Blind Run

by Patricia Lewin

  “Are you sick now?” Sydney asked, perplexed.

  “I’m okay, just a little tired.”

  Which was hardly surprising after what she’d been through the last couple of days. Sydney considered letting the subject drop. Callie wasn’t her responsibility, but the physician and mother in her couldn’t ignore the possibility that the child was ill.

  “Is there some reason you get sick, Callie? Do you have allergies, or some other condition I should know about?” She ran her hands down the girl’s thin arms and took both her hands. “You do know I’m a doctor, don’t you? I used to take care of children like you.”

  “Oh, yes.” Callie nodded. “Ethan told us. He said you were the best kid doctor in all of Texas.”

  Sydney laughed softly. “Did he now?”

  “Yes, he said—”

  “Callie,” Sydney interrupted, not wanting to get off the subject. Or into a discussion about her ex-husband. “Why do you get sick all the time?”

  Callie shrugged. “My immune system is weak.” It was a very adult statement, something the child had been told. Something she’d memorized and repeated verbatim. “That’s why I have to stay away from the others.”

  Sydney frowned, some inner voice telling her to tread carefully. “What do you mean, you have to stay away from the other children? You don’t mean all the time, do you?”

  “Well, pretty much. Dr. Turner said it was for my own good ’cause I catch every bug that goes around.” She paused, then lowered her voice to a whisper, as if she and Sydney were conspirators. “But, I think they’re afraid I’ll get the other children sick.”

  Sydney didn’t know what to say. The thought of this beautiful child kept in isolation was too cruel to consider. “But certainly . . .” She must have misunderstood. “You go to school with the other children, don’t you? And live in a dormitory?”

  “Uh-uh.” Callie shook her head. “I have my own room and private teachers.” She grinned. “They say I’m special.”

  Sydney’s thoughts spun out of control. Just how sick was the girl? And was she contagious? “You are special, Callie.” Sydney squeezed the child’s hands. “But I have a hard time understanding why you weren’t allowed to play with the other children.”

  “It’s okay,” Callie said, as if reading Sydney’s mind. “I wasn’t alone all the time. Danny used to come and see me almost every day.”

  This sounded more normal, except Danny had claimed no one told him or Callie they were related. So why would the children’s guardians single him out to visit her? “Why did the doctors let Danny come to see you?”

  Callie’s cheeks flushed with obvious discomfort. “Well, they didn’t exactly let him.”

  “What do you mean?” Sydney had a feeling she wouldn’t like this. “I thought you said he came to see you.”

  Callie kept her eyes locked on the floor. “He sneaked in after lights-out, using the maintenance shafts. They run all through the buildings.”

  Now this didn’t surprise Sydney. Danny was turning out to be infinitely resourceful, and in her estimation, headed for Juvenile Hall. Between breaking into computer systems and climbing through maintenance shafts, he’d probably get there before his thirteenth birthday.

  “Don’t be mad, Sydney.”

  Sydney reached over and tucked a strand of pale hair behind the child’s ear. “I’m not mad.” And she wasn’t. Not really. “In fact, I’m glad you had company.”

  Callie brightened. “You are?”

  “Sure.” Callie’s simplicity was infectious, a single bright spot in what had otherwise been a very dark day.

  “Danny and I used to stay up for hours talking,” she said, chattering away in the way of seven-year-olds. “Sometimes he’d read to me. He taught me chess and started showing me tai chi.”

  Sydney glanced at Danny, still asleep on the couch, and her heart softened toward him. Okay, so the boy meant well, at least as far as his sister was concerned.

  “We didn’t have a lot of time, and I don’t know much yet.” Callie had wiggled around until her backside rested against one of Sydney’s legs. “But Danny says it will help me get better. He says there’s healing power in the moves.”

  Sydney couldn’t help but smile. Callie obviously adored her big brother every bit as much as he did her. Whatever else happened, these children belonged together.

  “Danny and I practice every morning,” Callie continued. “Even Anna helped me some.”

  Anna again. Just the mention of that name brought Sydney out of her bemusement at Callie’s chatter. Anna’s presence hovered over them like a particularly unpleasant ghost. “Did you like Anna, Callie?”

  Callie shrugged. “She was okay.” She hesitated. “You know, before.”

  “You mean before she helped you run away?”

  “Uh-huh.” Again she hesitated, this time glancing at her brother. “I didn’t tell Danny ’cause I didn’t want him to feel bad.”

  “Did she hurt you?”

  Callie shook her head, and Sydney released her breath. “No. I just didn’t like her. She wasn’t very nice.”

  Sydney considered asking more questions, but decided it was best to drop the subject. She didn’t trust her own motives when it came to Anna Kelsey. Besides, whatever else the woman was, she’d died helping these children.

  The silence spun out between them again, more comfortably this time. Callie moved back to the window, while Sydney continued to wonder about the girl’s illness. She supposed it could be as simple or as complicated as a weak immune system. However, that didn’t make sense when you considered Callie had been out of her controlled environment for several days and seemed fine. If she was overly susceptible to infection, she probably would have caught something by now. The problem was, without tests, Sydney couldn’t draw any definitive conclusions.

  “Are you coming with us?” Callie asked without turning from the window. “To help find our father?”

  Sydney kept her eyes on the rapidly fading day. “I don’t know.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not certain that going off on our own to find your father is the best thing.” Then, as much to herself as to Callie, she added, “Maybe it would be better to call the authorities and let them find out what’s going on.” Or Charles with his extensive network of connections.

  Callie looked at her with eyes that were big and blue, and suddenly a lot older than her seven years. “You’re mad at him, aren’t you?”

  The question surprised her, and Sydney considered pretending she didn’t understand. But what would be the point? They both knew Callie meant Ethan.

  So, was Sydney mad at him?

  It wasn’t a word she’d have used, but she guessed it applied. Or it had as recently as last night. She’d been angry at Ethan, deeply angry and hurt. Their son had died, she’d needed her husband, and he hadn’t been there for her. She’d never allowed herself to look past that simple equation. But here, with the spring sunshine highlighting the tight features of the man she’d once loved, she knew she could no longer leave it at that.

  She needed to know why he’d left her. They needed to tie up the ends of their unsettled marriage and forgive each other. None of which would be possible if she walked away.

  “No, Callie, I’m not mad,” she said. “Not anymore. But my staying isn’t just about Ethan.”

  She couldn’t leave these children, either. She’d sensed their need from the moment she’d met them, and if she turned them over to the police, she’d never learn the truth. The authorities would whisk them away, returning them to that school, and she’d never know whether they’d been ripped from their parents’ arms, or were orphans as their guardians claimed. Nor would she learn why Callie got sick, or why these two children who obviously loved each other had been kept apart.

  Callie didn’t look convinced.

  Sydney reclaimed the girl’s hands and forced a smile. “It’s about the best way to help you and your brother.”

  Callie tilted h
er head, a myriad of emotions playing across her small features. Doubt, fear, hope, they all flickered on her face. Finally she said, “We need you.”

  The simplicity of the statement was Sydney’s undoing. Closing her eyes, she squeezed the child’s hands. “I know.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ETHAN WANTED to hit something. Hard.

  For three long years he’d told himself he was finished with the Agency and its waltz with death, all the while dreaming of hunting down Ramirez and watching him die. Ethan wanted to close his hands around the other man’s throat and feel the life drain away beneath his fingers.

  Then a few short hours ago, Ramirez had been within his grasp. Ethan had almost lost it, risking everything for the sake of his revenge. They’d barely escaped. And now Ramirez was still close, so close Ethan could sense him, feel his presence like a foul wind against his skin. But he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Not with Sydney and two runaway orphans depending on him for their lives.

  Ethan closed his eyes and fought the need to pummel his fist against the nearest hardwood surface. If he started, he wouldn’t stop. He’d drive himself until he drew blood and shattered the bones of his hand, until he collapsed, pain screaming through him and blotting out all thought, all memory.

  What good would he be to any of them then?

  He forced himself to breathe deeply, slowly, then fell into the rhythm of tai chi. He needed to forget Ramirez, get his anger under control, and concentrate on the lives in his care. His body moved from one position to the next, smoothly, seamlessly, but his thoughts remained with his son. And the man who’d killed him.

  Hate circled within him like a living thing, a force threatening to consume him. He pulled back, blocking out everything but the steady flow of movements, his breathing, and the beat of his heart. Over and over he performed the ritual, as the need to hunt pulled at him, tore at the ties that held him to this place and the three people he’d left sleeping inside.

  He couldn’t say how long he repeated the movements, but exhaustion finally dulled his senses. He could still feel the need for revenge within him, buried beneath a lifetime of discipline, but for now, he had it under control. Only then did he dare bring his arms up in a wide, final sweep and press his palms together in front of his chest. As he dropped his hands to his sides, he caught Sydney watching him from the window.

  She was so pale. Like she’d been the day of Nicky’s funeral.

  The memory stung, but he couldn’t escape it. Not with Sydney so close. Nicky had died in mid-August, when the dry, lifeless heat of the Texas summer had been at its height. Even beneath the live oaks that shaded his final resting place, it had felt like an oven.

  The day crystalized in Ethan’s mind.

  He and Sydney had ridden to the cemetery in a black limousine. Her parents had wanted to accompany their daughter, but Ethan had consigned them to the second car, and Sydney hadn’t objected. She hadn’t even spoken, even as she stood, her hand placid in his, listening to the ragged voice of the young minister attempting to offer comfort as they buried their five-year-old son.

  Around them, the world seemed unnaturally bright. Vivid. Like something not quite real. The sky had a celestial quality, its very blueness a slap, a mockery of the day’s purpose. As was the smell of fresh mown grass and the hum of a distant lawnmower. Insects chattered. A toddler squirmed and whined and was taken off by a flustered adult. Sydney’s mother, standing on the other side of her daughter, sniffed, wiped her eyes, and clung to her husband’s arm. The hole in the earth appeared cavernous, the earth a rich brown. The roses on Nicky’s casket a deep bloodred.

  And Sydney.

  Her face bleached of color. Her hair pulled severely away from her face. Her swollen eyes hidden behind dark glasses. A part of her had died with Nicky, and Ethan sensed her willingness to crawl into that coffin with their son. He saw himself burying her in the plot next to the boy and slipped an unsteady arm around her shoulders.

  He couldn’t allow that.

  At least, that’s what he’d told himself, how he’d justified his actions later that day. In truth, he’d simply been helpless in the face of her grief and desperate for something he could do to make her whole again.

  He’d made his decision as he watched the small casket descend into the ground. Sydney had choked back a sob, then let go as her mother turned and folded her into maternal arms. Ethan had stepped back, knowing what he had to do. He couldn’t allow his wife to follow their son. He would do whatever it took to keep her safe, to give her a chance at life.

  Now he saw that he’d chosen the easy way out. She’d managed to go on living these last three years, pulling herself and her life together, while he’d wallowed in his guilt, telling himself it was all for her. Instead, he should have told her the truth and gone after Ramirez.

  She moved away from the window and stepped outside. As she walked toward him, he had the urge to walk away—from her, from those two kids, and from the memories both evoked. But, he held his ground, and she stopped a few feet away.

  “Were you able to sleep?” he asked.

  “A few hours.” Her voice was cool, polite. “You?”

  “I had some things to take care of. What about the kids?”

  “Callie’s awake, but Danny’s still sleeping.” Sydney folded her arms and glanced back toward the empty parking lot. “Where’s your truck?”

  He reminded himself to tread carefully. Beneath her civility was a brittle edge he couldn’t quite read. “I parked it in town behind an auto-body shop. It will be a while before anyone questions what it’s doing there.” Then, before she could ask any more questions, he added, “I rented a car. It’s in back.”

  “Wasn’t that risky?” she said. “I mean, can’t they trace your credit card or something?”

  “I used a different name. I have several, courtesy of the Agency.” And a couple they knew nothing about. It was another precaution he and his team had taken, like their desert hideaway. They’d acquired identification, credit cards, and passports that not even the Agency could trace, at least not right away. “We have at least forty-eight hours before anyone picks up anything unusual, maybe longer.”

  “But someone in town could have recognized you from the news report.” She seemed more curious than concerned, and he figured she probably wished someone had spotted him and called the police.

  “I had to chance it. The truck was too visible, if someone saw us drive away from your condo . . .” He let the comment trail off. She could fill in the blanks herself. He bent to pick up his jacket and slipped it on, suppressing a wince at the sudden needle of pain.

  She noticed anyway. “Are you bleeding again?”

  Funny, he’d forgotten the injury while going through his routine. He supposed he had his anger at Ramirez to thank for that. The bullet’s trail on his arm was nothing in comparison. “It’s just sore.”

  “That’s not surprising. You need to get some rest, Ethan.” She’d switched to her best doctor voice. “And you need to give that arm time to heal.”

  “I need to keep limber.”

  She looked ready to argue, but evidently thought better of it. Her politeness was beginning to unnerve him, as was his own. They were dancing around each other, both avoiding more pressing questions, like what to do with those two kids.

  After they’d seen the news report earlier and listened to Danny’s story, they’d reached an impasse. Sydney wasn’t the type of woman who dealt well with uncertainty, but the morning’s events had depleted her. Ethan had seen it before. When someone whose life fell within traditional boundaries was suddenly forced into dangerous circumstances, they could only take so much before their minds shut down. That was the case with Sydney. Too much had happened too quickly for her to make any rational choices. She was out of her element, and she wasn’t the only one. The children were strung out as well. He’d hoped a few hours’ sleep would do all of them a lot of good and help Sydney see things clearly.

  �
��So, what now?” she said, finally braving the question on both their minds. “What do we do about Danny and Callie?”

  “We find Timothy Mulligan.”

  “We’re not even sure he’s Danny’s father. What if he’s wrong, what if—”

  “That’s why we need to talk to Mulligan. Look,”—he rubbed a weary hand over his face—“I don’t like this any more than you do, but at the very least, we need to find out what’s going on at that school. And Mulligan is the place to start.”

  “I’m not sure about this, Ethan.”

  “It’s the only choice we have.”

  “That’s not true, we could—”

  “What? Turn them over to the authorities? You want to do that, Sydney?” He’d known she would question his decision about Mulligan and was prepared to convince her, even if it meant playing on her maternal instincts. “After what Danny told us a few hours ago about that place they came from? Do you want to take a chance they’ll end up missing like their friends?”

  She shook her head. “We don’t know—”

  “That’s right, we don’t.”

  He knew her instinct to help those kids was battling her reluctance to trust him. He couldn’t blame her, and if he could leave her out of this without risking her life, he would. But Ramirez was still out there, and Ethan couldn’t rely on the assassin’s interest in Danny and Callie to keep him from going after Sydney.

  Although it made him feel like a heel, he played his last card. “And don’t forget, Anna died delivering them to me.”

  Sydney’s eyes locked on his, irritated at his manipulation attempt. But there was also the recognition that he was right. “So what do you suggest?”

  “We wait until full dark,” he said, “then head to Illinois. It’s about eight hundred miles. If we drive straight through, we can make it before noon tomorrow.” He broke off, one more secret nudging at him. “But there’s something else you need to know,” he said and lowered himself to a log at the edge of the trees. “Sit down. It’s not just Ramirez I’m worried about.”