Not One Clue_ A Mystery - Lois Greiman [85]
It wasn’t until that moment that I remembered Laney. Even though she had told Solberg that the letter-writer had been apprehended, he’d refused to return to his house in La Canada. Instead, he had bedded down on the carpet upstairs, just outside Elaine’s bedroom door.
I found him there, undisturbed, but he awoke when I approached.
“Laney?” he croaked.
I glanced through the open doorway and saw her lying there, eyes closed, face serene in the diffused moonlight.
“She’s fine,” I said, and doing a rudimentary check of the other rooms on that level, ventured downstairs.
I had just reached the bottom when something lunged at me.
I squawked and stumbled backward, struggling with the Mace. But in that instant, my attacker turned tail and ran. Literally. It took me several heart-racing seconds to realize I’d just scared Harlequin out of his wits. And myself out of mine.
“Harley,” I called. He turned, looking sheepish and tired, muzzle still wet from its sojourn in the toilet. “I’m sorry. Come here, handsome.” He ambled over, head bowed. I scratched his ears and realized my mistake; he’d been fast asleep beside me when I’d awakened, which meant there was no intruder. Harley had been as jumpy as a crack addict since the break-in, and he had ears like parasails. He wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to worry about some nocturnal noise.
Kissing his snout, I straightened and headed toward the bathroom. It was then that I saw a light flicker in the Al-Sadrs’ yard.
30
The Irish don’t really like anything they can’t punch or drink.
—Pete McMullen, Irishman
For a second I was sure I was imagining things, but then I saw two bodies moving around the corner of the house. Their clothes were dark except for the man’s white turban.
Ahmad had come back for Aalia!
Anger fumed through me. I was out the door without a second’s thought and yelled something inarticulate. The bodies jerked. I heard a muffled grunt, and then Aalia fell. I saw her hit the ground. Saw Ahmad straighten and glance toward me, and in that instant a thousand emotions exploded inside me. But the first and foremost was rage. He turned and jogged toward the alley, and it was then that I entirely lost my mind, because in a fraction of a second I deduced that I could beat him to his car. I was sprinting before my brain sent an impulse to my good sense, and now he was running, too. But I was fueled by rage and insanity.
My legs were pumping like sparking pistons. All I could think of were the scores of men in my past. The ones who had lied and bullied and belittled me.
I hit Ahmad five feet before he reached his car. Bowled over, he rolled toward his back tire, then scrambled to his feet. But I wasn’t about to let him get away. Not this time. From my knees, I raised my right hand and sprayed him directly in the face, but he kept coming. I shrieked and skittered away, but there was nowhere to go. Somehow I had gotten turned around. His car was behind me. I jerked upright as he lunged toward me. With a squeal of terror, I reached behind me, yanked his car door open, and tumbled inside.
He made a grab for the handle. It was nothing short of a miracle that his vehicle was unoccupied and I was able to hit the LOCK button.
From the interior I saw him stagger to a halt. He stumbled, then fell to his knees. He’d just started retching when I hit the horn. It blared in the dark silence like an air raid alarm.
Taabish Al-Sadr was the first to pop out of his door. He stared in my direction. From where I was sitting I couldn’t see Aalia’s prone form and wondered desperately if she was all right. I tried to open the window to tell her brother-in-law to save her, but the window wouldn’t budge without a key. With one more terrified glance at the hacking Yemeni, I scrambled over the parking brake and pushed open the passenger door.
“Call 911!” I shrieked.
Al-Sadr stared at me, frozen