Blind Run (30 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

STRONG, UNFAMILIAR HANDS
helped Sydney into the waiting boat, then hauled up the body of Marco Ramirez. Ethan clambered aboard last, and after exchanging a few quick words with him, the two strangers quickly descended into the dinghy and pushed off.

“They’re heading back to the
Sea Devil
,” Ethan said, nodding toward the second craft anchored outside the cove. “They don’t want to be around if anyone comes after us.”

Sydney’s stomach tightened, a sensation she’d grown all too familiar with these last days. “And will they?”

“That depends on if Cox was on top of the food chain or . . .” He broke off, suddenly focusing on her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Forget them. What about you, Syd?” Lifting a hand, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Did Cox or any of his thugs hurt you?”

She fought the sting of tears, Ethan’s concern threatening her control in ways nothing else could. “No, they didn’t touch me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She stepped back, away from his touch and the temptation to seek reassurance in his arms. Later. When this was done, they’d have time for comfort, and maybe more. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?”

He hesitated, glanced around, then nodded. “Yeah. Check on the kids, while I get us out of here.” He turned away, stopped, and looked back at her one last time before starting toward the bridge. “Danny, you’re with me.”

A few minutes later the engines rumbled to life and the deck tilted as the boat started to move. Then she went below, where the children had overwhelmed the cabin, covering every available surface, crowding together, little ones held by the older ones. In the absence of parents or adults who cared, they’d created their own family, and it about broke Sydney’s heart.

With Callie’s help, she tended them. Except for a few scratches and bruises, they’d come away from Haven Island unscathed. At least physically. She didn’t know about their emotional state. These children had lived all their lives on that island and knew nothing else. Some of them would adjust and take to the outside world as eagerly as Danny and Callie. Others wouldn’t.

For now, Callie circulated among them, calming them with just a touch or a word. So much power for one so young. She seemed to have the gift of a born healer, which was ironic, considering what Sydney knew about the girl.

She wondered what would become of Callie and her courageous brother. Or Adam, the oldest and obvious leader, who sat with the younger children gathered around him, telling them about his escape as if it were a tale from a child’s adventure book. What about the others, who knew nothing about what men had made of them?

Everything inside her ached for these children, for the lives that had been stolen from them. They may have escaped the island, but their nightmare had just begun.

When Danny came down, Sydney went topside. The cool air washed over her, but did little to ease her mind. She joined Ethan on the bridge, trying not to look at the canvas-covered body strapped to the deck. In the end, Marco Ramirez had exchanged his life for Danny’s. She couldn’t reconcile that with what Cox had told her about Nicky’s death. No, not his death, his murder.

“How are things below?” Ethan asked.

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Okay.”

Noticing, Ethan took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She knew better than to protest and slipped her arms into the sleeves, the lingering scent of the man doing more to warm her than the jacket. “Thank you.”

“I radioed ahead to the local authorities,” he said. “And told them we’re transporting a couple dozen kids who’ve been held captive.”

“I suppose that’s for the best.” Although she hated the idea of these children being shuffled into yet another system. Once the world found out about them, they’d end up caged again.

“The sheriff’s department will meet us when we dock.” He fell silent, while the steady whoosh of water against the hull infused the night with a false serenity.

After a few minutes, he asked, “Did Adam explain how he ended up in the woods with Turner?”

She eased into the seat beside Ethan. “He was in the infirmary, after a bout with the same flu as Callie. A male nurse was watching him, but when things started blowing up, the man went to investigate.” She pressed her lips together and shrugged. “Adam took off but ran into Turner in the woods.”

“He was lucky,” Ethan said. “If not for Turner, Adam might not have found us.”

Maybe.
But she wished he and Danny had been spared the sight of Ethan’s knife in Turner’s throat.

Shivering, she pulled Ethan’s jacket tighter around her and scanned the dark waters. The second boat was no longer in sight. She couldn’t blame them. Not after what she’d seen in those files. These children were more valuable than she’d realized. And more dangerous.

“Turner was experimenting on them,” Ethan said. “Wasn’t he?”

“He was testing them.” She explained that Turner had developed a means to alter the genetic makeup of human embryos to create healthier children. Then she filled in the gaps from the files. “Each child was engineered for a particular immunity, either biological or viral.”

“You mean, they don’t get sick?”

“They’re only resistant to whatever illness or disease they’ve been designed to withstand. Except for Callie, she’s the culmination of Turner’s research, and supposedly immune to multiple forms of biological and viral infections.”

Ethan glanced at her. “Why isn’t that a good thing?”

The same question had tormented Sydney since Turner had first told her about his accomplishments. Ultimately, she believed genetic research had the potential to help mankind immeasurably. “It was Turner’s methods that were wrong.” Horribly wrong. She’d downloaded files filled with her worst fears about his activities. He’d documented cases, hundreds, maybe thousands of failed trials. She hadn’t had time to read them, but certain key words had leapt out at her: stillborn, deformed, defective.

“He took shortcuts and made mistakes,” she said. “And in order to confirm his results, he infected the children to see what would happen.” She shuddered at the thought of Danny’s missing friends. “Sometimes, it killed them.”

Ethan’s grip tightened on the wheel. “And you got all that on disk?”

“I got enough, and we have the children.”

She returned to her thoughts, to her fears for the children and the topic she and Ethan had studiously avoided. Nicky. Sooner or later they’d have to talk about what had happened to their son.

“Sydney?” Ethan said, his voice concerned. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, an automatic reaction at best. How could any of them be okay? “Ethan . . .” She faltered, questioning her timing, then pushed on. “I don’t blame you for Nicky.”

He tensed, then seemed to deflate as he let out his breath. “I wish you hadn’t found out that way.”

“Me, too.” Although she doubted there was any good way to find out that your son had been murdered. “Would you have ever told me?”

He considered. “I don’t know.”

She knew, even if he didn’t. He wouldn’t have told her, he would have kept his secret, letting it rip him apart inside before sharing the burden with her. Because that’s what he did. He protected.

Her heart softened toward him.

Ethan was a compelling mix of strengths and flaws. He’d walked unarmed into a viper’s nest to rescue a child, but he’d also killed without hesitation. Or remorse.

She knew the latter, at least, should appall her. It was a side of him she’d never seen, and it went against everything she believed. Despite that, she couldn’t despise him or even condemn his actions. He’d done what he’d thought was right, what was necessary, and saved their lives in the process.

“Sydney?”

She realized she’d been staring, felt her cheeks heat, and looked away quickly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Ethan reached over and found her hand, buried within the too-long sleeves of his jacket. Without taking his eyes off the channel, he drew her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Tell me, Syd, where do you and I go from here?”

The question didn’t surprise her. She’d asked herself the same thing while locked away on that island, while wishing for one last glimpse of the man who’d been her husband. And that hadn’t been the first time. From the morning he’d burst into her condo, they’d danced around each other, pretending they no longer felt the pull of attraction. It had been a lie.

She’d never stopped loving him, wanting him.

Yet so much had happened, and it wasn’t over yet. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Until these children are settled, it won’t feel finished. Or safe.” She slipped her hand from his to brush it against his cheek. “Ask me again later, when everything is . . . over. Will you? Please?”

He turned his face into her palm and kissed her gently, his gaze catching and holding hers. “Try and stop me.”

She smiled, his promise warming her, before she turned away.

After that, Sydney couldn’t say how long it took them, but they finally reached the mainland under a sky tinged with the first blush of morning. The authorities had directed Ethan to a small, private dock away from the main marina at Anacortes. Two vehicles waited at the end of the pier, a van and a dark sedan. Sydney returned Ethan’s jacket, concealing the holstered gun under his arm. Danny had come topside and jumped out as Ethan maneuvered the boat into a slip, caught the lines, and tied them off.

“Wait here.” Ethan dropped onto the dock. “I want to talk to these people first.”

Sydney scrambled off the boat after him. “I’m coming.” Whatever became of these children, she was part of it.

“I’ll watch the other kids,” Danny volunteered, and she thanked him with a smile.

She hurried to catch up with Ethan, who suddenly slowed, his right hand sliding beneath his jacket as five men got out of the vehicles. Two hung back, while the other three started toward them, one leading, the other two following, bodyguards in suits.

The leader looked vaguely familiar, but out of context, like . . . She stopped cold. “Charles?”

In a blur of motion, Ethan drew his gun. As did the others, the bodyguards behind Charles and the one near the car, a rifle materializing on its hood. All three weapons aimed at her and Ethan.

Fear raked its way down her spine. “Charles?” She took a step toward him. “What’s going on?”

He ignored her and spoke to Ethan. “Put down the weapon.”

Ethan held his place, his gun pointed at Charles’s head. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re outnumbered, three to one.”

“Ever see what a .44 Magnum does to a man’s skull?” Ethan’s eyes were hard, cold. “At close range?”

Charles flinched, licked his lips. “You pull that trigger, and Sydney dies.”

“Looks like a stalemate to me. So, who pulls the trigger first?”

“No one has to die.” Charles sounded desperate. “My name is Charles Braydon, and I’m here to make a deal. You give me what I want, and the two of you walk free.”

Suddenly, she remembered her conversation with Paul Turner, and it all came together, locking into place. “You son of a bitch,” she said. “You know all about Haven Island and what they did there, don’t you? You’re behind it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ETHAN HAD NO DOUBT.

Charles Braydon had his dirty little fingers all over the Haven. Which answered Ethan’s question about Cox’s position on the food chain. “What do you want?”

“You have something that belongs to me.” Braydon crossed his arms, trying to steady his nerves. Not an easy task for a man with a gun to his head. “A disk.”

“You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

Braydon frowned. “My people on Haven Island tell me you downloaded some files, some very sensitive files. I want them.”

“We don’t have your disk,” Sydney claimed. “I destroyed it.”

“Who are you kidding? I know you better than that, Sydney.” His smile resembled a sneer. “You may be outraged by Turner’s methods, but you’re fascinated by his science.”

“Not enough to use children as guinea pigs,” she shot back.

“Hey.” Ethan flicked the muzzle of his gun, recapturing Braydon’s attention. “What happens if we give you this disk?”

At his side, Sydney gasped.

“The two of you walk away,” Braydon said.

“With the kids.”

“Sorry, just you and the little woman.”

“Forget it,” Sydney said. “You’re not getting your hands on those children.”

“They’re already mine. It’s just a question of whether I have to kill you to get to them.” Braydon obviously thought he held all the cards.

Except Ethan still had the man’s head in his sights and wouldn’t mind pulling the trigger. “Why would you let us go?”

“Why not? Without the disk, you have no proof. Everything on Haven Island was destroyed within an hour after your departure. Besides, who would believe you? You’re wanted for the murder of two police officers, and Sydney’s wanted as an accessory.” Satisfaction sparked in his eyes. “Just give me the disk and you can be in Canada before noon.”

Ethan weighed his options. He could kill Braydon in a heartbeat, and maybe survive long enough to take out one or both gunmen on the dock. The guy with the rifle was another story. Ethan suspected he was the man’s prime target, and if the shooter was any good at all, Ethan would be dead before Braydon’s body hit the ground. Sydney’s chances, either way, were close to nil.

He needed time, which the disk would buy him, and a whole lot of luck. “Give it to him, Sydney.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

With trembling hands, she pulled the disk from her pocket and handed it to Braydon. “You really are a bastard.”

He smiled tightly as he took the disk, his eyes never leaving Ethan. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I check this out.” He lifted a hand, and a young man, a boy really, no more than eighteen, scurried toward them. Instead of a gun like his three companions, he carried a laptop. Braydon handed over the disk. “This will only take a minute.”

The boy squatted, then opened and started his computer.

“You know, Sydney,” said Braydon, “it’s really too bad the way things worked out.” Evidently feeling more confident, he risked a glance in her direction. “I’d grown quite fond of you.”

“Go to hell.”

“Cox worked for you,” Ethan said, reclaiming Braydon’s attention. “Didn’t he.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Braydon admitted. “I kept the funds flowing for his organization. Otherwise, his project would have died an unremarkable death.” He paused, a smirk of a smile playing across his features once again. “Such a funny little man. I expect he’s dead by now.” He glanced at his watch. “Yes I’m sure of it.”

“I left him alive.”

“Did you?” Braydon shrugged. “Unfortunately, he never understood the children’s true value. He was only interested in the money.”

Sydney laughed abruptly. “And you weren’t?”

Braydon frowned. “My dear, money is simply a means to an end. A woman with your background should understand that.”

“Power?” Ethan offered.

Braydon grinned, obviously pleased that Ethan had caught on. “Now that’s something worth striving for, don’t you think?”

Ethan suspected this asshole didn’t really want to know what he thought. Men like Charles Braydon seldom did.

“And,” Braydon continued, “the unique genetic makeup of Haven’s children creates an extraordinary route to power.”

“You plan to sell them?”

“Don’t be naive. Whoever owns the genetics to create children like Callie commands more than a new science, they control biological warfare as well.”

“What? Are you insane?” Sydney’s anger came alive beside him, and Ethan threw out an arm to keep her from doing something stupid. Like charging the other man.

“I don’t think insane’s the right word,” Ethan said. At least not clinically. Evil hit closer to the mark.

Braydon chuckled. “No, indeed. I’ll create an entire army with Callie’s immunities. A small, invisible army that will defeat its enemies without firing a single gunshot or suffering casualties of its own.”

In theory, Ethan admitted, it sounded appealing, but the reality was far less noble. It involved manufacturing soldiers, engineering lives. In the end, too many would suffer. Only men like Braydon would benefit, and children like Callie would pay the price.

“And Sydney?” Ethan tempted fate and his own control with the question. “How does she fit into all this?”

Braydon shrugged. “I arranged for her employment at Braydon Labs in case you surfaced. I never trusted Cox to contain the situation with you and Ramirez, and I knew as long as the two of you were free, we were exposed.”

Ethan suppressed his anger. Charles Braydon manipulated lives, played on people’s emotions for his own ends, and it took every ounce of Ethan’s willpower to keep from squeezing the trigger and ridding the world of Braydon’s miserable presence.

“It was only later that I came to realize her benefit to my long-term ambitions,” Braydon said, obviously ignorant of Ethan’s tenuous control. “She comes from a good family, and it would have looked good, very liberated, to have married a woman doctor.”

“Mr. Braydon?” said the kid with the computer.

Braydon looked down at the nervous teenager. “Well?”

“It’s all here.”

“Good. Go on and take the disk. I still have some negotiations to finish.”

The boy shut down the laptop and stood, throwing Ethan an anxious glance. Then he hurried away, climbing into the van with the man who’d held the rifle.

“You’re very trusting to let that disk out of your sight,” Ethan said. And arrogant to let the rifle go. His and Sydney’s chances had just doubled.

“My people are loyal.”

“Are you sure about that?” Ethan estimated the distance to the two men, who still had their sights fixed on Sydney.

“Very sure . . .”

But Ethan was no longer listening. He was out of time. No matter what Braydon claimed, he couldn’t allow them to walk away. Ethan had one chance, and if either of Braydon’s men were too fast or too accurate, Sydney was dead.

He waited as the van with the kid and the disk started up, moved, braced himself . . .

Suddenly, from behind him, came a pop and a rush of air.

“Get down.” Ethan lunged forward as a tree exploded near the departing van and Braydon’s men pivoted toward the blast. He rammed an elbow into Braydon’s jaw, then dropped and rolled, the .44 spitting bullets as the hired guns swung back around.

He winged the first man, sending his gun skittering across the wooden planks. The second got off a round, bits of wood erupting from the dock as Ethan scrambled behind a piling and pressed his back against the stout, fifteen inches of lumber. Another bullet ripped a sliver near his head.

“Shit.” He grabbed Ramirez’s Beretta from the holster on his ankle.

Braydon sprawled on the dock, woozy but still conscious. If he had a gun—which seemed damn likely—Ethan was in trouble. But so far, the fallen man had made no move to defend himself. Farther back near the boat, Sydney had taken cover behind a large wooden bait-and-tackle box. Ethan couldn’t tell if she’d been hit, but he saw no blood. As for the kids, there was no sign of them—thankfully.

With one eye on Braydon, Ethan turned and eased to a standing position, keeping his body close to the piling. Another bullet struck the boards beneath his feet. They were trying to flush him out, and he needed to move before one of them grew impatient and went after Sydney. If Ethan could get to her, then to the boat . . .

He darted out, firing both guns, and backed away. The wounded man took the bait, letting his anger rule his head, and came from behind a stack of crates with a roar.

Ethan leapt sideways as a bullet whistled past his ear, and his shots found their target. The man doubled, gripping his torn belly where the lead had found flesh.

The second gunman, more cautious than his dying comrade, held back. Ethan kept the Beretta aimed his way and took another couple of backward steps toward the boat. “No one else has to die here,” he said. “You’ve got the disk, just let us get on the boat and go.”

Braydon staggered to his feet.

Ethan swung the .44 toward him. “Don’t.”

Braydon lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender, then, “Kill the son of a bitch.”

The remaining gunman lunged forward, taking advantage of the split second Ethan had paid to Braydon. Ethan sensed rather than saw it, the play he’d have made in the man’s place. A belly dive to the deck with a two-fisted hold on his weapon. Only he was a split second too slow. Ethan wheeled sideways, making himself a smaller target, and put a bullet between the man’s eyes.

As the final shot echoed and died, Ethan turned back to Braydon, the Beretta still trained on the fallen men. “Sydney, are you hurt?”

Behind him, he heard her climb to her feet. “No. Are they—”

“Here.” Ethan handed her the Beretta and motioned toward Braydon. “Aim straight for his heart. If he so much as twitches, pull the trigger.”

Sydney took the gun, and Ethan crossed to the downed men, kicking their weapons out of reach. No question about the first. From his forehead glared a third eye, a round black hole, as blank and lifeless as the other two. Ethan moved to the second man, squatted down, and checked the pulse point at his throat. Dead as well.

He turned on Braydon then, the rage he’d kept in check since climbing off the boat rising to the surface.

Braydon held up his hands, palms out. “I’m unarmed.”

“I don’t give a damn.” Ethan rammed his gun against the man’s temple. “If there weren’t a bunch of kids on that boat watching every move we make, you’d be as dead as your friends.”

“Looks like a draw.” Though Braydon didn’t sound as confident as his words.

“Not quite, because now I’m the only one with a gun.” And he was damn tempted to use it.

“Ethan?” From behind him, Sydney’s voice stayed his hand.

He backed away and relieved her of the Beretta. “Get some rope,” he said. “And tell Danny to start up the boat.”

“This isn’t over,” Braydon said, once she was out of earshot. “My people will be after you within the hour.”

“I’m really good at this game, Braydon. Didn’t Cox tell you that part?” Ethan lowered his voice, his words meant for Braydon’s ears only. “So, I wouldn’t sleep too soundly if I were you.” He paused to let his words sink in. Cox had accused Ramirez of killing Nicky, but the assassin had claimed he didn’t do it. Ethan believed him. “There’s still the matter of my son’s murder to settle, and the way I figure it,
you
know more about that than anyone.”

Braydon forced a smile Ethan didn’t buy. “I’m looking forward to the encounter.”

Sydney returned with the rope. Ethan took it, again handing her the Beretta. “Watch him,” he said, and slipped the .44 into his shoulder holster.

As he did, Braydon’s hand darted beneath his jacket, and a flicker of sunlight caught on steel. Ethan dove in front of Sydney, closing his hand around hers, his finger finding and squeezing the Beretta’s trigger.

Braydon staggered, his single shot gone wild, his eyes and mouth wide. One hand went to his chest, touched the gaping hole, and came away bloody. He looked down at it, surprised, confused, then at Ethan.

Braydon’s stunned expression gave way to fury. “You . . .” He raised the gun.

Ethan fired again, claiming a father’s vengeance. “That’s for Nicky.”

Braydon tumbled backward off the dock, the heavy splash of water breaking the sudden quiet. Ethan followed him to the edge, one arm keeping Sydney back. Braydon’s body floated, rolled, spread-eagled in the troubled waters of Puget Sound.

“You knew,” Sydney said, her voice sharp, accusing. “You knew he had a gun.”

Ethan looked at her, unflinching. “I wasn’t sure.”

“But you didn’t search him, didn’t even look . . .” She broke off, closed her eyes briefly, and seemed to gather herself.

“Sydney?”
He killed our son.
But he couldn’t say it. Not aloud.

She opened her eyes, her gaze searching his, as if she could read his thoughts. Finally she spoke, steadier now and resigned somehow. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. There’s no way you could have known he’d have a gun.”

“Yeah,” he said, acknowledging her acceptance of the lie. “He took me by surprise.”

Together, they boarded the boat. Danny had the engines running, and Adam threw off the ropes when Ethan took the wheel. A few minutes later, the small cove fell away behind them.

Sydney joined him on the bridge. “Where are we going?”

“Canada. I have an old Army buddy living north of Vancouver. He’ll help us.”

“And the children?”

“We’ll find homes for them where they’ll be safe.” Though in truth, they would never be safe, not with their unique genetic makeup. It would make them prime targets for any fortune hunter who happened to find out about them. And the burden of that settled on Ethan’s shoulders.

“This isn’t over,” he said. “Charles may be dead, but that disk is still out there. And those kids are still . . . what they are.”

“I know.” Sydney pulled another disk from her pocket.

Ethan glanced at her. “Is that what I think it is?”

“I made two copies.” She slid the disk into his jacket pocket, letting her hand linger for just a second longer than necessary. “I’d planned on taking it to CNN. I thought it would help us get on with our lives if the world knew what Turner had done to these children. But now . . .”