Page 28 of Enigma
The second attacker tried to flank him, but Jason pivoted and drove the tip of the walking stick into the man’s ribs. The attacker doubled over with a grunt, giving Jason room to swing again, this time connecting with the side of his head.
But while Jason was focused on the two men in front of him, the third attacker circled around behind Olive.
She heard the soft footfall a split second before a muscled arm snaked around her throat from behind.
The man’s forearm pressed against her windpipe, cutting off her air supply as he pulled her back against his chest.
Olive clawed at the arm around her throat, her fingernails scraping against the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt. She smelled his sweat and the faint scent of cigarettes as she struggled to breathe.
Her vision started to blur at the edges as the pressure on her throat increased.
She had to get out of this situation . . . before she ended up dead.
Jason spun around, the walking stick raised like a weapon, and saw Olive trapped in the third man’s grip. “Let her go!”
He swung the stick and smashed it into the side of the man’s head.
The attacker released her and stumbled backward, but he didn’t go down.
Then a new sound cut through the air.
Sirens.
Their noise was faint but getting closer.
The three masked men looked at each other.
Without a word, they began retreating.
The first one Jason had hit with the walking stick kicked over a bookshelf as they moved toward what must be the back door. Volumes crashed to the floor and blocked the path between Jason and Olive and their attackers.
The men disappeared through the rear of the house.
She heard a door slam and then the sound of feet running across what sounded like a wooden deck.
Jason was right behind her as they sprinted to the back door. By the time they reached Nancy’s small backyard, their attackers had vanished into the darkness.
CHAPTER 17
The sirens were getting louder now. Someone in the neighborhood must have called the police about the disturbance.
“Are you okay?” Jason asked, breathing hard. He had a cut on his forehead, and his shirt was torn, but he seemed to be moving normally.
“I think so,” Olive replied, though her throat was sore where the man had grabbed her, and she felt bruises forming on her arms and ribs. “You?”
“I’ll live.” Jason looked around the backyard, then back at the house. “We need to check if Nancy’s here. If she was hiding or if they . . .”
Olive was glad Jason didn’t finish his sentence.
They made their way back through the house, turning on lights now that their attackers were gone. The living room was a disaster—overturned furniture, broken glass, books scattered everywhere.
But as they searched through the rest of the small house, it became clear that Nancy wasn’t there.
Her bedroom appeared undisturbed, with the bed neatly made and clothes hanging normally in the closet. The kitchenwas clean, with no signs of a struggle. Other than the destruction in the living room from their fight, the house looked like Nancy had simply stepped out for the evening.
“Look at this.” Jason pointed to the kitchen counter where a photo rested—one of Lloyd at a store.
Olive frowned. “That’s . . . odd. Why such a candid shot? It’s almost like Nancy was doing surveillance on him or something.”
