I jumped out the back door, but he was already scampering down a grassy hill. Then he disappeared into a thicket of woods off to the side of the highway.
I had a shot with his gun, but I didn’t take it. He’d called me “traitor.” Just like the flight attendant.
Did he believe that, or was he doing what he’d been told?
I pictured the man’s face, gaunt, a goatee, maybe in his midtwenties. A soldier? A thug? His accented English showed hints of a Nigerian dialect. So who had sent him after me—the Tiger? Somebody else? Who?
I tried not to speculate on
conspiracy theories right now. Not here, not yet.
The keys were still in the ignition, and without much deliberation I decided to drive the taxi home. I’d call Metro once I was there.
But what would I tell them—how much of this strange and disturbing story?
And how much would I tell Nana? She wouldn’t be happy to see me like this: driving a cab—taken from the driver, who had wanted to kill me.
Chapter 127
IT TOOK ONLY a few minutes for me to get to the house on Fifth Street.
I parked the cab out on the street. Suddenly I was sprinting toward the house. On the way home, I had started to worry about Nana and the kids.
Was everyone all right? Maybe this was just more paranoia on my part. But maybe it wasn’t. The Tiger went after families, didn’t he? And someone had just tried to kill me. I wasn’t making that up.
I was startled by Rosie the cat, who snuck up behind me on the front lawn.
Who had let Rosie out? She was a committed indoor cat. I could see she was highly agitated. Why was that? What had happened? What had Rosie seen?
“Nana,” I called as I ran up the front steps. “Nana!”
I turned the knob—and the door wasn’t locked.
That wasn’t right either. Nobody left their doors unlocked in Southeast, especially Nana.
“Nana! . . . Kids!” I called as I let myself in and began hurrying though the downstairs part of the house. I didn’t want to scare them just because I was frightened out of my skull.
Still?
I stopped in the kitchen because it was a complete disaster area. I’d never seen it like this. It looked like someone had been making a cake and had stopped in the middle of things.
But that wasn’t all that had happened here. Chairs had been turned over. Plates and glasses were broken on the floor.
So was a mixing bowl that looked like it had held vanilla frosting. Nana had been making a cake—lucky for me.
I pulled out the gun I’d taken from the taxi driver.
Then I started upstairs, unable to get my breath. I tried not to trample on Rosie as we hurried up there together.
Quietly.
And quickly.
Chapter 128
I CHECKED ALL the bedrooms on the second floor. Then my office in the attic. Finally I went down to the cellar.
There was nothing, no one, anywhere in the house.