Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

Jamila stole a glance down the hall. The hooded people were apparently too busy looting the other side of the house to check the bedrooms. Her parents’ bedroom was only a few feet away. Just a dash down the hall, a quick phone call, then climb out the window and look for Bobby.

She took one last look toward the living room and sprinted toward her parents’ bedroom. She shut the door behind her and locked it, then leapt toward the phone.

“Dial zero,” she reminded herself. “Ask for the police.”

She dialed the number. An operator answered.

“Please help. I need the police. People have broken into my house …”

“Now, now, little girl. Slow down. I’ll put you through to the police. Hold on.”

Jamila suppressed the urge to scream and waited.

A woman came on the line and Jamila let loose.

“Please send someone to my house. Strange men have broken in. My brother’s disappeared. I’m scared.”

“Slow down,” the woman said. “Try to remain calm. I need to get your address, okay?”

Jamila gritted her teeth and rattled off her address. “Please send someone. Now!”

“Listen. I need you to keep

your head, and just tell me what’s going on.”

Jamila almost cursed. Her mother would’ve spanked her backside raw if she’d said the word that had come to mind.

“Little girl? Are you still there?” The woman’s tinny voice prompted.

“Ye-e-e-s, I’m here,” Jamila responded.

“Good. Now stay on the line. Patrol units will be alerted. Now, tell me what’s going on?”

“There are strangers in my house. They’ve knocked out the lady who was watching us for our mom. My brother isn’t in his room. I can’t find him. I’m worried.”

“There there, honey. It’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

Jamila’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorknob being jiggled.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Jamila stared at the door with the receiver pressed to her ear.

“Honey, are you there?” The woman said again.

The rattling grew louder. Then it stopped. She heard voices.

“I gotta go.” Jamila whispered and hung up. She scrambled off the bed and to the window, thanking God that her family lived in a one-story rambler. The door shuddered as if a heavy weight thrust against it.

Jamila threw the window open and squirmed halfway out before the door flew open and banged against the wall. She fell the rest of the way out and crawled among the bushes to hide.

Lying prone, she raised her head just high enough to check the window. A white-hooded head stuck out from where she’d made her hurried exit. The black eyeholes revealed nothing in the way of identification. The hood could have hidden anyone.

Jamila recalled how her grandma always said the eyes were windows into a person’s soul. The hood seemed to rob the person wearing it of his soul.

“Ya see anything?” A man yelled within.

“Nah.” The one at the window answered.