Blind Run Page 6

  Sydney’s.

  She was safe as long as Ethan kept his distance. That had been the rest of Ramirez’s message. “Walk away, amigo,” that voice in the night had whispered, “and we will end this.”

  Ethan had understood. He could go after Ramirez and find him. Neither of them doubted that. But an assassin’s bullet could find its mark with frightening ease. The question was, could Ethan stop Ramirez before his bullet found Sydney?

  It wasn’t a risk Ethan was willing to take. So he’d left her and stayed away, knowing Ramirez would keep his word. Sydney would live. Now Anna had drawn Sydney into their twisted game with one call, and it changed everything.

  “Mr. Decker?” Callie said, her voice small and frightened. “Are you okay?”

  Ethan looked down at the child but couldn’t speak. Why would Anna call Sydney? And what did it have to do with these children? He started to touch the child’s cheek, but stopped himself.

  It had all come full circle.

  He’d been born with a talent for the hunt, a skill the Army Special Forces had trained, the Agency had honed, and practice had refined. Because of that ability, or because he’d chosen to use it, his son had died. And now, Sydney’s life was in danger once again as well.

  He’d been a fool to think he could outrun fate. There would be no easy out for a man like him, all he could do was try and save the innocents.

  “Get in,” he said to the kids. “We’re going to Dallas.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MARCO RAMIREZ had always thought of Dallas as a sleek young woman, all clean, straight lines with just enough flash to make her interesting. For those with money, she was indeed stunning, a high-class whore, hustling by day and spreading her legs at night. For everyone else she was an impossible dream, a temptation just beyond reach.

  Sydney Decker’s building, a glass and steel high-rise at the heart of the business district, was no exception. It catered to those who put convenience first and didn’t mind paying for it. Privacy would be their top priority, and Marco doubted whether the former Mrs. Decker knew any other residents of her new home.

  The thought made him smile.

  Living there would be a far cry from the sprawling suburban ranch house, with its gaggle of nosy neighbors, she’d once shared with her husband and young son. To Marco’s way of thinking, she’d come up in the world.

  Sipping a cup of steaming coffee, he shifted in the leather seat of his rented Mercedes and settled in for the duration. He’d been here an hour already, watching Dr. Decker’s building from the cool shadows of a parking garage. He would stay as long as it took. Another hour. The whole night if necessary.

  Until Ethan Decker showed up.

  Following Decker from New Mexico to Dallas hadn’t been necessary. Marco knew he would show up here sooner or later. The man had always been too much of a Boy Scout for his own good, and it made him predictable. Once Marco had taken care of the Kelsey woman, Decker would declare himself the kids’ protector, which would put him back in the game and his ex-wife in danger. So he’d come to Dallas in an attempt to beat Marco to Sydney. The irony was that although Decker had lost the race, Marco wasn’t interested in the woman just now.

  It was the niños he wanted.

  They were the missing link, the key to unlocking the questions which had plagued him for three long years.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he sensed movement and froze. Slowly, he slipped his hand to the Beretta beneath his arm and eased it from its holster. Then, hunkering down, he slid across the front seat and out the passenger door.

  Decker?

  Possible. Though Marco wasn’t expecting him so soon.

  He kept low and worked his way along the body of the car to the rear fender, his weapon ready. A half dozen parking spaces away, something scraped lightly against the cold concrete.

  He frowned.

  Not Decker. Kids maybe, stealing hubcaps. Hardly worth the effort. But Marco hadn’t survived this long by guessing. With all his senses on alert, he worked his way along the cars to investigate.

  The nearer he got, the odder it seemed. He couldn’t identify the sound. Pausing, he listened closely. It wasn’t metal against metal like someone popping hubcaps, or the slight thump of a petty thief punching holes next to door locks.

  Nothing recognizable, just an occasional scraping.

  Marco calmed himself, settling into the stillness. He counted slowly to three and swung around the bumper, the Beretta extended.

  Suddenly, something brushed against his leg. Marco recoiled, his finger a hairsbreadth away from the trigger. Then stopped. “Murrda!”

  A scrabbly yellow tom darted from beneath a nearby car.

  Embarrassed, Marco laughed shortly and lowered his gun. “What a brave hombre you are.” He returned the weapon to its holster. “Chasing down señor gato.”

  He stepped forward to see what the cat—hunched now against the concrete—had cornered. A ratlike creature cowered within the arms of a steel girder. At first Marco thought it was a field mouse from the empty lot behind the building. Then he realized it was some other type of rodent, the kind rich kids kept in cages. Not much different from the rats he’d once used as target practice in East L.A.

  This one must have escaped and was as good as dead out here. If it managed to elude the cat, some other beast or vehicle would end its life.

  Marco moved closer, the tom hissing in protest. With a nudge of his foot, he sent it scurrying off, although it didn’t go far. He was about to deprive it of its prey, and the cat was not happy about it. Squatting down in front of the small animal, Marco recognized its fear in the wild-eyed stare and nervous twitching of its tiny paws. He’d looked into the eyes of death too often not to recognize it. It was no different here than in any of the men Marco had killed.

  Fear was something Marco understood, as was honor in the hunt.

  “Chiquitin, you are no match for señor gato.” Marco extended his hand. “He should be ashamed, hunting one such as you.”

  The creature sniffed Marco’s fingers, obviously recognizing the familiar human scent.

  “Come.” Marco slipped his hand around the small body. “He must find more suitable prey.”

  He continued to croon as he carried the animal back to the car. A fast-food box from his dinner worked nicely as a cozy cage, bits of leftover lettuce and tomato a fine meal for a refugee. He’d find a willing pet store to take his new charge. Meanwhile, the tiny creature curled into himself and slept.

  Forgetting the animal and returning to his vigil, Marco’s thoughts wrapped around the past three years. During that time he’d lived for one purpose—to punish those who’d tried to kill him and murdered a child instead. M’hija. A girl-child of his heart. An innocent under his protection.

  At first he’d been maddened by grief, and revenge had been his only comfort. He’d hunted down each member of the team who’d pulled the trigger and made them pay. Only Anna Kelsey had slipped through his grasp. But he was a patient man and knew he’d find her eventually. Yet, as he’d eased his rage with blood, he’d discovered revenge wasn’t enough. He had sworn his life to the Agency, they’d been the only family he’d ever known, and they’d turned on him. Now, Marco needed to know why.

  Like the elusive Anna Kelsey, however, answers weren’t easily found. So Marco had gone underground, selling his services to the highest bidder in a world where anything could be gotten for a price. Especially information. In this case all rumors, and the child he’d lost, led him to a private island in the northern reaches of Puget Sound, an island with children who never left its shores.

  All except one. His. And she was dead.

  He’d been hanging around the docks of Anacortes, gathering information and working on a plan to get out to the island, when he’d spotted Anna Kelsey. His first impulse had been to kill her, but at the last minute, he’d held back, deciding to use her instead. He had questions, and he figured Anna had the answers.

  So for s
ix months he’d waited and watched, and his patience had finally paid off. Three days ago Anna had fled Haven Island with two kids.

  He’d considered taking them immediately, but again chose to bide his time. Without their cooperation, running with the kids would be risky. Besides, he wasn’t sure yet what to do with them or how best to get the information they possessed. So he waited to see what Anna planned and where she’d take them.

  It hadn’t been easy trailing her.

  She would have lost him more than once if not for the niños. They slowed her down and foiled her ability to fade into the surroundings. Despite them, though, she got away from him in the New Mexico desert, on a long stretch of empty highway where he couldn’t risk following too closely.

  Once he realized he’d lost her, he backtracked, cursing himself and her. He’d waited too long and was afraid he’d lost them for good. Spotting her a short time later was sheer luck, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He wanted answers.

  But he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing having to do with the Agency or Anna ever was. She’d gotten rid of the kids, and with a gun to her head she refused to give him anything. Not a hint at who they were, why she’d run with them, or where she’d taken them. So he’d had no further use for her. Nor the time to extract what she knew by force. Besides, they had an old score to settle.

  She owed him, and he collected.

  Afterward, he retraced her steps to look for the niños. He knew they had to be close. The question was where.

  Decker’s arrival on the scene a few miles later wasn’t really a surprise. The desert seemed a fitting place for him to hide, and Anna would know where to find him. Plus, it made a sort of Boy-Scout sense that she’d run to him.

  After that, it was a simple matter to figure he’d head for Dallas. Marco had left Anna’s phone behind as bait, or an invitation, depending on your point of view. Decker had the kids, and if they and Anna’s death weren’t enough to bring him out of hiding, the call would be.

  Now it was just the two of them, and they both needed answers. But first Decker would show up here at his ex-wife’s condo to prevent Marco from carrying out his threat to end the woman’s days.

  Decker didn’t disappoint him.

  A little before daybreak he arrived in a broken-down pickup. Parking the truck on the street, he took his time getting out and scanning the area. His gaze lingered on the garage with its layers of concrete rising above the street, and Marco willed himself to fade into the darkness of the car’s interior. For a moment he thought Decker had spotted him, that some sixth sense had honed in on this particular vehicle and its occupant.

  Finally he turned away, and Marco breathed easier. Even now, years out of practice, Decker wasn’t a man to toy with. If things had been different, it would be Decker doing the hunting. Fortunately Marco still possessed one piece of leverage, and he had every intention of using her.

  As he watched, Decker grabbed a duffel bag from behind the driver’s seat, circled the truck, and opened the passenger door. The kids climbed out.

  Marco wondered how Decker planned to get past the building’s security—not that there was a rent-a-cop alive who could stand against Ethan Decker if he chose to take him down.

  As the three approached the front entrance, Decker leaned down and picked up the girl. She draped herself across his shoulders as if asleep, and all three disappeared into the building. With two sleepy children, Decker was going to charm his way past the night watchman.

  It might just work. Decker had a talent for slipping into places where Marco would have needed firepower. And if Decker’s plan didn’t work this time? Well, Marco suspected, nothing would stop him from getting in to see his ex-wife and protecting her from the likes of the Spaniard.

  Marco smiled and reached for the door handle. It was an illusion he’d enjoy destroying.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SYDNEY OPENED HER EYES and lay very still, unsure what had awakened her. Then she heard it again, the same insistent buzzing that had pulled her from her dreams. Someone was at her front door. She sat up and checked the time. Five A.M.

  The buzzer sounded once more, three quick stabs of an impatient finger.

  Warily, she climbed out of bed, slipped on her robe, and started toward the front of her apartment. Who could be at her door this time of the morning? She considered dialing nine-one-one but quickly dismissed the idea. With the night watchman at the desk downstairs, it had to be one of her neighbors or Charles. Though it wasn’t like him to show up unannounced in the middle of the night. Maybe there was a problem in the building, or someone with a medical emergency. She usually kept to herself, but several people on her floor knew she was a doctor.

  As a precaution, she got her cell phone from her purse and slipped it into the pocket of her robe. At the door, she took a deep breath before saying, “Who is it?”

  “Sydney, let me in.”

  Her stomach tightened. The voice was low, masculine, and hauntingly familiar, a voice she hadn’t heard in three years. She must be imagining things.

  “Who is it?” she repeated, pressing one hand to the wood frame while the other gripped the fabric at her waist.

  A brief hesitation. “It’s me. Ethan.”

  No. She wanted to say it aloud but simply shook her head and backed away. It couldn’t be.

  “Sydney.” His voice was insistent, drawing her back to the door, though she wasn’t about to open it. She wasn’t even sure it was Ethan—or so she told herself. It had been three years, and voices could be faked, imitated. Couldn’t they?

  Reluctantly, she looked through the peephole. On the other side, she saw the shape of her ex-husband, strangely distorted through the tiny glass. She pulled back abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest. “What do you want?”

  “Open up. We need to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” She managed to sound more in control than she felt. He had a lot of nerve showing up here after what he’d done. Did he think she would welcome him with open arms?

  “I’m not leaving.” He pressed the buzzer again. “Now let me in before we wake the entire building.”

  “Go away.” She pressed her hands against the door, hating him for doing this, for showing up on her doorstep after three years of silence.

  “Sydney.” He pounded on the door.

  Damn him!

  “Stop,” she said, knowing he would keep on until he’d awakened everyone on her floor. “Give me a minute.”

  She hesitated, slipping a hand into her pocket and closing it around her cell phone. One brief call and she wouldn’t have to deal with this, with him. It would serve him right to spend the night in jail after what he’d put her through. In the morning she’d visit him and find out what he wanted. Not that she cared. Hell, maybe she wouldn’t go see him at all. He could rot in prison for all she cared. She pulled out the phone, pressed three numbers, and listened for the ringing. Then she quickly hit the disconnect button as a sob caught in her throat.

  She couldn’t do it.

  Damn him, she thought again as she fought back her tears. She wouldn’t cry over him, not now. Not ever again. But she couldn’t have him arrested, either, and she hated herself for that weakness.

  She shut off the alarm, released the dead bolt, and barely had time to back out of the way before he pushed inside and turned to relock the door behind him. He wasn’t alone. Two children, a girl and a boy, had hurried into the room ahead of him. But they barely registered in the wake of the man whose presence filled her foyer.

  He looked a little wild, with his hair too long and at least two days’ worth of stubble on his chin. He wore dusty jeans, scuffed boots, and a faded denim shirt. Although he’d always leaned toward casual clothing, he’d been meticulously neat. Now, like his clothes, he appeared rumpled and well worn. His eyes, however, hadn’t changed. They were the same intense blue that he’d passed on to their son.

  Nicky’s memory fueled her anger. “W
hat are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?” Her questions sounded absurd considering their history, but she didn’t know what else to say to him. “Who are these children?”

  Without answering, he crossed to the sliding glass doors to her balcony and checked the locks. “Is there a back entrance?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She followed him as he headed toward the kitchen and the back stairway. “Ethan, stop this and tell me what’s going on.”

  “There’s no time.” His voice was brusque and commanding. “Get dressed. We have to get out of here.”

  “Get out of here?” They’d returned to the living room, where the children had collapsed on her couch. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re in danger, Sydney.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She crossed her arms, tossing a quick glance at the children before turning back to him. “I think you need to leave.”

  “We don’t have time to argue, just get some clothes on.”

  It infuriated her, he infuriated her, storming in here like some kind of madman and issuing commands. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Ethan,”—she turned her back on him—“but I’m calling the police.”

  He grabbed her arm, the contact disturbing her in a way she hadn’t expected. “This isn’t a game, Sydney, and I’m not playing. Now, you have two choices. You can come with me, or you can wait here to die.”

  A sliver of fear slipped down her spine, but as she met his gaze, icy anger rose up to banish it and her troublesome reaction to his touch. He had no right to be here, to put his hands on her. He’d relinquished that privilege three years ago, the day he’d walked out on her.

  “Let go of me.” Very purposely, she looked at his hand on her arm. And saw the gun.

  Sydney froze.

  As if shocked, Ethan released her and backed up. “I’m sorry.” He shoved the weapon behind him, into the waistband of his jeans. “It’s been a long night.” His hands visibly shook as he ran them through his hair, pushing it away from his face. “Look, Syd, I’m sorry if I frightened you, but this is real. You’re in danger.”