“What’s going on, Seth?” And then just like that, she knew. He hated her kids. He didn’t want to make a real, solid go of this after all.
Her heart dropped, but at the same time, annoyance and indignation rustled through her.
“So that’s it, huh? You were with them for two hours and you’ve decided that you can’t—”
“I yelled at Jason and made him cry.”
Miranda’s jaw snapped shut. Then fell open. Her body went colder than a block of ice. “Excuse me?”
The despair on Seth’s face did nothing to dim the anger that entered her bloodstream. “It was a moment of panic. Jason came home, and he was asking me to play baseball with him and—”
“And the idea was so terrifying you decided to yell at him?” she interrupted, her mouth tightening in a line of outrage.
“It was the uniform. I…” A ragged breath escaped. “It caught me off-guard.”
Now she was just confused. “What, you’ve never seen a Little League uniform before, Seth?”
He took a quick drag and then extinguished his cigarette in the small plastic bowl she’d placed on the table earlier for that exact purpose. Her confusion grew as she watched him reach into his pocket for his wallet. He opened the leather flaps, dug something out of one of the card slots and handed it over.
Miranda stared at the square of newsprint. “What’s this?”
“Just read it,” he said gruffly.
The paper was folded about fifteen times, so it took a few moments to unfold it and smooth it out. She figured it was a newspaper article, and she was right, except she wasn’t prepared for the headline that glared up at her. It was written in huge block letters, the lettering a faded gray when it had once been crisp black, but there was no mistaking what it said.
MISSING BOY’S BODY FOUND IN DESERT.
Her breath caught. The picture beneath the headline showed an adorable little boy in a white baseball uniform, a red cap on his head, and a big grin on his face. He was missing his two front teeth and giving a thumbs-up to the camera. The caption read: Adam Jonathan Masterson, age 7.
“Is this…” She searched Seth’s veiled eyes.
“My younger brother.”
“Oh. Oh God, Seth.” Shock and horror spun inside her, along with a rush of sympathy. She stared at the date on the top of the page, and understanding suddenly dawned.
She stumbled to her feet and went to him, sinking into his lap and slowly lifting up his shirt. She traced her fingers over the row of dates inked below his rib cage.
“The day you became a SEAL,” she murmured, touching the third date on the list. Her fingers moved to the last date. “First time you saved a life.” She touched the first row of numbers, exactly one day before the date on the article. “The day they found your brother’s body.” Her fingers hovered over the second row and she looked up at him, questioning.
“The day we buried him,” he said hoarsely.
“Oh, Seth. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “Read the article.”
She ended up reading it twice, her heart breaking the entire time. Seth had been eleven years old when his brother was abducted. A man in a pickup truck had snatched little Adam Masterson right out of his front yard, where he’d been tossing a baseball around. According to the article, Seth was supposed to watch his brother, but he’d turned away for a minute, giving Adam’s killer just enough time to grab the boy and haul him into his truck.
Seth had run after the pickup for two blocks before giving up the chase.
“Oh my God.”
She ran her finger over the third paragraph, which detailed the search for the abducted boy and the police detective’s suspicions that the abduction was connected to a string of child murders that he’d been investigating for the past couple of months. Three little boys had been abducted and killed, under similar circumstances. And those three bodies had also been found in the desert, all within a mile or two of Adam Masterson’s body.
“Did they catch him?” Miranda asked, her voice cracking.
Seth nodded. “Jarvis Henderson. He was apprehended trying to kidnap another boy.” Now his voice cracked. “Son of a bitch opted for suicide by cop. He refused to lay down his weapon during the standoff and the officers had no choice but to shoot. Back then I remember being happy he was dead. Now I feel cheated. Death was too good for that sick f**k.”
Miranda placed the article on the table and rubbed her forehead. “I can’t believe Missy never told me about this. I had no idea that you had a brother. That she’d had another child.”
“She doesn’t talk about it.” Seth’s voice grew dull. “Ever. Not to me, not to anyone. She pretends Adam never existed.” Now he sounded angry. “And that part in the article about me turning away for a minute? It’s bullshit, Miranda. I left him in the yard. I left him alone in the yard.”
Her breath hitched. “Seth—”
“I was bored of playing catch so I went inside to watch TV, and I left Adam out there. I was supposed to be watching him, but I was a selfish little bastard and I couldn’t be bothered to play ball with my brother.” He hissed out a savage curse. “It’s my fault that psycho got him.”
The guilt swimming in his eyes had her placing her hands on his broad shoulders to give them a firm shake. “It’s not your fault.”
“I heard the truck door slam and when I went to the window, I saw that bastard grabbing Adam.” Seth’s expression was flat, empty. “I ran outside just as the pickup was pulling away from the curb. I couldn’t catch up to it.”