Broken Toys Page 14

  ****

  For a change, Noah beat Cat home and did his best to shake off the shitty workday. Tonight’s the night. Excitement tinged with a touch of fear fluttered in his chest while the same old refrain echoed in his brain.

  Broken toy, broken toy, broken toy.

  He shook off the fear and jumped into a hot shower. There was a lot to do and a noticeably short time to accomplish it in. After toweling off, he dressed in a pair of soft, well-fitted denim jeans and her favorite shirt—a faded chambray with pearl snaps. Moving quickly through the house, he shut off all the lights and lit candles. Soon the scent of birds of paradise, her favorite, filled the air.

  Headlights carved a path up the driveway. The engine shut off, and the lights faded to dark. No car door opened. Soft music flowed from the surround sound speakers in the living room. He waited near the front door. And waited. And waited. No one came to the door. He cracked the curtain and peered outside.

  Yes, it was Cat’s jeep sitting in the driveway, but she didn’t climb out. Maybe she’s on the phone. More time passed. She made no move to exit the vehicle, but he didn’t see the glow of a cell phone either. She appeared to just be sitting there. Finally, as he was about to step out the door, she opened her car door.

  Noah smiled. He took in the way her cinnamon espresso hair escaped from the braid she twisted it into each morning before leaving for her shift. The tendrils drifted down, framing her face, drawing attention to her high cheekbones. His eyes caressed the curves the tactical shirt and pants of her paramedic uniform couldn’t hide. How did I get so lucky?

  Cat paused on the sidewalk in front of the house, her jump bag filled with emergency medical supplies slung over one shoulder. Scanning the front of the house, she waved at him, letting him know she’d caught him spying on her through the crack in the curtains. A tired smile flitted across her face. She straightened her spine, thrust her shoulders back, and headed to the door.

  Before she turned the knob, Noah flung the door open and swept her into his arms. Her jump bag slid from her shoulder and landed on the porch floor with a heavy thump. He kissed her in greeting. The taste of her kiss sent excitement sizzling through his veins. His nerves lit with pleasure. Heat raced through his entire body. He deepened the kiss. It had been too long since they had really spent any time together. He planned to remedy that tonight.

  She pulled back. Noah dropped a kiss on top of her head before he reluctantly released his hold on her. His voice lowered like molten chocolate. “You’re home.”

  “Yes, goofball, I am. Now let me come in and shut the door before the mosquitos carry us away. I need to get off my feet. I’m exhausted.”

  Before she could take a single step, Noah swept her up and carried her into the house, kicking the bag into the living room in front of him. He shouldered the front door shut behind him before depositing her on the sofa and propping her feet on a throw pillow. He stepped back and gave a little bow. “Stay put,” he said as he headed into the kitchen. “Do you want a glass of red or white wine?”

  “Um…no wine. I…I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

  He stuck his head back around the corner. “No wine?” Surprise tinged his voice. “You always want wine after a long day.”

  She placed a hand on her stomach. “Not tonight. Maybe a ginger ale or a lemon-lime soda?”

  “Your wish is my command.” Noah returned to the living room and handed her a bottle of soda and a glass of ice with a straw, just the way she liked it. He took time to really look at her. “Are you okay? You look a little pale. Beautiful, but pale.”

  “Just a little queasy,” she murmured. “Noah, I need…”

  “Hold that thought.” He dropped her feet onto the couch as he hopped up. “I’ll be right back.” He dashed out of the room.

  In the bedroom, he rummaged through the top drawer of his dresser, searching for the engagement ring. It wasn’t there. He opened the second drawer. Tossed T-shirts around. No ring. Starting to panic, he jerked open the third drawer. The tiny blue box, snuggled in the corner of the drawer beneath his rolled socks, winked up at him. His shoulders sagged in relief. He reached in, grabbed the box, and opened it.

  Empty. No ring.

  Oh, crap. Where is it? His eyes darted around the room. He dashed to the laundry basket, flinging dirty clothes left and right as he dug for the last pair of pants he wore. Images of the diamond ring devoured by the washing machine flooded his mind. His pulse pounded. He collapsed to the floor as his fingers brushed the hard, circular object in the front pocket. Thank God, I didn’t wash it.

  When he returned to the living room, the engagement ring nestled safely in the bottom of his front jeans’ pocket. He tugged a drowsy Cat to her feet to stand before him. He took both her hands in his. Here goes nothing.

  “Cat, sweetheart, you light up my world. You are my universe. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Do you know where I want to be at the end of this year?”

  She tugged her hands from his grasp to cover a yawn. She ran her hands through her hair, releasing it from its braid. Befuddlement shone from her face. Her eyebrows squished together, and she cast her gaze around the room as if searching for the answer. “Where do you want to be?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Out of debt?”

  Noah snagged her left hand. “Put your hand in my pocket.” The diamond ring weighed a ton where it waited for her at the bottom of his pocket. He tried to guide her hand.

  “What?” She snatched her hand away. “Babe, I’m exhausted. Too tired to play one of your perverted games. It’s been a really long day. And I feel like crap.”

  “Please?”

  Cat sighed. “Fine.” As she reached for his pocket, an alarm tone split the air. She turned and tugged her radio from the waistband of her cargo pants.

  The radio crackled to life. “All units, on duty and off, respond to 1292 FM 473 outside of Bigfoot. Structure fire. Mass casualties. Repeat all units respond to 1292 FM 473 outside of Bigfoot. Explosion and structure fire with multiple injured. Air life helicopters en route.”

  She shoved the radio back onto its clip, slid her feet back into her boots, and grabbed her jump bag. As she twisted her hair back into a braid, she dropped a quick kiss on Noah’s lips. “Sorry, babe, gotta run.”

  ****

  “Put your hand in my pocket?” Noah banged his head against the wall. Really? What the hell kind of marriage proposal was that? No wonder she ran out of here. She thought he was a pervert. She even said so.

  “Way to go, dummy. Scare off the love of your life.” Useless broken toy. You can’t even propose right.

  A memory of another almost proposal flooded his mind. He turned and slid his back down the wall. Sitting on the floor, he wrapped his arms around his knees and curled his shoulders inward. Throat bobbing, he swallowed rapidly, fighting off the memories to no avail. They transported him back in time.

  The memory of prom lingered in the back of his mind. The lights, the music, Maeve Byrne’s unique scent of incense over amber and pine. The feel of her curves pressed against his chest. Long, strawberry-blonde hair curled about her shoulders, fell to the middle of her back. Her laughing eyes of sparkling green flecked with gold danced with mirth. Pale porcelain skin, high cheekbones dusted with pale freckles—his Maeve. Noah could still hear her breathless “I love you” as it brushed the inner shell of his ear. She was the center of his teenaged world. He whistled a cheery tune as he policed the shop parking lot for cigarette butts, picking them up and putting them in the rusty, old coffee can.

  “Hey, String Bean.” His older cousin waved him down as he walked back into Grandda’s shop. “Got a message for you. The girl wants you to meet her at the lake tonight. Who knows? It might be your lucky night.”

  Snorts of raucous laughter filled the room. Heat crept up Noah’s cheeks. The blush made his cousin and his cousin’s buddies laugh harder.

  He didn’t think the day would ever end. He drove up Edgefield road to the parking ar
ea near the lake. Before opening the door of his muscle car, he dragged his hands down his blue jeans, wiping sweat from his palms.

  Grabbing the flowers off the passenger seat, stepped out of the car. The sharp corners of a small ring box poked his leg through the pocket of his jeans. Inside the box rested a tiny, opal and diamond-chip promise ring. His heart fluttered, almost skipping a beat. In two years, when he turned eighteen, he would buy Maeve a real diamond, an engagement ring. For now, the promise ring would have to do.

  Walking down the path to the lake, he spotted a trail of clothing. His hands tingled. Heat rushed up his neck into his face. The thought of going all the way for the first time, especially with the girl he loved, stole his breath. The flower stems made his palms itch. His pulse raced.

  Slowly, he followed the trail of clothing, thinking Maeve left him a map to the treasure. He continued on the path, picking up pieces of clothes as he went.

  The sun was dropping beneath the horizon. The trees became silhouettes. He opened the gate, slipped through. With each piece of clothing he’d collected, his jeans grew tighter. Walking became uncomfortable, but he picked up the pace. As he approached the lake, he heard the splash of water. Maeve’s lilting laughter split the air, calling to him.

  Noah rounded the final curve in the path and skidded to a stop. His knees buckled. Her clothing dropped from his right hand. Flowers tumbled from his left. Maeve’s naked body glimmered golden in the setting sun.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  Bile boiled up the back of his throat. His cousin, Seamus, smirked at him over her shoulder as he continued to plunge into her. Noah turned and fled; his heart broken.

  Noah forced himself from the past. Cat was nothing like Maeve. Cat loved him. He walked through the house, blowing out candles while heading for his in-home office. He turned on the light and sat down in front of his laptop. May as well do some research on the case.

  Before pulling up his current case file on Alyssa Sanders, he gave in to curiosity. Logging into the Texas Crime Information Center, TCIC for short, he typed in the name Seamus Gorman followed by a date of birth. The picture that came up on the screen matched the image that haunted Noah’s dreams. The man was a little older, a bit more worn, but the same face, the same mocking grin, sneered at him from the computer.

  He quickly pushed aside the images of Seamus with Maeve at the lake and scanned the available information, noting the current address to be White Settlement, a town northwest of Fort Worth, a good five and half hours away from Bennett County. Noah exhaled noisily in relief. They were no longer in South Carolina, but they weren’t in South Texas, either.

  Congratulating himself on his good luck, he read on—and was soon cursing the air blue. Right there in black and white: Seamus Gorman received a speeding ticket two days ago, issued by a Bennett County deputy. The Travelers—his Travelers—were here.

  “What the hell am I going to do? If Seamus finds me, I’m done—kaput, through, finished. My life will be over—my job, my home, Cat—all gone.”

  Noah reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and drew out a dark green glass bottle and grabbed a lone highball glass he kept stashed in the drawer for circumstances such as this. “Fuck it.” He shoved the glass back in the drawer and opened the Irish whiskey, drinking straight from the bottle. How many times had Seamus tried to kill him? Three? Four? Seven? Yeah, lucky seven.

  The last time, Noah let him believe he had succeeded. For a fleeting time, he almost had. If it hadn’t been for his lucky spark plug, he would have. He let the alcohol sweep him back to the last attempt, back when he was known as Ferrell Gorman.

  Bright lights speared his eyes. Metal shrieked. Glass shattered. The jacked-up truck pushed him over the embankment. Water rose over his head. Darkness swallowed him. Pulse pounding, his chest ached. Colored spots danced in front of his eyes. He was drowning.

  Grabbing a fouled spark plug from the morning’s tune-up that he hadn’t taken the time to throw away, Noah smashed the porcelain against the vehicle’s windshield, shattering it. He kicked his way out the broken glass, clawed his way to the surface, and sucked in a whooping, painful gasp of air.

  Laying on the muddy bank, spark plug still clutched in his fist, he watched as flames flickered on the surface of the water. The boy known as Ferrell died in that river. In his place, Noah Morgan was born.

  And now, Noah was in danger. Worse than that, all he’d worked for, all he’d become, and all those he loved were in danger.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bree stared out the kitchen window. A storm rolled in. Lightning flashed in the distance, splitting the night sky. Too busy reliving the last fight with her dad, she didn’t see it. Behind her, Sam entered the room and went directly to the refrigerator. “I’m hungry, and there’s never anything to eat here.” She slammed the fridge door closed.

  “I feel for you,” Bree mumbled. “I just can’t reach you.”

  Sam tilted her head to one side, a puzzled expression on her face. “What?”

  Bree turned away from the window. “Nothing, okay, just nothing.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Who the hell cares? He’s probably at work. Isn’t that where he always is?”

  “Whoa. What’s wrong with you?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me. Why don’t you mind your own damn business?” Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows. Raindrops drummed against the roof.

  “Hey.” Sam walked over to stand beside Bree. “You’re my sister. You are my business.”

  Bree turned away. Her eyes filled with tears. “Dad grounded me.” She plopped into a kitchen chair and dropped her head on the table. Tears fell.

  “So? Dad grounds me all the time.” Sam joined Bree at the table and shrugged. “I just do what I want anyway. It’s not like he’s ever home to find out.”

  Bree brushed the tears from her cheeks. Why the hell not? She threw her arms around her sister. “Thank you, Sam. You’re brilliant.”

  “Of course, I am.” Sam winked and grabbed a bag of chips out of the pantry. Plastic rattled as she pulled them open.

  Bree picked up her phone and began texting.

  —Meet me at the corner in five?—

  Her phone dinged. —What corner?—

  Her fingers flew across the keyboard. —Duh, our corner. Maple and Redbud—

  —Thought your dad grounded you—

  Bree growled. —Do you want to meet or not?—

  A few minutes passed before the response appeared on her screen. —Okay but ’Stang in shop. Driving uncle’s Buick—

  Bree grabbed a chip from Sam’s bag.

  “Hey!” Sam protested pulling the bag away.

  Bree grinned and asked Sam, “Will you keep an eye on Maddie for me? And cover for me with Dad if he should ever come home? Just tell him I’m spending the night with Jenn.”

  “Why should I? What are you going to do?” Grabbing a soda and a glass of ice, she dropped back into a chair at the kitchen table.

  Bree folded her hands, begging. “Please? I didn’t tell Dad about your weed. I’m going out.”

  “All night?” Slouched in the chair, she cracked open the soda and poured it over the ice. “Don’t you have exams tomorrow?” She grabbed her bag of chips, then sat straight up. “Wait a minute.” She narrowed her eyes, pointed at Bree with a chip. “You’re not going out with that two-timing asshole, are you?” She slammed the bag of chips down on the table. “Bree?” A warning frosted her tone of voice.

  Heat creeping up her neck, she dropped her gaze. “Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to get a life? I’m getting a life.” She turned to face her younger sister. Her eyes pleaded. “Please? I’ll be at school in the morning. No one will ever know. Cross my heart.”

  “You promise?” At Bree’s nod, Sam said, “Okay, but you are going to owe me one. A big one.”

  ****

  “Come on. Let’s go. Pick up the pace.”

  Seamus ge
stured toward the cattle trailer waiting to be hooked up to a stolen three-quarter ton pickup. Smears of mud obscured the license plate on the truck. Sheets of plywood lined the inside of the trailer, blocking out any prying eyes who might try to get a look-see at the cargo inside. “Load them up. With any luck, people will think we’re hauling blackbuck antelope or some other exotic animal.”

  Patrick paused in mid-stride, an unconscious eleven-year-old girl in his arms. He raised his chin. Icicles dripped from his tone. “And what exactly, Da, does it look like I’m doing? Picking daisies?”

  “Do it faster. I had to guess at the dosages. The sedation could wear off before we get them all loaded.” As if in response to Seamus’s words, the child in Patrick’s arms stirred, moaning lightly. Patrick continued to the trailer. He carried the girl inside, then returned to the shipping container for another captive.

  Seamus circled the truck and trailer, checking lights. “When you’re done, get over here and help test these turn indicators. Last thing we need is for an overzealous peeler to stop us.”

  Patrick dumped the last child unceremoniously onto the floor of the trailer. “There.” He stepped out and brushed his hands against his jeans before shutting and securing the trailer gate. “That’s the last one.”

  “Good. Come on. Check these lights. I want out of here before those rangers come snooping around.”

  An evil chuckle escaped Patrick’s lips. He opened the text messaging app on his phone. The cursor blinked, waiting for his message to Roc.

  With one hand, he typed —Now— and hit Send.

  He tucked his phone in his pocket and met Seamus’ eyes with a smug grin. “I wouldn’t be too worried about the rangers, or any other law enforcement, for the next few hours.” His gaze turned inward. All that time sucking up to that pathetic loser is going to pay off. A sly smile slipped across his features. “I have an inkling they will be a wee bit too busy to worry about turn signals on a livestock trailer.”

  ****

  Killough High School consisted of a two-story, red brick central structure with sweeping wings that had been added on at various times as the population of Bennett County grew.