Blind Run (12 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

A DOOR CLOSED,
and Sydney opened her eyes.

The room was quiet and oddly empty, and she knew without looking that Ethan had gone out. It was a relief. Earlier, his intense presence had filled the room, making it difficult for her to breathe, much less think. He no longer behaved like the man she’d once married. Despite an undercurrent of defiance and recklessness that had always excited her, her husband had been easygoing, letting her set the pace of their lives. Now he possessed a fierce edge that was as unnerving as the situation was unreal.

She looked at her watch and saw she’d been sleeping for over three hours. Evidently she’d been more tired than she’d realized.

After the news about the shooting and Danny’s story about the Haven, nothing had seemed clear-cut. They’d all been too exhausted to think straight, so she’d suggested they get some rest. The children had objected, but she’d dug out blankets and pillows and tucked them onto a couch, where they’d fallen asleep almost immediately. She’d claimed the recliner, planning to close her eyes for just a few minutes, and Ethan had stretched out on the second, now empty, sofa.

The children, on the other hand, slept on, entwined like a pair of kittens, Danny’s arm curled protectively around his sister. The sight clenched at her heart, though she couldn’t say exactly why their plight affected her so strongly. They seemed healthy, with no outward signs of physical abuse, but their story had contained a ring of frightening truth. And they were clearly afraid of returning home.

If nothing else, she wanted to find the man Danny claimed was their father: Dr. Timothy Mulligan. He held a Ph.D. in physics and was on the faculty at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. Danny even had the man’s address and phone number. It wouldn’t take more than a simple phone call to determine if Mulligan was indeed the children’s father, but Sydney wanted to meet the man. She wanted to question him and make sure he wanted these children and would . . .

No.

She cut off that thought abruptly.
Forget it.
She wasn’t traveling down that particular road. She’d gone to a support group a couple of times after Nicky’s death and seen women like that—broken, grasping women—and she’d sworn she’d never be one of them. She wasn’t looking for a child to replace the one she’d lost. All she wanted was to help Callie and Danny, and move on.

Straightening in the chair, she shoved down the footrest and thought of the cell phone tucked away in her purse. It would be so easy to contact the authorities and let them take over. Or at least call Charles, who must be frantic by now, to tell him she was okay and ask again about the hang ups on her machine. Plus he could help them. He had friends and influence at both the state and federal levels of government. Together they could find out the truth about Haven Island. She reached over, letting her hand rest on her bag for several seconds, or maybe minutes.

So easy.

She couldn’t do it, not without talking to Ethan first. A few hours ago, he’d saved her life. She couldn’t go behind his back and bring someone else into this.

Deserting the chair, she crossed the room to the picture windows framing the main entrance. Outside, the afternoon light had faded, throwing long shadows across the day. Ethan’s truck was nowhere in sight and she wondered if he’d gone or had just parked it out of sight.

Then she saw him near the edge of the clearing. At first she couldn’t figure out what he was doing, it seemed so out of place considering his injured arm. Then she knew. She’d watched him and their son perform this same routine too many times not to recognize the precise movements; hands, arms, and feet flowing gracefully from one position to the next.

Tai chi.

Moving meditation, Ethan had called it. In China thousands gathered in parks and squares every sunrise and sunset to perform this ancient ritual, and although the movements seemed simple, they took years to perfect. So Ethan had taught Nicky as the Chinese taught their children. He’d promised to teach her as well, but she’d somehow never found the time. In truth, she hadn’t wanted to learn. She’d gotten so much pleasure out of watching father and son together. The slow, practiced pace and the concentration on their faces had been too beautiful to miss.

Now she watched Ethan perform those same moves, but with an intensity he’d lacked with Nicky. She sensed the anger in every sweep of his hands and shift of his feet. And with a rush of shame, she felt his torment, an agony that had nothing to do with the bullet hole in his arm.

Not once since he’d walked out on her had she considered his grief, or the guilt he must live with. She’d blamed herself for not preventing Nicky’s death, wishing she’d gone with her husband and her son that day. One small change, and everything might have been different. But if she’d tormented herself with what-ifs, how much harder must it have been for Ethan? He’d dedicated his life to protecting those weaker than himself, first as a soldier then as an intelligence officer. Yet he’d been unable to protect his own son. Ethan had been with Nicky the day he’d died, while her only sin had been her absence.

A small hand slipped into hers.

Startled, Sydney almost jerked away before realizing Callie had come up beside her without a sound. “I thought you were asleep,” Sydney said, keeping her voice low so as not to wake Danny.

Callie smiled shyly. “I woke up.”

Sydney nodded, a bit unnerved by the girl’s presence. “Me, too.” She turned back to the window and the man beyond it, although now all her attention was on the child at her side.

With Callie’s hand in hers, Sydney felt the tug of old emotions. It had been a long time since a child had touched her like this, simply and with trust. And Callie was nearly the same age as Nicky had been when he died.

“He’s really good,” Callie said, obviously referring to Ethan.

“Yes,” Sydney replied, grateful for anything that diverted her from the direction her thoughts had taken. Even if that distraction was Ethan. “Do you know something about tai chi, Callie?”

“I used to watch the others.”

Sydney glanced at the girl. “The others?”

“The other children at the Haven. They start their exercises every morning with tai chi. I watch them from my window.” Her smile turned wistful.

“Why didn’t you join them?”

Callie lifted her small shoulders in a resigned shrug. “I get sick a lot.”

“Really?” Concerned, Sydney sat on the arm of the nearby chair and turned the girl to face her. With a physician’s eye she examined the child. She was a little thin, but nothing serious. Her eyes were clear, her skin soft and healthy looking, though a little warm—which could have been from sleeping. Outwardly, Sydney could see nothing wrong with her. Although appearances could be deceptive, an illness serious enough to deprive her of participating in a relaxed form of exercise such as tai chi would most likely be visible in some way.

“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.