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 fuck.”
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.”
“You were eleven years old. Of course you couldn’t keep up with a pickup truck,” she said gently.
“Adam wouldn’t have been in the truck to begin with if it weren’t for me.” Bitterness dripped from each word. “So yeah, it was my fault. I knew it. The cops knew it. Mom knew it. It was a long time before she was able to look at me again. She couldn’t look me in the eye for about three years after he died. I think she didn’t want me to see the blame in her eyes.”
Miranda cupped his cheeks and swept her thumbs over his stubble. “I don’t believe Missy blamed you for what happened. She worships you, Seth.”
He shrugged. “We moved past it.”
“By pretending your brother, her son, never existed.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
She wanted to point out how unhealthy that was, but who was she to judge how other families dealt with their grief and heartache? Yet it ripped her apart that Missy Masterson hadn’t comforted her son, that she might’ve even led him to believe he was to blame for his brother’s abduction.
“Do you understand now?” he said in a rough voice. “I don’t trust myself around children, and I know that’s ironic, because I’m supposed to be this big, bad soldier who fights for the innocent and saves lives and all that. And I do save lives.” His rugged features hardened with determination. “I enlisted for the sole purpose of doing good. To make up for what I did that day.”
“What you did that day…” she echoed, shaking her head in disbelief.