, the way it had ballooned in his chest and chased the dizziness away.

That day he’d realized even a skilled swimmer was no match for the sea once it decided it wanted you.

He tried to keep it together when the dinghy lunged into the fierce waters of the Atlantic—where another fragment of land had recently fallen away—told himself they were almost at the Seashore.

“Zach, please tell me that’s not what I think it is.” Becca’s sun-kissed skin went bone white.

He followed her gaze, and his worst fear came crashing down on him. In the distance—drifting on the waves—was the canoe. It looked empty. The urgency escalated to a physical ache. He pumped the oars with increased fervor until the boat lanced forward at astonishing speed. They reached the aimless craft within minutes.

As he’d suspected, there was no sign of Noah.

A small sob escaped Becca’s lips. “Where is he?”

Zach shook his head and scanned the depths below. “Damned if I know. But I’m going to find him.”

And with that promise hanging in the air between them, he plunged headfirst into his worst nightmare.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The sea was cold, deep and silky. It closed its wet mouth around him, then spit him out as if it didn’t like the taste of him. The undertow was manageable today. With a few swift strokes, he was able to break through the surface. He dove in repeatedly, searching the darkened depths for a glimpse of a scraggy head, a pair of thin arms, a scrap of blue and yellow fabric. Murky water surrounded him, speckled with sand, hampering his visibility.

He wasn’t sure why the hell he was doing this. Noah could be anywhere. The canoe could have been drifting for hours. Still a desperate, totally irrational energy drove him, kept him searching. He needed to convince himself his nephew wasn’t in there, that he hadn’t been swallowed by the sea. Needed it with a compulsion that all but consumed him.

His lungs began to burn. He didn’t know how long he’d stayed under. A hand gripped his arm. Not his dad’s this time, but Becca’s. She’d jumped into the water after him. Together they floated toward the weak sun.

“You’ll never find him this way,” she told him in a breathless whisper. “We need to check the shore.”

The crazy energy continued to vibrate in his veins, but he couldn’t find his voice to argue with her. Instead he got back into the rowboat and yanked her out of the water. That was when he saw the cove—a tiny cut on the curved arm of the Cape. It dug into sand and stone, surrounded by dense shrubbery and a cluster of tall dunes.

Becca noticed it about the same time as he. “Look. Didn’t Kristen mention a cove?”

With a brisk nod, he angled the boat north and set course for it.

It didn’t look far. Not far at all. Then why was it taking so damn long to get there? It was the current. It swirled, fast and cold, around them, pushed them back even as he rowed harder. For a second the clouds completely blocked out the sun, and a chill skated down his back on thin legs of ice. Across from him, Becca shivered. The smell of salt and seaweed riding the breeze tickled his nostrils, made his throat sting.

Becca rubbed the goose bumps from her arms. On any other occasion he would have been more than happy to warm her. But right now he had to pour all his strength into reaching that cove. A seagull circled above, and its shrill, baleful cry urged him on.

“He has to be there.” Her voice was gruff, thick with worry and the tears she refused to shed.

Determination steamrolled through him and flattened his fears, even as they snarled at being ignored. He couldn’t lose himself to what ifs. He had to stay in the here and now, and that meant concentrating only on the next stroke, on the next foot the boat vanquished, on the next breath of oxygen he drew into his lungs.

Green meshed with blue and gray as they approached land. Zach maneuvered the boat through the narrow entrance, where the sea grew calm and the breeze stopped howling. Around them, wild tufts of grass spilled over sand like a straggly mop of hair. Dunes soared, almost as high as the trees. They quickly disembarked, and he carefully dragged the rowboat to the shore.

“How will we ever find him?” Discouragement tugged at Becca’s mouth and brows. “He could be anywhere.”

Zach scanned the deserted landscape, allowed determination to flood his system and drench his blood with adrenaline. “Then we’ll just have to look everywhere. Even if it takes all day.”

Noah liked to walk along the dunes. Liked the way the tall, powdery mountains tickled his bare feet. His dad had always said not to climb the dunes, that they were there to protect the beach, but he climbed them anyway. Anything that was fun seemed to be bad, and he was sick of it. Sick of always being told what to do and what not to do.

Uncle Zach was probably spitting out razorblades by now, but Noah didn’t give a rat’s ass. Served him right for grounding him. Not that he’d worry. His uncle didn’t care about him. All he cared about was getting his way.

Today Noah had every intention of being his own boss. So, if walking on the dunes made him happy, then he’d sure as hell walk on the dunes.

It looked like it was going to rain. Gray clouds twirled over his head like strings of smoke from his grandpa’s pipe. The air was damp and thick. Still, he enjoyed being outside, away from everyone and their dumb rules. Out here he didn’t have to deal with his sister’s constant whining, Will’s screaming, Jason’s dumb sandcastles. He didn’t have to wonder why Aunt Becca was suddenly pretending to like him, while Uncle Zach seemed to have forgotten how. But most of all he didn’t have to think of the confession he’d made last night or the sudden desire he felt to spill his guts to anyone who’d listen. As if admitting what a chicken-shit he was would make everything all right. Stupid, that’s what he was. Stupid to have said anything to anyone, even Night-Owl.

He heard the barks then, turned and saw the harbor seals—a whole family of them—lying on a shelf of moss-covered rocks. Excitement flared in his chest, chased the bad thoughts away. He’d never seen so many seals this close to shore before. They were an awesome sight, gray with brown spots, their long whiskers twitching as they sniffed the air.

He had to get a closer look. He just had to. This was way too cool. He took off at a run, scaling dune after dune, heading for the rocks. He’d all but made it to the edge when the ground suddenly rolled out from under him. With a girlish scream, he tumbled down a steep slack, right before a shower of sand fell to block out the sky.

Rebecca heard the scream and stilled. The sound echoed off stone and brush, which convinced her she hadn’t imagined it. “Noah?”

Barely a second later, Zach sprinted to her side. “Did you hear that?”

She nodded. “I think it came from those dunes.”

Without another word, they headed in that direction.

“Over there.” Zach pointed to a navy blue patch in the sand. It looked like a pair of sandals.

Noah’s sandals.

So he was here. The question was, where?

“Noah!” she called out again, louder this time.

The only reply was the sound of the wind and a chorus of barks and grunts from beyond the dunes. She turned to Zach, her expression questioning.

“Harbor seals,” he told her. “Must be perched somewhere on the other side.”

They clambered up the dunes to get a better look. A recent storm had caused severe erosion, and the slipface was steep, towering above the shore like a cliff. Every so often the sand shifted, rose in swirls to be carried out to sea. The seals sat on a patch of mossy rocks a few feet from the bank.

“Noah!” Zach belted out, then lunged to the ground and raced across the beach. The seals scattered, dove beneath frothy waves. Rebecca climbed down and took off at a run after him.

Zach dropped to his knees and began digging in the sand at the foot of a vertical slope so sharp she wondered how the dune didn’t collapse in a spray of dust. She realized what he was doing, and terror frosted along her spine. She finally reached him, kneeled beside Noah, who lay half-buried in the sand, and helped Zach dig him out.

The boy was in a state of panic. Gasping, he began to thrash wildly the moment they freed him.

“Are you hurt?” Zach cradled his nephew’s face. “Can you breathe?”

Noah nodded. “I couldn’t move. Couldn’t get out.” Tears carved thick tracks down his dirt-smeared cheeks.

Her hand rose to her mouth to stifle a cry. She wasn’t sure whether it was one of shock or relief. All she knew was that she wanted to hold him, to shelter him in her arms the way she had when he was a baby. Right there and then, she buried her fears, her grief, her anger on that windswept shore. Buried them so deep they’d never see the light of day again.