Blind Run

by Patricia Lewin

  She tried a safe question, a rational question. “Who are these children?”

  “I’m Danny,” the boy said. “And this is my sister Callie.”

  Sydney forced a smile. “I’m Sydney.”

  “We know,” the girl said with one of those beautiful smiles only the very young can produce. “Ethan was in a hurry to get here. He was worried about you.”

  Sydney didn’t know how to respond to that. Why would Ethan be worried about her? It was a question she didn’t even want to think about, so she concentrated on the children. The girl was lovely, angelic even, with soft, sweet features. The boy was her counterpart, as dark as she was light, but just as beautiful in his own way. Who were they? And what were they doing with Ethan?

  “Syd?” She turned back to Ethan. “We don’t have time for this.” He was calmer now, almost deliberately so. “I’ll explain everything later, but for now you have to trust me. There’s a man, a very dangerous man, on his way here. So please, get some clothes on, and let’s get out of here.”

  Sydney realized she’d been wrong, not even his eyes were the same. There was something frightening about them, about him, an edge of danger she’d never seen before.

  Deciding it was best, safest, to humor him, she nodded. “Okay, if you think that’s best.”

  Doubt flickered in his eyes, and she worried that she’d acquiesced too easily. Of all people, Ethan knew she wouldn’t willingly go along with this insanity.

  “Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed,” she said quickly, “and throw some things in a bag.”

  Ethan nodded, although he didn’t seem convinced. “Hurry.”

  Sydney walked to her bedroom, but when she went to close the door, Ethan grabbed it. “Leave it open.”

  She glared at him, forcing down a sharp retort. Then, turning away, she moved about her bedroom gathering clothing. At the entrance to her bathroom, she looked back at him. “Do I have to leave this open as well? Or would you rather come in and make sure I don’t climb out the window or something?”

  “Just make it quick, Sydney.” He retreated to the living room, his voice a low muffle as he spoke to the children.

  Sydney shut the bathroom door and closed her eyes, conscious of her rapidly beating pulse and angry at herself as much as at him. He wasn’t the man she’d known, he was different, sick maybe, and definitely dangerous. Her response to him was insane. He was unstable, and the sooner she could get away from him, the better.

  After turning on the faucet full force, she took out her cell phone. It took less than a minute to place her call, and her only regret was that she hadn’t done it before letting Ethan into her apartment. Once she hung up, she let the minutes stretch out as she cleaned up and dressed, pulling on a pair of jeans and a knit top. She had to give the police time to arrive. Back in the bedroom, she slipped the cell phone into her purse, then took down her overnight bag and started filling it with toiletries.

  Ethan appeared in the doorway. “Come on, Sydney, you’ve had enough time.”

  “Just give me a few more—”

  Two quick strides and he was beside her, one hand taking her arm, while the other grabbed her jacket, purse, and half-filled bag. “We have to go. Now.”

  He’d hustled her into the living room before she could stop him. “Take your hands off me.” She pulled free, her resolve to remain calm shattered. “I told you I’d come, you don’t have to manhandle me.”

  “You’re stalling.” He shoved her jacket into her hands.

  She slipped it on, the supple leather reminding her that he’d given it to her for their third wedding anniversary. Paper, cotton, leather, fruit, wood, and candy: the traditional gifts for the first six years of a marriage, and he hadn’t missed one. A true romantic, or so she’d thought until he’d walked out on her.

  “I was just getting my things together.” She had a hard time keeping the anger out of her voice.

  He eyed her the way he did when trying to see past her words, then motioned to the children. “Come on, we’re getting out of here, with or without Dr. Decker.”

  A knock on the door stopped them.

  He looked at her, a spark of anger in his eyes. “Who’d you call?”

  She backed away from him, her hands raised. “It’s okay, Ethan, they’re here to help. You’re not well.”

  “Shit.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Danny, take your sister down the back stairs and wait there for as long as you can. If things start going bad, get out. Head for the Dallas Morning News and tell them your story. Understand?”

  Danny nodded, took Callie’s hand, and headed for the kitchen.

  “No, wait.” Sydney blocked their way. “You can’t just go off by yourselves.”

  “Dr. Decker.” The booming voice came from outside her apartment. “Police. Open up.”

  The children slipped past her.

  “Wait,” she said, but they didn’t even slow down.

  “Dr. Decker, are you in there?”

  Unable to stop the children, she started for the front door, but Ethan caught her hand. “They can’t protect you, Sydney.”

  She looked into his eyes, and it was as if time itself stopped breathing. Once she would have followed this man to hell and back without question. Now she wasn’t sure. Yet an eerie sensation crept up her spine, a certainty that he spoke the truth. “Can you, Ethan? Can you protect me?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. “Maybe.”

  She frowned, tugged her hand free, and backed away.

  The door burst open, and two uniformed officers scrambled into her apartment, guns extended, finding and aiming at Ethan. “Hands where we can see them.”

  He obeyed, slowly. “You’re making a mistake, officers.”

  “Are you okay, Dr. Decker?” One of the men stepped to her side.

  Sydney kept her eyes on Ethan, who seemed remarkably calm considering the circumstances. And dangerous. “Yes, I—”

  “Tell them you made a mistake, Sydney,” Ethan warned. “Explain that I’m your husband and have been out of town. I surprised you this morning and that’s why you called.”

  The officers appeared uneasy. “What’s going on here, Dr. Decker?”

  Sydney hesitated, torn. Part of her wanted to trust him, to put her faith in the man who’d been her husband, the man she’d promised to love, honor, and cherish. Another part, the rational part, balked. Three years ago he’d abandoned that oath, and now he’d all but broken into her apartment, brandishing a gun and talking about someone coming to kill her. How could she trust him?

  “I’m fine,” she said to the uniformed man at her side. “But this man isn’t my husband. Not anymore.”

  Ethan went very still, the shift subtle but frightening. With her denial of their relationship, he’d grown calmer and more alert, ready. Had the others sensed it? She glanced at the police officers, realizing they hadn’t noticed, and felt a chill ripple through her. Ethan had no intention of allowing these officers to arrest him.

  Then she remembered the gun. “Watch out, he has—”

  Behind her a muffled creak, and Ethan spun toward the sound, a weapon already in his hand. “Get down!”

  His words had barely reached her when she heard a soft thud, and a bright crimson rose blossomed on the chest of the officer at her side. Sydney jerked backward, a scream caught in her throat. The young man tumbled to the floor, eyes wide.

  Gunshots exploded and glass shattered as Ethan shoved her to the floor, the impact forcing the scream from her throat. The second officer went down, his gun hand jerking upward without pulling the trigger, a grunt of surprise escaping his open lips.

  Reflexively, she moved toward him, but Ethan had her pinned, covering her as he fired toward the balcony. One shot. Two. And the panel erupted outward, showering glass fragments on a dark figure as it disappeared over the railing.

  Then Ethan was off her, moving to first one officer then the other, checking for life. Sydney scrambled to help, going to the
young man who seconds earlier had stood by her side. Before she could do more than press trembling fingers to the pulse point in his neck, Ethan grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said.

  “No, wait.” She tried to break free. “Let me go—”

  He tightened his hold on her arm. “There’s nothing you can do for them.”

  “No, I—”

  “They’re dead, Sydney.” His voice was cold, hard. A stranger’s voice. “Come on, or we’ll be next.”

  Ethan urged her toward the kitchen and the back door.

  In shock, she let him lead her into the stairwell. “How did that man—we’re twelve floors up.”

  “Climbing gear,” Ethan answered without slowing. “He either rappelled down from the roof or another balcony.”

  “But . . .” They’d descended several flights, and suddenly she noticed the blood. “You’ve been hit.” She tried to stop their headlong flight and get a look at Ethan’s arm.

  “It’s nothing.” He kept her moving.

  “You could be seriously hurt.”

  “Later.” They’d almost reached the bottom, where Danny and Callie waited. “In the truck,” Ethan commanded.

  The boy pushed through the door, setting off alarms that would soon bring more of the city’s finest.

  Ethan kept going, hurrying her through the door and across the parking lot as the sky began to lighten. The children scrambled into an old truck, and then she was sliding in as well, with Ethan pushing in beside her and starting the engine. As he put the vehicle in gear and screeched away from the curb, she heard the sirens in the distance and wondered when she was going to awake.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ETHAN DROVE with his left hand, his right gripping the Glock in his lap. Sydney sat wedged against him, her tension palpable and expectant, while the kids huddled together between her and the passenger door, their fear seeping into the silence.

  What the hell had he done?

  By barging into Sydney’s condo with no other plan than to get her out, he’d nearly gotten her killed and himself shot in the process. And with his adrenaline levels returning to something resembling normal, he was only too aware of the ragged hole in his arm. The bullet had ripped through the outer portion of his right bicep, searing his flesh like a white-hot flame. Warm blood soaked his sleeve and plastered the wet fabric to his skin. Already, the limb had stiffened. Before he lost any more mobility, he needed to get Sydney and the kids to safety.

  Damn. He wished it were later. In an hour the Dallas roads would be choked with early morning traffic, making it easier to blend in and disappear. As it was now, the few vehicles on the streets didn’t provide much cover.

  He checked the rearview mirror, noted the cars behind them, then turned his attention to his three passengers. “Is everyone all right?”

  “I’m okay,” Callie said.

  “Danny?”

  “Just great.”

  Ethan bit back his annoyance at the boy’s attitude. After all, he couldn’t blame the kid for being angry. Danny was fiercely protective of his younger sister, and Ethan had put both kids in danger by bringing them to Dallas.

  “What about you, Sydney?” He glanced at the woman beside him, not daring to let his eyes linger more than a second or two. When she didn’t answer, he risked another glimpse.

  She met his gaze briefly, then frowned at his arm, avoiding his eyes as studiously as he had hers. “You should be in a hospital.”

  He focused on the road, annoyed that he’d allowed himself to be distracted by her for even a moment. It could get them both killed. “It’s not that bad.”

  “You’ve been shot.” She enunciated each word, as if telling him something he didn’t know. “And you’re bleeding.”

  “There’s a medicine kit,” Callie said, scooting forward to open the backpack at their feet and pull out a white, tin container with a bold red cross on the lid.

  “It’s just a scratch,” Ethan said as Sydney dug through the limited medical supplies. “We have more important things to worry about.” He scanned the street signs, watching for the highway access. It had been years since he’d been in Dallas, and things had changed. “We’ve got to get out of the city.”

  “It’s a bullet wound, Ethan, not a scratch.” Sydney found and ripped open a package of sterile pads. “Callie, tear off about a foot of that gauze and cut it into strips.”

  “Let it go,” he said. They didn’t have time for this. “You can take care of it later.”

  She peeled the fabric from his arm, ripping his sleeve in one quick motion from elbow to shoulder. Then she pressed the pad to his torn flesh, and pain bolted up his arm.

  “Jesus, Sydney . . .” He sucked in a breath, wondering if she’d turned into a closet sadist. “Take it easy.”

  “As usual, you’re not listening to me,” she said. “There won’t be a later, not for me. Callie, give me one of those gauze strips.”

  The girl obeyed, and Sydney secured the makeshift dressing, her quick, competent hands tying first one then the other piece of gauze to his throbbing arm. “That will slow the bleeding until you get to a hospital.” She placed the supplies back in the box and shut the lid with a snap. “Luckily, the bullet passed through, but you still need to have it cleaned and properly dressed. I’d suggest a hospital, but that’s entirely up to you. Now, stop and let me out.”

  Ethan snorted in disbelief. She still didn’t get it; her life was in danger. No way he’d just drop her off somewhere to take her chances. “Forget it.”

  “You can’t keep me in this truck, Ethan.”

  “Look, I know you’re upset—”

  “Upset? We’ve been shot at, we saw two policemen—” She stopped speaking abruptly. Then, with what seemed a great deal of effort, she lowered her voice. “This is insane.”

  Yeah, he thought, insane was as good a word as any. “Look. I’ll explain what I can later. Just let me get the three of you out of the—”

  “Who was that man?”

  Ethan glanced in the rearview mirror again and didn’t like what he saw. “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it matters,” she snapped. “You say I’m in danger, someone shot at us. I want to know who.”

  She’d always had a hell of a temper beneath that moneyed veneer of hers. Usually she kept it tightly reined. That is, until faced with some injustice. Then she’d become a tigress: fierce, fearless, and breathtaking. He’d once loved that about her, admiring the clarity anger brought to her thoughts and the sharpness it brought to her tongue. Right now, however, he’d have preferred someone a bit easier to handle.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie.

  “Take a guess.”

  Okay, so he could do more than guess, he knew who’d shot at them. Marco Ramirez. The only surprises were his timing and that he’d missed. He was one of the best, but with three guns in the room—Ethan’s and the two cops’—the chances of even Ramirez succeeding without getting shot had been slim. So why had he picked that moment to carry out his threat against Sydney?

  “Ethan?”

  Before he could answer her, something else caught his eye. It seemed they had another, more pressing problem. Maybe two. “Not now. We’re being followed.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t,” he said, as both Sydney and Callie turned to look out the back window. “Danny, check your side mirror. Can you see the Mercedes? It’s dark gray, about five or six cars back.”

  Danny straightened. “Yeah, I see it.”

  “Watch him, and let me know if he follows us.”

  “What are you going to do?” Sydney said, more anxious now than angry.

  “Nothing much.” Ethan took the next side street, keeping his speed steady and unhurried. “We’re just taking a little detour to see whether this joker is really on our tail, or if I’m imagining things. Danny?”

  “He pulled into a parking lot.”

&
nbsp; “Give him a block or two to pick us up again. If I’m right, he’ll flow with the traffic while keeping his distance.”

  The car Ethan had passed in the desert before finding Anna’s body had been a high-priced import, just like the one he suspected of following them now. Ramirez, probably. In both cases. He would want to keep Sydney in his sights, and the Mercedes fit his self-image. But what about the second car, a sedan, flitting at the traffic edges a block or so back? Was the vehicle following them, or was Ethan letting his paranoia get the best of him?

  The Mercedes reappeared, closer than before, surprising him with the driver’s incompetence. Or boldness.

  On the one hand, Ramirez had never been worth jack at running a tail. A high-powered rifle from a rooftop or a lethal encounter in a crowd were more to his liking. Which was probably how Anna had managed to evade him for so long. His methods weren’t meant for a target in hiding—especially one as good at it as Anna Kelsey. But even Ramirez could do a better job of keeping out of sight than the driver of the Mercedes.

  Ethan looked for the second car, but this time saw nothing unusual. Except Ramirez, making himself plainly visible. Could the assassin be a decoy, a distraction for other, less obvious pursuers? Ethan considered it but quickly dismissed the idea. He’d known Marco Ramirez since their earliest days with the Agency, and although a lot could change in three years, not this. Ramirez worked alone.

  So what was he up to?

  Ethan watched the Mercedes as a long-suppressed rage stirred within him. After Nicky’s death, Ethan had bowed to Ramirez’s threats. He’d left Sydney and the Agency to hole up in the desert, where each new day had reeked of his failures.

  “Goddamn you, Ramirez.” All Ethan needed, all he’d ever needed, was one shot at the bastard. “It’s time we finish this.”

  “Ethan?”

  Sydney’s unspoken question momentarily cut through his anger, but he shoved his hesitation aside. He’d waited too long for this chance, he wasn’t about to lose it now. He would make Ramirez pay for Nicky’s death.

  “Hold on,” he said and made several quick turns, heading away from the downtown area. The awakening city fell away to the trendy Deep Ellum district, where residents still slept behind their shuttered windows. At the end of a quiet block, Ethan spun the truck around, bringing them full circle, and stopped.