Page 29 of Grave Danger
Andie heard a car pull up in front of the house. She went to the living room, switched on the porch light, and checked through the window, but it wasn’t Jack. A taxi had stopped in front of the neighbor’s house across the street. She walked back to the kitchen and served dinner, monopolizing the conversation to make sure there were no more questions about her “sad” marriage. The usual battle over shower time ensued, with the usual outcome. On the way to Righley’s bedroom to get her pajamas, Andie noticed, through the window, that the taxi was still parked across the street. In the darkness, it was hard to discern any distinguishing details other than that, like most taxis, it was yellow. But Andie was pretty sure it was the same one as before. The headlights were on. The driver was at the wheel, with a passenger in the back seat. Andie stayed at the window for a minute to see if the passenger got out, or if the cab pulled away. Nothing. They just sat there, waiting.
Strange.
Andie dialed Jack’s cell phone, but it went to his voicemail. She left a message.
“Jack, are you expecting anyone to come by the house tonight? Call me.”
She shot one more suspicious glance out the window, then returned to the bathroom to get Righley ready for bed.
“Are you and Daddy having a fight?” Righley asked.
Andie slipped the nightgown over Righley’s head, then tried to deflect the question with a smile. “What’s with all these questions tonight?”
“Cassandra’s parents used to fight a lot. Even when I was over there. Now they don’t live together anymore.”
Cassandra was a friend from school. Andie supposed that “divorce without war” was theoretically possible, but Cassandra’s parents had gone down the path of divorce with no survivors.
“That was a sad situation,” said Andie, and then she hugged her daughter tightly. “Come on. Bedtime.”
“Carry me.”
“You carry me.”
Righley groaned, trying. Andie snatched her up and carried her down the hallway to her bedroom, where Righley chose a book from her shelf. Andie tucked her into bed and got in beside her, but as she cracked the book open, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a text from Jack.
Missed your call. Crazy day. Not expecting anyone at the house. Why?
Andie put her phone away and climbed out of the bed.
“What’s wrong?” asked Righley.
Andie went to the window and separated the blinds just enough to see across the street. The taxi was still there with headlights on, both the driver and passenger still waiting.
“Go ahead and start without me,” said Andie.
“Aw, Mommy. This one has big words.”
“I’ll be right back. I have to check on something.”
Andie closed the door on the way out and went to the master bedroom. Her Sig Sauer was locked in the safe. She collected both her sidearm and her FBI shield, loaded the pistol with ammunition, and tucked it away in her holster. She walked to the living room, opened the front door, and stepped out to the porch.
The taxi was still there.
Andie started across the lawn toward the street, stopping at the curb. It was dark inside the cab, but there was enough light from the streetlamp at the corner for Andie to see the passenger lean forward, perhaps to say something to the driver. Then the rear door opened. Andie didn’t draw her weapon, but she was at the ready. A woman stepped out of the taxi, closed the door, and walked toward Andie.
“Can I help you?” asked Andie.
The woman didn’t appear to be a threat. She was well dressed, conservatively so, perhaps in her fifties. “Are you FBI Agent Henning?” she asked. Her voice was soft, and Andie detected a hint of a southern accent—not unheard of in Miami, but given the taxi, she probably wasn’t a local.
“Yes.”
The woman stopped a few steps away from Andie. “I was hoping to speak to you and your husband, Mr. Swyteck.”
“He’s not home.”
“I know. I didn’t see his car, so I waited.”
“What are you, a reporter?” asked Andie.