Blind Run (17 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A MAN’s TRACKS.

Ethan guessed they were a size ten. Fresh. And heading deeper into the park in Danny and Callie’s wake.

He didn’t like this. The extra set of tracks was no coincidence. Whoever was after those kids had to have extensive resources. He reassessed the precautions he’d taken on the drive from Texas and came to the same conclusion he had earlier. No one had followed them from Dallas. So someone had known they’d head for Mulligan and had followed Sydney back from Champaign.

The question was who?

Ramirez? No, this wasn’t his style. This was someone else’s game, and it had to be connected to the Haven. Anna had told him there was a line she wouldn’t cross. When he’d found her body, he’d assumed that line had something to do with Ramirez. He’d been wrong. Anna had been helping Danny and Callie run away, and now whoever was behind that place had caught up to them.

Instead of the Glock, Ethan pulled out his knife: a Buck folder with a three-and-a-quarter-inch blade and a one-arm bandit opener. His older brother Doug had given it to Ethan for his sixteenth birthday. A coward’s weapon, their father would have said. But he’d never been a military brat in a small southern town, where boys regularly carried more than knives and liked to use them on the more scrupulous.

“Don’t let anyone know you have it,” Doug had said. “And only use it as a last resort.”

Doug had taken a lethal bullet in Iraq a few years later, and the knife had become more than a weapon. It had become his legacy to Ethan. He’d carried it ever since, through his years in the service and as an Agency officer. It had saved his life more than once because, like now, sometimes a gun was just too loud and clumsy.

Snapping it open, he held it low and crept forward, avoiding the mud and using the foliage to shield his movements.

He heard them first, a startled yelp, muffled but distinct, then he saw them, poised at the edge of the fast running stream. Danny had slipped, and Callie was helping him up, both seemingly unaware of the stranger skulking behind them.

Ethan flipped the knife, thumb and forefinger catching the blade, then launched it at the other man. It found its mark, burrowing into the man’s back just below his right shoulder. He grunted and arched forward, staggered, but managed to keep his feet, and started to turn. He was too slow. Ethan was on him, grabbing the man’s shooting arm and sending his gun skittering across the forest floor, snapping an elbow into his chin. The man went down, howling as the knife struck earth, then rolled onto his stomach.

Ethan snagged his collar, lifting the half-unconscious man to see his face. A trickle of blood dripped from his mouth. “The only reason you’re alive, you son of a bitch, is because I need answers.” He gave the man a shake, extracting a groan. “Who are you working for? And why the hell are you following those kids?”

“Fuck you.”

Ethan gripped the knife handle, and the man keened. “What was that?” Ethan said, and glanced toward the creek for Danny and Callie.

They were gone. “What the . . .” He’d expected his appearance on the scene to stop them, or slow them down at the very least. Except he’d forgotten: they were running from him. “Goddamn it.”

He yanked his knife from the man’s back, wiped off the blood, and dropped it into his pocket. Then he drew the Glock and brought it down on the back of the man’s head. “Stick around, we’re not done yet.”

Leaving the unconscious man, Ethan raced across the leaf-slick ground, slowing only for the stream’s muddy seams and moss-covered rocks. On the other side, he picked up speed through the last patch of trees and hit the highway just as a green junker pulled away from the curb. Danny and Callie were in the front seat.

Danny was looking out the back window, then caught Ethan’s eye as the car passed. The boy was scared. Ethan spun and saw a jacked-up black Ford truck bearing down on them. He put it together in an instant. The driver must have been waiting for the man in the woods.

Ethan stepped into the road, taking a double-handed shooter’s stance as the Ford charged toward him. He aimed for the driver’s head, blocking out everything but the dark mass behind the windshield, counting down. Five, four, three . . .

The truck screeched to a halt, but idled, as if deciding whether to attempt the run.

“Come on, you bastard,” Ethan said. “Let’s play chicken.”

The driver revved his engine, and Ethan’s finger itched against the trigger.

Suddenly, a siren rent the air.

It came from behind him, racing toward them on the two-lane highway. The truck’s driver rammed his engine in reverse, spinning around by the side of the road, and sped off in the other direction. Ethan reached the tree line just as a county cruiser streaked by, tires squealed as it took the curve that led to the park entrance.

He went cold inside. Sydney?

THROUGH THE BACK WINDOW,
Danny saw Ethan dart into the road between them and the black truck. Feet planted wide, he took aim at the truck as it hurtled toward him.

Guilt tightened Danny’s chest. He’d never seen anything like it, except maybe in the movies. Ethan was risking his life for him and Callie as they ran away.

Their car went over a hill, and he lost sight of both truck and man. He turned back around, feeling sick to his stomach. Callie took his hand, and he squeezed hers reassuringly. She knew how close they’d come. If it hadn’t been for her, they’d still be back on that road, or inside that truck on their way back to Haven Island. When he’d frozen at the sight of the truck, she’d snapped him out of it, urging him to flag down the car.

“You kids in trouble?” asked the old man behind the wheel.

Danny forced a smile. “No, sir. We just need a ride.”

The man was nice enough, but really old and skinny. Deep lines carved up his face, and his hair was yellowish white and greasy looking. “Don’t think I’ve seen you two around,” he said. “You live in Riverbend?”

“No, sir. We’re from Champaign.”

“Nice town that, with the university and all.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You sure are a long way from home.” He gave them a long sideways glance. “How did you say you happen to be all the way down here on your own?”

Danny made up a story. “We were with a group from our school, and they accidently left without us.”

The man kept on with the questions, and with each new one, Danny came up with another on-the-spot answer. He was spinning tales so fast, he figured it would only be a matter of time before the old guy caught on and took them to the nearest police station. Fortunately Danny saw their chance to escape at the first stoplight in town.

“Hey, Callie, look,” he said. “There’s Dad.” He pointed across the street to a man standing next to a red minivan. “See, over there, in the gas station?”

“Oh, yeah. He must be looking for us.” She didn’t sound very convincing, but at least she hadn’t totally blown it.

“We’ll get out here, mister.” Danny already had the door half open. “That’s our father.”

“Well, hold on there a minute, son,” the old man said. “I’ll drive ya across the street. I wouldn’t mind having a word or two with your dad.”

“That’s not necessary, sir.” Danny pulled Callie from the car. “Thanks for the ride.” He slammed the door, and with a tight grip on Callie, waved and hollered as he ran toward the gas station.

Danny was afraid the old man would follow them. The light had turned green, and he sat in the middle of the intersection, as if trying to make up his mind. Then a horn blasted behind him, and he moved on.

From now on, Danny thought, he needed to be more careful.

No way he’d risk asking another adult for a ride. They were all too nosy, asking questions about stuff that wasn’t any of their business. So unless he and Callie wanted a quick trip to the local police station, he’d have to find some other way to get to Champaign.

A bus lumbered past, and he thought about finding the station. He had a few dollars but no idea what bus fare cost. If he tried to buy a couple of tickets and didn’t have enough money, he’d look pretty dumb. Then he’d have more adults asking questions.

He thought about calling his father, but knew he didn’t dare. Sydney’s warning about showing up on Timothy Mulligan’s doorstep had made sense, though Danny hadn’t wanted to admit it. A phone call would be worse. What were the chances he’d drop everything and drive fifty miles to pick up a couple of kids claiming to be his children? Besides, who knew what lies Sydney had told him?

Danny began to worry that he’d never find a way to Champaign. Then he spotted an oversized gray pickup with University of Illinois, Forestry Department, printed on the side. The back was filled with small trees, stacked bags, shovels and other tools he didn’t recognize, but with plenty of room for him and Callie to hide. He knew there was no guarantee the driver was on his way to Champaign, but it was worth a shot.

A few minutes later, the truck pulled out of the parking lot and headed west with Danny and Callie in the back. Then it turned right onto an interstate, and Danny relaxed.

They’d gotten lucky.

He’d been in such a hurry to get away from Ethan and Sydney, he hadn’t even taken a few minutes to think things through. He knew better. In the weeks before they’d run from the Haven, Anna had taught him the importance of planning. She’d plotted every step of their escape, including how to deal with the unexpected. Evidently, the lesson hadn’t stuck. Because he’d run from the park with only one thought in mind: He would find his father and show them all.

The question of
how
hadn’t occurred to him. He’d just been so mad. When he’d heard Sydney and Ethan talking about asking someone in Dallas for help, he’d lost it. He couldn’t wait. He and Callie had to get as far away as possible. In his hurry, he’d almost blown it. And if Ethan hadn’t stopped that truck from following them . . .

A sudden slip of cold air reached beneath the rim of the truck bed, and Danny shivered. He glanced at his sister. She looked really pale, sitting huddled against a stack of fertilizer bags, her arms folded tightly around her knees.

What a jerk he was.

He hadn’t even noticed how cold it had gotten, and all Callie had on was a sweater and a thin cotton shirt. On top of that, he knew she wasn’t feeling too well. She’d been trying to hide it, but she’d picked up a cough somewhere.

“Here.” Danny unzipped his jacket and took it off. “Put this on.”

“But what about you?”

“I’m not cold. Besides,”—he opened his backpack and pulled out his one other shirt—“I have this.”

“That won’t keep you warm.” She pushed the jacket back at him.

She could be so stubborn sometimes. “Look, Callie, you’re sick again.” He kept his voice low, but it came out mean anyway. Her eyes clouded, and he immediately regretted snapping at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“I’m not sick.” Then, as if to punctuate the lie, she suppressed a cough and looked ready to cry.

He didn’t know what to do. Callie was the only girl he knew who never cried. Boy, he couldn’t believe how badly he’d messed up. He could have at least thought to grab her jacket and backpack from the Explorer.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Come on, put the jacket on and you’ll feel better.” He said it nicer this time, but he hated reminding her she was sick.

She slipped on the jacket and zipped it up to her neck. “Okay?” she said, as if asking him if he was still angry at her.

“It’s gonna be all right,” he said, feeling more guilty than ever. “If we stay together, we’ll be fine.” He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Better?”

She nodded. “How long will it take to get there?”

“Not long. We turned onto the highway a while back.”

Except, he couldn’t be sure
which
highway. But it seemed right. They’d left Riverbend heading west, then turned right and accelerated. He pictured the map in his head. One inch to the left of Riverbend was the main highway, then just a couple of finger lengths north to Champaign. If he could catch sight of a road sign, he’d know for sure if they were on the right road. But he couldn’t risk looking out, or the driver might see him.

“It’s only a few miles up the road,” he said, stretching the truth a bit.

Callie rested her head against his arm, and he thought she’d fallen asleep until she said, “Was it the Keepers in the woods today?”

“I don’t know how they could have found us so quick.” He’d given the question some thought and hadn’t come up with an answer. “Maybe it was just some nutcase.”

“What about that truck?” Her eyes were wide, questioning.

Had the truck really been after them? Or had they been spooked and let their imaginations run away with them? The danger had seemed real at the time, and Ethan had been concerned enough to block it from following them. Danny just didn’t know. “It doesn’t matter, we’re safe now. Go to sleep.”

She looked about to say something else. Instead, she closed her eyes and finally drifted off.

Danny watched her, thinking that if anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. If only he’d thought of that before taking off from the cabin. Shivering, he settled closer to her for warmth. At least they were headed in the right direction.

He hoped.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ETHAN BACKTRACKED
through the woods.

The man he’d left unconscious was gone, leaving a trail a first-year Cub Scout could follow. But Ethan didn’t have time for that now. The cops were headed straight for Sydney. He wanted to run full out toward the park road, but forced himself to a steady, even pace. He couldn’t help her if he broke an ankle or ran into the kids’ stalker and got himself shot in the process.

Finally within sight of the entrance, Ethan fell back behind a giant sycamore, then eased around it to see what was happening.

From the direction of the road, blue lights flashed.

Keeping low, he moved toward the road until he had a clear view of the scene. Three county patrol cars surrounded the Explorer and Sydney. A sheriff’s department deputy held a weapon on her, an older man Ethan assumed was the sheriff faced her, and a third man stood beside one of the cruisers.

Ethan had to get her out of there.

She was hopelessly naive when it came to dealing with law enforcement officials. She thought all she had to do was tell them the truth and they’d believe her. It was seldom that easy. Whether she knew it or not, she needed help.

He checked his clip, then crept closer.

“Did you find anything?” the sheriff called over his shoulder.

“Just this.” A fourth man withdrew from the back of the Explorer and held up a bright purple backpack. He came around to the front of the truck and handed it to the sheriff. “Looks like it belongs to a kid.”

Four men, not three. “Damn.”

Ethan dropped to his belly and crawled forward on the leafy ground to a position behind a fallen log.

“What do you think, Dr. Decker?” said the sheriff. “Look familiar?”

Ethan peered above the decaying wood, calculating the distance from the edge of the brush to the cluster of cars and men. He figured there was a good twenty-five feet of open space surrounding them.

The sheriff held the backpack.

“It’s Callie’s,” Sydney said. “I told you, I’m looking for her and her brother.” Her voice was nervous, but impatient as well. They hadn’t totally intimidated her. “You know how children are, they got mad and ran off. I need to find them.”

“Where’s your husband?”

She crossed her arms. “I don’t have a husband.”

“Your ex-husband, then.”

Ethan considered killing them. Four quick shots. They wouldn’t know what hit them, and in less than sixty seconds he and Sydney would be on their way in the Explorer.

And he’d be a cop killer just like they claimed.

But Sydney was too close to the sheriff for comfort, even if Ethan could bring himself to gun down innocent men.

“I don’t know where Ethan is,” she said.

The deputy with the gun waved it at Sydney. “You don’t know? Or you don’t want to tell us?”

Ethan aimed at the hotshot. If he so much as blinked, he’d be the first to die.

“Take it easy, Kenny,” the sheriff said. “And put away that gun.”

“But, Sheriff—”

“Does she look dangerous to you?” the sheriff snapped. “Besides, what do you think she’s gonna do? There are four of us here. Put it away.”

Hotshot Kenny holstered his gun with obvious reluctance.

Ethan eased back on the trigger. If he couldn’t kill them, he needed to get closer. He scooted sideways to the edge of the log, then waited.

“Look,” Sydney said. “We’re wasting time. Danny and Callie are probably already out on the highway, trying to catch a ride.”

“We just came from there.” The sheriff looped his thumbs through his belt. “There weren’t any kids hitchhiking on that road.”

Ethan saw his chance.

In a low crouch, he darted from the log to a thick blackberry bush. It was the last cover between him and the county rat pack, but there was still too much open space.

“Maybe they’re still in the woods,” Sydney said, “or have already caught a ride.” She spoke slowly, like the sheriff was too dense to get it on his own. “Either way, we have to find them. They’re only twelve and seven.”

All Ethan needed was one man, close enough to grab. With the Glock pointed at his throat, the others would hand over Sydney without a fuss. After all, they thought Ethan was a cop killer.

The sheriff caught Sydney’s sarcasm and frowned. “Don’t you worry. If there are kids out there, we’ll find them.” He returned Callie’s pack to his deputy. “Now, are you gonna tell me where to find your ex-husband, or not?”

“I told you the truth, I don’t know where he is.”

“Have it your way.” The sheriff took her arm and started toward one of the patrol cars.

Ethan tensed and lifted the Glock to his shoulder, ready to make a dash for the fourth man, the quiet one, leaning against the cruiser.

“Since you don’t seem ready to answer our questions here,” the sheriff said, “I guess we need to take you in.” When she resisted, he said, “Do I have to put cuffs on you, Dr. Decker?”

She stared at him, obviously stunned, then let him lead her to the car.

“Kenny, escort Dr. Decker to town.”

Ethan lowered his weapon, another idea forming. He liked these odds better. With Sydney out of the way, he could disable the others, then grab the Explorer and go after her. And nobody had to get shot.

The deputy opened the back door of his cruiser and helped Sydney in.

“Hal and I will go check out the cabin,” said the sheriff. “And Larry,” he motioned toward the fourth man, “stay with her vehicle.”

The officers climbed into their cars. The deputy with Sydney turned around and steered toward the highway, while the other two drove deeper into the park.

Ethan spared about two seconds’ thought for his duffel bag back at the cabin. He hated losing it, and the contents alone would incriminate him, but he couldn’t worry about that now. He had to go after Sydney, and to do that, he needed the Explorer. Everything else could wait.

He stepped out from behind the bush, ducked behind the cruiser, and waited for the count of three. The deputy lounged against the car’s bumper, humming a snippet of “Let It Be.” Ethan rose, circled the hood and brought the Glock up to the man’s temple. “Be very still.”

The deputy’s face bleached of color. “Don’t shoot, I got a wife.”

“Get rid of the weapon.”

“Please, mister . . .” He inched his hand toward the holster at his waist.

“Don’t be a dead hero. Just drop it on the ground.”

With shaking hands, the man obeyed.

“That’s good. Now your car keys and cuffs.”

“What?”

“Would you rather be dead?”

The deputy handed over his keys, then awkwardly removed the cuffs from his belt. “Now what?”

“Snap them on one wrist, then put your hands behind your back.” Ethan gave the man room and himself space in case he tried anything.

He didn’t, and Ethan secured the cuffs.

Grabbing the man’s arm, he pulled him toward the back of the cruiser, opened the trunk, and shoved him inside. As he shut the lid, he said, “Congratulations, you’ll live.”

SYDNEY HAD NEVER
been more humiliated.

She didn’t understand why the sheriff and his men were treating her this way. She wasn’t a criminal. On the news they were calling her a kidnap victim.

And what about Callie and Danny?

If Ethan didn’t find them in the woods, they were out on this road somewhere alone. She felt like a broken record trying to get the police to realize the seriousness of the situation, but they obviously weren’t listening to her. All they seemed to care about was finding Ethan.

“Deputy, we have to look for those children.” She scooted forward, lacing her fingers into the metal grille. “They could be in danger.”

“We’ll find them, don’t you worry.” He tossed her a look. “That, and snare us a cop killer.”

“Ethan didn’t kill those police officers.”

“I thought you didn’t know where he was.”

“I don’t. But I know he didn’t kill those men. I saw it all, there was another man on the balcony.”

“Yeah, right.” He laughed abruptly. “And that’s why you ran.” Unfastening his seat belt, he leaned over, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a candy bar. “Yep, missy, we know all about it, and you’re in trouble now. Your best bet is to come clean and cut a deal with the prosecutor.” He threw her another glance. “Meanwhile, put on your seat belt.”

She started to protest but changed her mind. It would be a waste of breath. This man had already decided she was lying.

“You know, Dr. Decker.” The deputy looked at her in the rearview mirror. “It’ll go a lot easier on you if you tell us where to find your ex.”

“I told you the truth, I don’t know where he is.” There seemed no point denying Ethan had been with her earlier. “We split up to look for the children.”

“Well, I guess . . .” Suddenly, his eyes widened. “What the hell—”

Something slammed into them from the rear.

The cruiser lurched forward and fishtailed. Fighting the steering wheel, the deputy kept them on the road. “Is he stupid or something, running into a cop?” He made a grab for the radio receiver.

Sydney swivelled and saw a jacked-up black truck behind them. “He’s coming at us again.”

The second blow snapped her forward, bruising her against the seat belt. The patrol car swerved, tires screeching as they skidded into a spin. Earth and sky whipped by in a three-hundred-sixty-degree blur, her stomach churning in fear and dizziness. They hit the shoulder of the road, nose first over the embankment, hurtling toward a grassy riverbank.

Sydney choked back a scream as the young man in the driver’s seat wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left and punched the accelerator. The engine roared. The tires slipped, then caught and spit gravel, dragging them around and back up toward the road and the bridge spanning the river.

Terror froze in her throat when a concrete bridge support appeared through the front windshield. They struck pavement with the shriek of metal against metal as they scraped the railing and crossed the bridge in a flash of movement.

“Son of a bitch.” The deputy’s hands trembled as he made another grab for the radio. “He did that on purpose. He’s trying to run us off the road.”

Sydney couldn’t argue—even if she’d had the voice to do so. She looked out the back; she couldn’t help herself.

Could Ramirez have found them?

The truck rammed them again, sending a sharp finger of pain up her neck and throwing the deputy forward, cracking his chin against the steering wheel. Blood oozed from the gash. He appeared stunned, lifting a hand to his face and staring at his blood-streaked fingers.

“Are you okay?” Sydney asked, panic gripping her. If he passed out, they were both dead. She was trapped in the backseat of a vehicle, a metal grid between her and door locks, while some lunatic used his truck like a battering ram.

“Yeah.” The deputy’s earlier bravado had vanished, and he suddenly sounded young and frightened.

Then he pulled himself together. “Hang on, Dr. Decker. I’m going to try and outrun him.” He floored the gas pedal and the cruiser seemed to leap forward.

It was a valiant effort, but too late. The cruiser was no match for its pursuer. Out the rear window, she watched the other vehicle shift to straddle the lanes. Like a fighter getting into position. He came at them hard, and Sydney got the impression he was done toying with them.

The fourth strike sent them spinning. Time stopped. Trees and asphalt whirled and flipped. The sharp tang of blood filled her mouth, and the smell of gasoline bit her nostrils. Then she heard a scream, her own, just before everything went blank.

ETHAN RESISTED
the urge to floor the accelerator.

All he needed was to draw more attention to himself. In a short while, every cop in the county would have his description, plus that of the Explorer. If he passed another patrol car heading for the park, his chances of going unnoticed were close to zip. But if he was speeding? Well, that would be the endgame.

Although logic told him Sydney was safe for a few hours, his instincts screamed she needed help now. Fortunately the road was empty, giving him time to make plans. He hadn’t gotten beyond the question of how to extract her from the sheriff’s office, when he spotted the vehicles ahead: a county cruiser, followed by a black Ford truck. Just like the one that had gone after the kids.

Ethan punched the accelerator.

The pickup hugged the cruiser’s bumper, while the patrol car swayed and swerved. Then the truck picked up speed, ramming the cruiser’s left rear bumper and sending it spinning. Once. Twice. It made two full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turns, before a rear tire caught on the soft shoulder and the car tumbled over the embankment. The truck slowed, as if admiring its handiwork, then sped off as Ethan came up behind him.

Ethan abandoned the Explorer almost before it came to a full stop, fear seizing him.

Not again.

He couldn’t lose Sydney. He’d lost too much already. Nicky. His marriage. His work. He wouldn’t let it happen, wouldn’t allow her to die like this.

As he scrambled down the incline, the scene took on a surrealistic feel. Everything slowed, his forward motion stymied by invisible hands. Blood pounded in his ears. The vehicle sprawled on its back like a dying insect, tires hissing and spinning in the eerie quiet. And the certainty that once more, like with Nicky, Ethan would be too late.

Reality returned with a jolt, as he slid to his knees beside the cruiser and pain ricocheted up his injured arm. Inside, Sydney hung upside down in the backseat, unconscious, her seat belt anchoring her in place. In front, the deputy lay crumpled amid broken glass, blood covering his face.

Circling the car, Ethan kicked out the side rear window and shimmied into the cramped quarters on his back. “Sydney, can you hear me?”

She moaned and stirred.

“Sydney?” He brushed the hair from her face, looking for outward signs of injury. A fine trickle of blood wet her lips and a lump swelled on her forehead, but the pulse point in her neck throbbed steadily. Thank God.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “I need your help to get you out of this thing.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and she mumbled something incoherent.