Free Blind Run by Patricia Lewin Page A

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. “What 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.”
    She tried a safe question, a rational question. “Who are these children?”
    “I’m Danny,” the boy said. “And this is my sister Callie.”
    Sydney forced a smile. “I’m Sydney.”
    “We know,” the girl said with one of those beautiful smiles only the very young can produce. “Ethan was in a hurry to get here. He was worried about you.”
    Sydney didn’t know how to respond to that. Why would Ethan be worried about her? It was a question she