Blind Run

by Patricia Lewin

  “The kid’s got a thing for birds,” Ethan said from behind her.

  Sydney started and spun around.

  “Sorry,” he said, taking a step back. “Bad habit.”

  And not a new one. His ability to approach without making a sound had startled her more than once. In the past she’d have scolded him for sneaking up on her, and he’d have laughed and swept her into his arms. The memory warmed her, and she squelched it as quickly as it surfaced.

  “Forget it,” she said, turning away. They were better off avoiding such precarious terrain. “How long have those children been with you?”

  “They showed up on my doorstep yesterday afternoon.”

  She glanced back at him. “Alone?”

  “With Anna, who dropped them off and split. I went after her, but by the time I found her, she was dead.”

  Sydney wrapped her arms around her waist. She hadn’t liked Anna. She’d been too much of everything: beautiful, intelligent, intense. Still, to die so young was a waste. “What kind of trouble are they in?” she asked, nodding toward the children.

  “Not sure. Anna didn’t tell me squat, just that she wanted to leave them with me for a few days. Then, adiós.”

  “But Danny and Callie must have told you something.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Ethan laughed abruptly. “On the way to Dallas, the boy gave me his version of the facts.” He crossed his arms and leaned his good shoulder against the building. “Danny claims they were kidnapped. Anna helped them escape and was trying to reunite them with their family.”

  “And you don’t believe him.”

  “Anna wasn’t the kind of woman to go out of her way to help someone, not even a couple of kids.”

  It fit Sydney’s impression of the woman and raised more questions than answers.

  “All I know for sure,” Ethan said, “is that those two kids are running from something, and Anna was killed delivering them to me.”

  Sydney turned back to watch the children, as if somehow their actions would reveal their secrets. Danny had taken Callie’s hand as they explored the edge of the trees, letting go only as the small girl squatted to pick wildflowers.

  “They obviously adore each other,” Sydney said.

  “He reminds me of . . .” Ethan left the sentence unfinished, and Sydney turned to him.

  “You can say it,” she said. “I won’t fall apart. Danny reminds you of Nicky.”

  Ethan kept his eyes on the children. “Silly, isn’t it? They don’t look anything alike, and Nicky was half Danny’s age, but the kid’s got spunk.”

  “Like our son.” Who’d never been afraid of anything, including climbing a tree to return a baby bird to its nest. In the process he’d fallen and broken his neck. And his parents’ hearts.

  Grief creased Ethan’s features. “Nicky would have grown up like that, you know, like Danny, watching out for the little guy.”

  Which was exactly what Ethan was doing, she realized with a flash of guilt. Okay, so she’d been furious at him for barging back into her life and dragging her from her home. Who could blame her? He’d taken her by surprise. But she knew Ethan, and if he believed she was in mortal danger, he’d do whatever was necessary to protect her. It was simply the way he was made. He possessed a streak of gallantry she’d always found endearing, if somewhat old-fashioned. She couldn’t fault him for it now.

  “Come inside,” she said. “Let me tend your arm and you can tell me the rest.”

  “You go on.” He backed away, the gun no longer visible. “I need to move the truck out of sight and check around.”

  She started to object, then thought better of it. After all, facing the past alone might be easier. At least initially. “Are Danny and Callie okay out here?”

  “I’ll bring them with me when I come.”

  She nodded and watched him head toward the front, waiting until he disappeared around the building. Then, with a sigh of resignation, she entered the lodge. She passed through the kitchen and dining room into the reception area but stopped at the entrance to the two-story great room, the building’s heart.

  It looked different in the daylight, but familiar, too. As before, the oversized leather furniture had been covered for the winter, the chunky wood tables and bookshelves cleared, and the rugs rolled and stored.

  She crossed to the windows, the pungent scent of the log walls reaching beneath her defenses. She fought it, trying to ignore the room’s whispered memories. Beyond the glass, an empty deck clung to the side of the building, and the lake shimmered with late morning sunlight. A lone sailboat skidded across its surface.

  The last time she’d stood in this spot, everything in her life had been different. She’d been young, in love, and full of dreams for their future. Ethan had been her world, and together in this room, they’d needed nothing and no one else.

  The memory dissolved her resistance, and she saw again the room lit by moonlight, felt the crisp night air caressing her bare skin, and heard Ethan’s voice, gentle, trembling, as he lowered her onto the couch.

  “Let’s not wait,” he’d said. “I want a family. With you.”

  His words had slipped into her heart and sidestepped their decision to put off having children. She’d pulled him to her, and one sensation melded into another. His strong hands, caressing, arousing. His mouth, coaxing, demanding. The hardness of his body, above her, on her, inside her. And the certainty as she called his name into the cool darkness of the deserted lodge that they’d created a life. Their child.

  That night she’d believed nothing could ever come between them. They would be together always.

  A shiver skated down her spine. She’d been a fool.

  “Sydney, are you okay?”

  She turned from the windows. Ethan stood across the room, concern and caution shadowing his face. She considered lying, the polite kind of lie that left everyone feeling better. But the enormity of all they’d lost demanded truth.

  “No,” she said. “I’m not okay. I haven’t been for a long time.”

  He took a step toward her, but she held up a hand to stop him. There was something she needed to know and it was about time he told her. “Why did you leave me, Ethan?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  SYDNEY’s QUESTION immobilized him.

  For the first time since barging into her apartment, Ethan absorbed the physical changes marking her. She was thinner. Time, or possibly grief, had carved hollows in her cheeks and etched fine lines around her eyes. She’d cut her long, dark hair to frame her face, and it suited her, as did the new thinness. She’d always been attractive, though not in a way that stopped men in their tracks. Her beauty had been more subtle, revealing itself in the warmth of her smile and the intelligence behind her eyes. Now she’d become striking in a way she’d never been before. She possessed an allure, a deep sadness and mystery that would draw attention.

  It hurt Ethan to look at her.

  The loss of their son had changed her, destroyed the innocence that had been her special gift. He had a sudden urge to answer her truthfully and confess everything, and maybe he would have, except for the sound of approaching feet.

  “Is there anything to eat in this place?” Danny said, breaking the silence. “We’re starving.”

  Sydney blinked, and a shutter fell across her features. “I’m not sure,” she said without taking her eyes off Ethan. “There might be some canned goods in the pantry.” She released him then, turning her attention to the children. “Go take a look. And, Callie, I need that first-aid kit.”

  “I’ll get it out for you,” she said, and both kids took off toward the kitchen.

  Sydney closed the distance between them, her expression carefully blank. “Come on, I’ll look at your arm.”

  He followed her into the dining room and lounge, where Callie had gotten out the first-aid kit before joining her brother’s search for food.

  “Take off your shirt,” Sydney said, as she lined up their limited medical supplies on the table. �
�I hope you have another one with you.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Ethan shrugged out of the garment, feeling a bit awkward and foolish because of it. Sydney had seen a lot more of him than a bare chest. Pushing the untimely thought aside, he carefully peeled the fabric away from his injured arm. Scratch or not, it hurt like a bitch.

  He must not have done such a great job of concealing his discomfort, because Sydney went to the bar and returned with a glass of water. Then she took a bottle of aspirin from her purse, shook a couple into her hand, and offered them to him. “Here, these will help.”

  So much for macho stoicism; he never could fool her. “It’s going to take more than two,” he said, swallowing the pills dry. The whole damn bottle was more like it.

  “And I expected an argument.” Sydney tsked, retrieved two more of the painkillers, and handed them over. “Aren’t you the one with a phobia about medication? Even aspirin?”

  He let out a short laugh, and this time used the water to down the pills. That was him, all right, never met a drug he liked. At the moment, however, he needed the use of his arm. “There’s a time and place for everything.”

  “Now I know you’re hurting,” she said. “Sit down and let me see how bad it is.”

  He did, and she gently removed the makeshift bandage. “Looks like more than a scratch to me.”

  He shrugged, liking the feel of her hands against his bare skin. “I’ve had worse.”

  Her gaze slid to his, an uncomfortable memory passing between them. Five years ago he’d almost died from a gunshot wound to the chest. A hunting accident, he’d told her. Only he’d never explained what he’d been hunting. Now he saw the questions in her eyes and wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

  “It was almost worse this time,” she said. “Six inches to the left and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” She opened a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and started cleaning the hole in his arm. “Now, why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what’s going on. Or at least what you know.”

  He did, repeating what he’d told her earlier about the kids, while ignoring her closeness and the memory of how once her touch had possessed the power to bring him to his knees. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought she wasn’t listening. All her attention seemed focused on the damage caused by Ramirez’s bullet, but when he got to the part about finding Anna’s body in the desert, she tensed.

  “Do you know who killed her?” she asked.

  The old anger stirred, but he slapped it down. “Ramirez.”

  “And now you think he’s after those children.”

  “Maybe.” It’s what he’d thought until that second car materialized in Dallas. Now he wasn’t so sure. “It’s possible.”

  Danny and Callie came in from the kitchen, carrying bowls of glossy fruit.

  “I see you found something to eat,” Sydney said, her smile forced.

  Callie grinned. “Peaches.”

  “Yeah, that’s all there is.” Danny headed toward a large screen TV by the bar. “Except for some dumb vegetables.”

  “There’s more fruit,” Callie said as she trailed after her brother. “If you want some.”

  Sydney watched them, her expression distant. She didn’t speak again until they’d settled down. “Why you?” she asked without looking at Ethan. “Why did Anna bring them to you?”

  It wasn’t a question he could answer with complete honesty. He could guess why Anna had come to him, and might even come close to the truth, but he couldn’t tell Sydney. Not all of it anyway. “We worked together for eight years. She trusted me.”

  “And knew where to find you.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sydney’s face tightened. She probably suspected him and Anna of having an affair. Well, they had been involved, but not in the way Sydney imagined.

  She let it go and again bent her concentration to his arm. Work had always been her panacea, and at the moment he expected she needed to focus on something concrete. Something she could control. As she applied the topical antibiotic and covered the bullet hole with a gauze pad, however, her hands trembled.

  He couldn’t stop himself, he took her hand. To his surprise she didn’t resist, and it felt good to just touch her again. And familiar. “Sydney . . .” He searched for the words to reassure her, words he didn’t have. “I’m sorry.” It was all he had.

  She slipped out of his grasp and, steadier now, finished wrapping his upper arm with gauze. “I’ll give you a prescription for antibiotics to avoid infection.” She secured the last piece of tape. “And you’ll have to change the bandage every day. Do you want something for the pain?”

  “Aspirin will be fine.” Anything stronger would cloud his mind and dull his reflexes.

  “No surprise there.” She started storing the supplies.

  Ethan examined the bandage and flexed his arm. “Thank you.” He got his spare shirt from his duffel bag and slipped it on, suddenly aware of how studiously she avoided looking at him. The idea that he might still affect her pleased him, though he knew it shouldn’t. Not after how he’d hurt her, and not now, when their lives depended on his ability to remain focused.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She sat on a chair across from him. “You know,”—she still didn’t meet his gaze—“nothing you’ve said so far explains what any of this has to do with me.”

  Ethan glanced toward the kids in front of the televison. Danny worked his ever-present Game Boy, while Callie seemed entranced by a group of preteens frolicking with full-size cartoon characters. “I’m not sure who’s after them. Maybe Ramirez, maybe someone else. But what I do know is that Ramirez is a pro. He kills for a living.” Anger nudged him again, but he rolled past it. “Now he’s after you.”

  “Why, because he thinks Anna called me?”

  Now, that was the tough question, but Ethan had to tell the truth. At least about this. “That’s only part of it. He’s out to get even with me for something that happened a long time ago.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why he wants to hurt me.”

  “He wants to punish me.” He hesitated, unsure how she would respond to his next statement, or if she’d even believe him. “He plans to get to me by hurting you.”

  She looked stunned, her lovely dark eyes widening with fear and confusion, and he couldn’t blame her. Everything that had happened in the last few hours was outside her experience. Now this, a killer stalking her because of her ex-husband, a man who’d deserted her. Ethan wished he could comfort her, but even if she let him put his arms around her, he had nothing to offer.

  “Hey,” Danny said, turning up the volume on the television. “You’ve got to see this.”

  “What is it?” Ethan kept his eyes on Sydney, who seemed lost in his last revelation.

  “You’re on the news.”

  Sydney started and turned, as did Ethan, his attention leaping to the big screen.

  A reporter in a vivid red suit stood on a Dallas street in front of a modern high-rise. “This is Joanna Farley, reporting live from downtown Dallas. Two police officers died here today in an early morning shootout at this upscale building.”

  Sydney lifted a shaky hand to her mouth, and Ethan moved to her side, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

  “The shooting occurred at the home of Dr. Sydney Decker, a medical researcher at Braydon Labs,” the reporter continued, her expression grave. “According to sources close to the police, Dr. Decker dialed nine-one-one around five A.M. this morning, claiming her ex-husband had broken into her home. Two officers were dispatched to the scene, and residents of the building heard gunshots coming from Dr. Decker’s apartment a short time later. One witness claims to have seen a man fleeing from the scene holding Dr. Decker at gunpoint.

  “Authorities are looking for Ethan Decker in connection with the shooting and possible kidnapping of his ex-wife.”

  A photograph of Ethan appeared on the screen.

  “Damn,” Ethan said.

/>   The camera switched back to the reporter, and Ethan’s picture slid to one corner. “Decker is described as six foot one, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He is considered armed and dangerous and should not be approached.”

  “What the . . .” Remembering the kids, Ethan cut his sentence short.

  There was no mention of Danny, Callie, Anna, or parents looking for lost children. No speculation about a shooter on the balcony or reports of abandoned climbing gear. No body found at the side of a desert highway. Only the dead cops in Sydney’s apartment. And Ethan’s name.

  Someone was playing hardball.

  In a couple of quick strides, Ethan crossed to the television and shut it off.

  Whoever was after these kids was making damn sure Ethan didn’t go to the police. They’d gotten into Sydney’s condo and cleaned up the shooter’s tracks, leaving Ethan as the only suspect. As for Anna, he could buy the authorities not connecting a murder in New Mexico to a shooting in Dallas, but Danny and Callie had been visible. The night security guard at Sydney’s building, if no one else, had seen them with Ethan. The media should at least have a hint of them, and the police should be questioning their identity and relationship to Ethan.

  Instead, it was as if they and the shooter didn’t exist. Ramirez’s work? No, not alone. He didn’t have the resources to shut down witnesses, bury evidence, or sanitize Sydney’s building. Someone with a lot more clout than Ramirez was behind this. It bore all the earmarks of an Agency operation, especially considering Anna’s involvement.

  Turning toward the others, he saw the guilt on Danny’s face. The boy knew more than he’d admitted. “Okay, Danny, it’s time you told me what’s really going on.”

  Danny’s cheeks reddened, his eyes focused on the floor.

  “And this time,” Ethan added, “I want the truth.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  PAUL HAD FOUND the truth.

  With shaking hands, he pushed back from the computer on his desk. For long moments he couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. Once again, death had slid up behind him ready to make its claim. Only this time Paul saw no mercenary angel hovering in the wings, showing him the way out.