Blind Run

by Patricia Lewin

  Who had killed her?

  Who could have gotten the better of a woman like Anna Kelsey, a professional who’d managed for years to evade one of the deadliest assassins in the world?

  The answer sent a shard of ice through his veins.

  Kneeling again, he carefully turned over Anna’s body. Without looking into her lifeless eyes, he opened her mouth, feeling for what he already knew he’d find. Beneath her tongue was an antique Spanish coin.

  Despite the desert heat, the chill settled into his bones.

  He’d hoped he was wrong, but there was no mistake. The coin was the Spaniard’s signature. Marco Ramirez had killed Anna.

  Without warning, the old nightmare rose up to blind him in the full light of day. He saw the faces of children, watching him with accusing eyes. No, not accusing. It would be so much easier if they did blame him. But all he ever saw in those small questioning faces was fear.

  Ethan struggled to calm his chaotic thoughts.

  It was no coincidence that Ramirez had found Anna here after all this time. He hadn’t known Ethan’s location any more than anyone else. Only Ethan’s team had known about the desert canyon. So he must have followed Anna.

  And what about those kids?

  Anna had said they needed his help. Could Ramirez even now be . . . The memory of an expensive import flashed across his thoughts.

  “Jesus.”

  He grabbed Anna’s weapon and bag, surged to his feet and sprinted toward the truck, leaving her body to the desert. The Spaniard had no qualms about crossing forbidden lines. To him, one life was like any other—dead or alive.

  For the first time in years Ethan prayed. He had to reach those kids before Ramirez got to them.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AVERY COX stared through the rain-streaked windows of Turner’s office. Outside, the storm ranted, churning the troubled waters of the outer Sound and slapping wind against the small island. Inside, watery light spilled into the dim room and cavorted with shadows on the thick carpet. From where he stood, Avery couldn’t tell whether it was morning or evening, winter or summer. It was always like that here. Storm or no storm, the weather remained constant: wet and dreary.

  God how he hated this place.

  He’d seen suicide statistics claiming more people took their own lives in the Pacific Northwest than in any other part of the country. The experts blamed the lack of sun, claimed it decreased the levels of serotonin in the brain. He believed it. The place was damn depressing.

  Turning away from the dismal seascape, he studied Turner’s office. It was large, spacious, and expensively furnished with sleek rosewood and burgundy leather, glass-fronted bookcases, original—and questionably obtained—art, and a well-stocked bar. Turner had spared no cost in surrounding himself with comfort.

  Avery smiled at the irony.

  Things could have turned out quite differently for Dr. Paul Turner. Ten years ago the scientific community had ostracized him for his illegal and morally questionable experiments. He’d been one step away from criminal charges and a prison cell.

  Then Avery had stepped in.

  He’d offered Turner an escape route, along with this facility and the funds to run it. It had meant he’d had to disappear, become invisible, but it had been a small price to pay for his freedom. In exchange, Avery had expected loyalty.

  Now he had to decide whether Turner had betrayed his end of the bargain, or was just incompetent.

  The door opened, and Morrow stepped into the room. “The storm’s letting up,” he said. “We can leave within the hour.”

  “Where’s Turner?” Not that Avery expected trouble from the mealymouthed scientist, but one could never be too careful. Turner was frightened, and frightened men were unpredictable. It would be a shame to have to kill him for something stupid. Like running.

  “I have a man watching him while he’s preparing to interview the boy,” Morrow said. “He’ll send for us when he’s ready.”

  Avery snorted in disgust.

  Turner’s transparency had been almost painful to watch as he scrambled to save himself. Now he’d sworn one of the other boys, Danny’s friend, knew where the runaways were headed. Even if Turner was right and succeeded in getting the information, Avery doubted it would help. He knew Anna Kelsey. She’d have her own agenda and wouldn’t share it with a couple of kids. But at this point, Avery couldn’t afford to ignore even the smallest lead.

  They had to find those kids. Fast. Before someone else discovered them.

  “So what do you think? Did Turner have a hand in all this?”

  “Turner’s a coward.”

  Leave it to Morrow to state the obvious. “Yes, but did he help Anna?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Anna Kelsey is a beautiful and resourceful woman. She can be very persuasive.”

  “I’m sure she could have gotten to Turner if she’d wanted, but why would she? She didn’t need him to take those brats off the island.”

  Avery agreed, but it never hurt to hear your deductions reinforced by another. That way if things went wrong, there was someone else to take the fall. “So the question remains”—he settled into Turner’s chair—“what’s Anna up to?”

  Morrow leaned against the desk, picked up a glass paperweight from the surface, and tested its weight. “She could be planning to sell them herself.”

  “Possible, but very risky with Ramirez still at large. She’d have to surface to find a buyer, and then she’d be vulnerable.” Avery considered Anna’s choices, not liking any of them. “No, our Anna is too fond of her own skin to take that route. Or else she wouldn’t have let us bury her on this godforsaken island.”

  “So she got tired of the place and decided to take off. Can’t say that I blame her.” Morrow tossed the glass ball from one hand to the other and shrugged. “She’s cocky and figures we’ll never find her, but then, why take a couple of kids. They’d slow her down.”

  Morrow was right again. Anna Kelsey never did anything without a self-serving reason. Avery swivelled back to the windows, as if his answers could be found in the storm.

  “She could have made a deal with Ramirez,” Morrow suggested. “The kids for her life.”

  “Too risky. Ramirez doesn’t care about the money. He wants Anna dead. Besides, if Ramirez knew anything, he’d have surfaced by now, and you’d have a much bigger problem than Anna Kelsey.”

  “Let him come. Or better yet, let me go after him.”

  Avery smiled, amused by Morrow’s ego. They were all alike: Morrow, Ramirez, Decker. Like gunslingers from the Old West, they needed to prove who had the biggest gun. Over the years, Avery had carefully perpetuated that myth within all of them, nurtured and used it.

  A knock on the door, and Avery swung back around as Turner’s assistant entered the room.

  “Dr. Turner is ready for you now,” she said.

  She was an interesting woman, young but not too young, attractive but not beautiful. Probably Ivy-League educated. Another perk Turner had awarded himself.

  Avery dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Give us a few minutes.”

  She looked ready to object. Avery suspected she wasn’t used to taking orders. Then she caught herself and backed out of the room, and Avery added smart to his list of adjectives describing her. But as the door closed behind her, he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, the woman already forgotten.

  “There’s another option we haven’t considered,” he said. “If Anna made the connection between the attempted hit on Ramirez three years ago and the island, she could have taken the kids to either bargain with him or blackmail the Agency.” It was the chance Cox had taken when placing Anna on the island. Only he’d counted on her fear of Ramirez to keep her in line. Evidently the years had dimmed her memory of the assassin’s revenge on the rest of Decker’s team. “Either way, she’ll need help.”

  “Decker?”

  “If anyone knows where he’s hiding, it’s Anna.” And she had nowhere else to
go, no one else she could trust. If she did, she never would have asked to be brought in when Ramirez started his rampage.

  “Decker’s not coming out of hiding to face Ramirez, not for the likes of Anna Kelsey.”

  Avery wasn’t so sure. Decker had a weakness for the underdog. “Maybe not for her, but what about a couple of stray kids? And don’t forget his son.”

  Revenge was a motive Morrow understood, and Avery could almost see the gears grinding in the other man’s head. “We don’t know Ramirez killed the boy.”

  “His death seems too coincidental otherwise.” With a shrug, Avery leaned back in his chair. “Besides, it doesn’t really matter what we know, just what Decker believes. He’ll come out of hiding to help those kids, and in the process he’ll have to deal with Ramirez.” He smiled, for himself as much as Morrow. “Which means we can turn this situation to our advantage.” Three problems solved in one carefully orchestrated stroke: the runaways, Ramirez, and Ethan Decker.

  Morrow didn’t look convinced. He had a blind spot when it came to Decker and Ramirez. They’d been Avery’s first string when Morrow was still ripping off old ladies’ social security checks, and it gnawed at him.

  Decker had been Avery’s best officer. He’d found Decker during Desert Storm, recognized his potential, and recruited him for the Agency. At the time, Avery had just taken control of SCTC, the Strategic Counter-Terrorism Center, and was on the lookout for talented officers. Two years later, after the traditional year of career training and another of proving himself on solitary assignments, Avery had given Decker control of the best retrieval unit in the Agency.

  Avery had considered Decker his special project, training him and mentoring him. Then his team had killed a kid while attempting to bring in Ramirez, and Decker had resigned with nothing more than a handwritten note. No one had seen him since. It was as if he’d vanished from the face of the earth. Avery could have overlooked the mess with Ramirez, but no one walked away from Avery Cox. Not even Ethan Decker.

  “Okay, so Anna heads for Decker,” Morrow said. “What good is it? We don’t know where he is.”

  “He’ll surface.” For the first time since hearing about the kids’ disappearance, Avery felt that everything was going to work out. “He’s got no choice, he’s been on his own too long and will need money, transportation, and identification.”

  Morrow considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll set a watch on his family, friends, Agency contacts, old Army buddies. And I’ll put word out on the street that we want him.”

  “Use whatever resources you need, but find him.”

  “Don’t worry, someone will get greedy.”

  “Pay particular attention to his ex-wife. There’s a good chance he’ll turn up there.” Avery had known Decker too long, understood him. That woman was his weakness, his Achilles’ heel, and Avery had no qualms about using her.

  “You want him dead?”

  “First I want Danny and Callie, then we’ll let him finish Ramirez.” That would be two problems solved. “Then he’s all yours.” Avery pushed to his feet. “Meanwhile, let’s see what the good doctor has in store for us. If Decker ends up with those kids, the boy’s information just might lead us somewhere after all.”

  THROUGH A ONE-WAY MIRROR, Avery and Morrow had a clear view of the examination room where Paul Turner sat at a wall-mounted Formica counter, scribbling on a medical chart. Then the door opened and a good-looking boy entered the room. Avery, who’d studied all the children’s records, mentally rattled off his vital statistics. Adam. Born August 1991. IQ 142. He was one of Turner’s earliest successes, though not nearly as promising as some of the younger children.

  “Good morning, Adam,” Turner said without looking up from his notes. “Climb up on the examination table, will you.”

  The boy hesitated, then did as instructed.

  Turner continued writing for several minutes, while Adam began to fidget. Finally Turner lay down his pen, took off his glasses, and faced the boy. “And how are we feeling today?”

  Adam put on a bright smile, obviously forced. “Great.”

  “That’s good.” Turner stood and placed a hand on the boy’s narrow shoulder. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” He pulled a tongue depressor from his top pocket.

  The boy swallowed, then opened his mouth.

  “No sore throat?”

  Adam shook his head, looking ready to gag.

  “Hmm.” Turner withdrew the tongue depressor and picked up an otoscope from a nearby instrument stand. “What about your ears?”

  “No problems.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that.” Turner checked one ear, frowned, then shifted to the other. “You’re a friend of Danny’s, aren’t you, Adam?”

  The boy blinked. “We’re in the same dormitory.”

  “Are you sure you’re not having trouble with your ears?”

  “Yes, sir. I mean, they don’t hurt or anything.”

  “Really?” Turner arched an eyebrow and started on the boy’s nostrils. “But you and Danny are special friends, aren’t you? You hang out together, play ball, work on the computers?”

  “I guess.”

  Turner dropped the instrument into his jacket pocket and probed the boy’s neck with his fingers. “You know we’re all worried about Danny, don’t you, Adam?”

  Next to Avery, Morrow laughed abruptly. “I didn’t know Turner had it in him.”

  Avery agreed, the kid was growing more nervous with each question, each physical invasion. “Desperate men are capable of almost anything,” he said. And Paul Turner was as desperate as they came. If the wrong people found those kids, he’d be the first casualty.

  “I know it’s all over the dormitories by now that Danny ran away,” Turner was saying as he examined the boy’s eyes with a bright light that had the boy blinking furiously. “What about headaches?”

  “No, nothing like that, Dr. Turner. I feel fine.”

  Turner flicked off the light. “Did you know Danny took someone with him, a young girl named Callie?” Turner gave the boy a bit of space. “You know Callie, don’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did you know that she’s very sick?”

  Adam nodded, warily.

  “We need to find Callie, Adam. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Adam threw a quick, nervous glance toward the door.

  Turner again placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Where did they go?”

  The boy seemed to recoil from Turner’s touch.

  “If we don’t find Callie, she might die.” Turner’s grip visibly tightened. “You don’t want to be responsible for that, do you?”

  Adam dropped his eyes to his fisted hands.

  “Where did they go?” Turner repeated, sterner this time. “You have to tell me.”

  “But I don’t know.”

  Avery shook his head. “Stubborn little bastard.” Under different circumstances he might admire the kid.

  “Let me have a crack at him,” Morrow said.

  “He’d be no good to us dead.”

  Turner’s voice took on a edge of impatience. “But you did know Danny was going to run away,” he insisted, waiting a couple of seconds for a response before lifting the boy’s chin and forcing him to look up. “Adam?”

  “Danny told me, but I didn’t believe him. Kids talk about running away all the time. That doesn’t mean they’re gonna do it.”

  “He asked you to go with him, didn’t he?”

  Adam’s eyes widened. “No.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  Morrow shifted impatiently. “He’s losing it.”

  Avery didn’t comment as Turner released the boy and gave him his back, peering straight at the window where Avery and Morrow watched, his anger and frustration a physical presence behind the glass. But by the time Turner turned back to the boy, he had his temper under control.

  “Adam I don’t care whether Danny asked you to go with him or not.�
�� He was noticeably calmer, though the effort to maintain control showed around his eyes. “All I care about is Danny and Callie, and finding them before it’s too late.”

  “He didn’t tell me where they were going. Honest.” The first tears leaked from the boy’s eyes.

  Turner stood unmoving for several long moments, then sighed and turned away. “Okay, I believe you.”

  Adam wiped at his eyes, his body sagging.

  Morrow started as if struck. “What?”

  “Wait,” Avery said. “Let’s see where Turner’s going with this.”

  The boy’s relief lasted only a few seconds, until Turner reached the counter and started doing something Avery couldn’t see. “I don’t need a shot, Dr. Turner.” Panic cracked Adam’s voice. “I’m not sick. Really.”

  Turner turned, needle in hand. “The dormitory monitor told me you were coughing in the middle of the night.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “It seems you have a very faulty memory today.” Turner returned to the boy’s side. “Think very hard, Adam. Are you sure you don’t know where we can find Danny and Callie?”

  He shook his head, his eyes never leaving the needle in Turner’s hand. “No.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  Adam scooted sideways, slipped off the table, and backed toward the door. “I don’t need a shot.” He was sobbing now. “I’m not sick.”

  “Don’t be foolish.” Turner reached beneath the counter and pushed a button. “It’s for your own good.”

  Two orderlies burst through the door and grabbed the boy.

  “Hold him,” Turner instructed the men.

  It was over in a matter of seconds, the boy not standing a chance against the two burly men and the needle in Turner’s hand.

  “There now,” Turner patted Adam on the head, “that wasn’t so bad.” And he nodded to the orderlies, who took the crying boy away.

  Avery stepped into the examination room. “That was quite a show, Dr. Turner.”

  “And pointless,” Morrow added.