Blind Run (10 page)

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.

He knew where to find the missing children.

It had been nearly three days, seventy-two hours, since they’d disappeared. With each passing hour, it seemed less likely that Cox’s people would find them. A frightening loss, but Paul had managed to keep his head. Literally and figuratively.

Thanks to Anna Kelsey.

Since the Agency had placed her on Haven Island, Cox couldn’t hold Paul accountable for her actions. Such a woman was beyond Paul’s experience or expertise. Even Morrow had admitted that much. But all that could change with one phone call.

Paul not only knew where Danny was headed, he knew why. The boy had hacked into the facility’s computer system, accessing birth records and God only knew what else. It explained everything: why he’d run, why he’d taken Callie, and where he would go.

Paul closed his eyes, fear sweeping through him.

At first he’d prayed he was wrong, but after checking and rechecking his findings, he knew that wasn’t the case. He’d spent the last eight hours going through the system. The evidence was irrefutable. Although Danny had been smart enough to hack his way in, he’d left trails.

Every time he’d accessed a restricted file, the system made a log entry containing time, date, and user ID. He’d known about the log and figured out how to alter it to hide his tracks, which was why his activities had escaped notice. What Danny obviously didn’t know was that every time the system made a log entry, it also wrote a copy on a WORM (write-once-read-many) device for safe storage. So by the time he physically changed the online log, it was too late, his snooping had been recorded on a nonchangeable piece of hardware.

It took some time and effort, but Paul had been able to compare the online entry with the WORM version and find the discrepancies.

Paul knew he should be proud that the twelve-year-old had broken the facility’s state-of-the-art security system. After all, he’d created the child, made him, so to speak. But pride was the last thing Paul felt. Cold, mind-numbing terror was closer to the mark.

He wanted to scream at the injustice of it. This wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t a goddamn teacher or psychologist. He’d never even particularly liked children and had as little day-to-day contact with those on the island as possible. Someone on his staff should have warned him, someone else should have known the boy’s capabilities. Whether Danny was smarter than they knew or simply more motivated, one of
them
should have known.

But Cox would never see it that way.

Paul dropped his face to his hands and cursed the day he’d met the other man. No matter what course he chose, Paul wouldn’t escape unscathed. If he revealed what he knew, Cox would find the children, but Paul would have to admit that Danny had been hacking into the system for some time—maybe as long as a year. That would be disastrous. Cox’s people would take over, turning the island upside down looking for security breaches. But if Paul kept the information to himself, and Cox found out in some other way, or they found Danny and he confessed . . .

The intercom buzzed.

Paul straightened, steeling his voice against the churn of fear in his gut, and pressed the receive button. “What is it, Sheila?”

“Dr. Bateman called from the infirmary,” said his assistant. “He asked if you could come over right away.”

“Did he say what it’s about?”

“It’s Adam.” She paused. “He’s sick.”

Paul broke into a smile. Why hadn’t he thought of this? He’d known Adam would exhibit symptoms quickly. All Paul had to do was claim that Adam had finally revealed the runaways’ destination, and Cox would have no reason to send his people in here to check for security breaches.

“Tell Dr. Bateman I’ll be over in a few minutes,” he said, and severed the connection.

Paul was almost giddy as he made his way to the hospital wing, nodding at the staff he passed on the way. He’d injected Adam with a designer strain of Avian Influenza A (H5N1), which had surfaced in Hong Kong in 1997 and killed a third of those infected. The potency of the virus had been high in its original state, but the strain Paul had used on Adam had been altered to further increase its virulence.

In part, the injection had been a test to see if the boy’s system would repel the deadly virus. However, when Adam had refused to talk about Danny’s plan, Paul had used it as a weapon, counting on it to make Adam more willing to talk as the illness took hold. Now it didn’t matter whether Adam talked or not.

When Paul reached the hospital wing, he donned an expression of grave concern and pushed through to the isolation ward.

Bateman intercepted him before he made it to the boy’s room. “Dr. Turner, thank you for coming so soon.”

“How is he?”

“Not too bad yet,”—Bateman followed Paul to the observation window—“but in another twenty-four hours, he’ll be one sick young man.”

“Fever, cough, sore throat?”

Bateman nodded. “All the classic symptoms.”

“I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Have you run tests yet to verify the strain hasn’t shifted?” In its unaltered state, A (H5N1) showed no signs of human-to-human transmission, but the influenza virus was tricky and could alter itself in unexpected ways. The last thing Paul needed was a pandemic of influenza running through the island. Most of the children would survive, but he’d lose a high percentage of the staff.

“It’s stable,” Dr. Bateman said, suddenly edgy. “But since we know Adam has no immunity, what is the point of withholding treatment?”

“He’s strong and may still fight off the infection without interference.” Although Paul had no intention of letting the boy recover. “We need to monitor the progression of his illness.”

“Yes, but—”

Paul turned on him. “Are you questioning my judgment?”

Bateman paled and looked away.

“I didn’t think so.” Paul smiled to himself, enjoying the other man’s discomfort. It felt good after bowing to Cox and his thugs these last few days. Paul was still in charge here; this was still his facility. “Now, I want to examine the boy, and I’m sure
you
have other matters to attend to.”

Bateman backed off. “Yes, of course.”

Paul watched him scuttle away, then entered the hospital room. Grabbing a stool, he pulled it over to the bed and sat. “How are you feeling, Adam?”

The boy glared at him and rolled onto his side, giving Paul his back.

“I suspected you were coming down with something yesterday,” Paul said.

“I wasn’t sick then.” Adam’s voice was muffled but angry.

Paul ignored the accusation. “You’re lucky we discovered how sick you were before it was too late.” He sighed for the boy’s benefit. “But I’m afraid Callie’s not going to be that lucky.”

“I told you I don’t know where—”

“Oh, I don’t need you to tell me anything, Adam. I know where they went.” He shifted on the hard metal stool, making the wheels squeak, and watched the boy. “And I’ve sent someone to bring them home. I only hope it’s not too late for Callie. If you’d told me yesterday where they went . . .” He shook his head. “I might have been able to save her.”

Adam turned around. “What’s wrong with her?”

Paul smiled sympathetically. “I thought you understood. Callie came down with the same virus as you, right before she and Danny ran away.” That much, at least, was true.

Tears filled the boy’s eyes. “Will she die?”

“Not only her . . .” Paul felt a particular delight in tormenting this boy who’d given him so much trouble. “But I’m sure she’s infected others by now as well, including Danny.”

DANNY FELT SICK.

The TV reporter had lied just like the Keepers. Ethan hadn’t killed anyone, there had been a man with a gun on the balcony.

Sydney touched his arm. “Danny?”

They expected him to explain, but he didn’t know anything. Not about gunmen, anyway. All he knew was that he and Callie couldn’t go back to the Haven. Not ever. But he was afraid to tell them even that much. He doubted they’d believe him, especially after he’d lied to Ethan earlier. Well, it hadn’t been a complete lie. He’d just stretched the truth some.

“Tell them.” Callie poked him in the arm. “They can help us.”

Danny wasn’t so sure about that, but he knew he had to do something. If he couldn’t convince Ethan that he and Callie were telling the truth, Ethan would turn them over to the authorities in the time it took to dial nine-one-one. And who could blame him? The reporter had called him a murderer. What did Ethan care if the police sent a couple of kids back to a place where everyone lied and kids disappeared in the middle of the night?

“We ran away from a place called the Haven,” Danny said. “It’s on an island off the coast of Washington State.”

“Is it a school?” Sydney asked.

Danny stole a glance at Ethan. “Well, sort of. I mean, I don’t know exactly.” He turned back to Sydney, who might be their only hope. “We live there and go to school with a bunch of other kids.”

“How many children are there?”

“I’m not sure exactly, twenty-five maybe.”

“There used to be more,” Callie said, “but some of them went away.”

Danny shot her a warning look. “The number changes.” Six months ago there had been close to thirty of them. Now Danny wasn’t sure, but he didn’t want to talk about that. If he did, Ethan and Sydney would think he was lying for sure. “They told us our parents were dead, and that we had no other family.”

“But they lied,” Callie added. “Danny and I didn’t even know we were brother and sister until he got into the computer.”

“That’s right.” Danny felt like he was running out of time. “And that’s when I found out that our father is alive.”

“Whoa,” said Ethan, speaking up for the first time since demanding an explanation. “Slow down a minute and back up. Who are
they
?”

“The Keepers. That’s what I call the teachers and doctors and guardians. They don’t like it, but I don’t care. I hate them all.”

“How long have you lived there?” Sydney asked.

Danny shrugged. “I don’t remember living anywhere else. None of us do.”

“Do you remember your parents?”

“No.” Danny concentrated on Sydney now that Ethan had again retreated into silence. “I figure they brought us there when we were all really little.”

Sydney frowned and glanced at Ethan. “But there
are
adults who take care of you, and teachers?”

“I know what you’re thinking.” Weren’t they hearing him? “We’re
not
orphans. Callie is my sister and our father is alive. They stole us from our parents.”

For a moment no one spoke. Then Sydney said, “How can you be sure if you don’t remember your parents or living anywhere else?”

He’d known they wouldn’t believe him. Adults always thought they knew more than kids. “What else could it be? Our mom and dad wouldn’t just give us away.”

“Take it easy,” Ethan said. “Let’s say for now that we believe you.” Danny opened his mouth to protest, but Ethan cut him off. “Just bear with me a minute. I’m trying to understand all of this. Callie said you got into the computer system. How did you do that?”

Danny looked at his sister, who nodded. “I’m good with computers. . . .” He hesitated. Adults never liked it when kids were too smart. “Sometimes when Dr. Turner, the head Keeper, went to the mainland, I’d sneak into his office and use his computer to hack into the system.”

“Wait a minute,” Ethan said. “You expect me to believe you cracked their computer’s security? How old are you? Eleven? Twelve?”

Danny rolled his eyes. Was this guy living in the dark ages or something? What difference did his age make? “Oh, yeah, I forgot, you’ve been living out in the middle of nowhere.” Which is where Danny would like to be right about now. “You probably don’t even have electricity, much less a computer.”

“Look, kid—”

“It doesn’t matter how he got into the system,” Sydney said, interrupting Ethan.

“It does if he’s lying.”

“I’m not lying,” Danny insisted, desperate to make them believe him.

“He’s not,” Callie said.

Ethan held up a hand in surrender. “Okay, forget about how you got into the computer. Assuming you did, that’s how you found out about Callie and your father?”

“That’s what I said.” Wasn’t he listening? “I was searching for my school records, just to see what some of the teachers had written about me.” His cheeks heated at the confession. “That’s when I found out all the other stuff.”

“Like?” Ethan prodded.

“Birth records with times, dates, and places for all the kids. Also, parent and sibling names with hot links for more information. I found out about Callie and our father.”

“What about your mother?” Sydney asked.

Danny stuttered to a halt, surprised that this bothered him. After all, he’d never known his mother. “I don’t know,” he said. “Callie and I have the same father but different mothers. All the records showed was a woman’s first name.” He hated admitting that he didn’t have all the answers. “I tried to get more information about them but ran into a firewall that I didn’t have time to break.”

He could have sworn he saw tears in Sydney’s eyes before she closed them briefly and looked away. “I’m sorry.”

She and Ethan seemed to have run out of questions, and Danny had no idea if he’d convinced them. He thought about all the other kids, his friends, back at the Haven. Would they wonder what had happened to him and Callie? Adam knew the truth, but he wouldn’t tell. So what would the Keepers say? Would everyone think he and Callie had disappeared like . . .

“Tell them about Sean,” Callie said, as if she’d read his mind.

“Why? They won’t believe me.”

“They will.” She turned back to the adults. “Sean’s bunk was next to Danny’s, and they were best friends, the two of them and Adam. Then one morning, Sean was gone.”

Sydney leaned forward in her chair. “Gone?”