Page 105 of Rescuing You

“I was not permitted when I lived with my father, and then there was the long journey out of Iraq and all the time spent in refugee camps. Other people dated and found…comfort, I think. But I saw too often those relationships torn apart when one would get a visa and the other wouldn’t. Or one would leave Germany and the other would stay. After abandoning my family, my heart was already broken. I did not wish to expose it to more pain.”

Michael plopped the wig on her head and adjusted it, then added a knit cap. When he had it like he wanted it, he slid a pair of black-rimmed glasses onto her face, then sat on the bed opposite her. “Go on.”

“When I was in Germany and finally given a visa, I had no money and no idea what to do or where to go. I got a job cleaning at a hotel and worked many hours, just to survive. At church, I met a Christian couple, Iraqi refugees who have reached many Muslims with the truth of Jesus.

“They helped me find a place to live and get settled. They assisted me in applying for scholarships. I received one and attended college, which was a great blessing. But though my tuition was paid, I still had to work to survive—to eat and pay my rent. Between that and church and helping refugees, there was no time for dating. Even if there had been, nobody was interested in me, until I met you.” Her cheeks warmed.

“That’s very hard to believe,” he said. “I mean you’re…” He gestured toward her, then chuckled. “Usually gorgeous.”

“I am not still gorgeous?” She infused her words with shock, and his grin broadened.

“Go look.”

She walked into the bathroom and started at the face in the mirror.

It was a man’s face.

She touched her jaw, surprised when the place that looked covered in whiskers was smooth.

“Don’t touch.” Michael stood in the open door.

She dropped her hand. “They teach you this in CIA school?”

“The goal is to change every descriptor you can. Instead of a woman with long, silky black hair, now you’re a man with curly brown hair. Instead of being five feet tall in heels⁠—”

“I am taller than that. Almost five-one.”

He grinned. “I’ll put lifts in your shoes, and you’ll look five-two or…almost five-three.” He added that last bit like it was funny. “Still short for a man, but believable.”

She gave herself a long look, then batted her eyes at Michael. “You do not think I’m beautiful?”

“You are beautiful inside and out. Mostly, right now, inside.” He took her hand and led her back to where they’d been seated. Once she perched on one bed, he leaned against the other. “I was interested, and I guess you were too because you agreed to date me. But you didn’t tell me the truth about yourself. I still don’t know why.”

“I have told you about my friend Sophia before, yes?” At his nod, she continued. “Sophia has volunteered with refugees for years and has seen the way many are harmed or targeted. I heard stories, too, but it’s easy to forget, to trust men with handsome faces and pretty words.

“Sophia told me to never tell strangers, certainly not men, that I was alone. There are people who prey on those who have no family, who have nobody who will care if they disappear. Or if they live or die. Like you, I had a story I told to strangers, a story about parents who expected to hear from me every day and would search for me if I didn’t contact them. I didn’t lie because I was hiding something terrible. I was trying to protect myself from being a victim.”

“We’ve been dating since January. Did you really not trust me enough, even after all that time, to be honest?”

“What is that expression about the teapot and the…other pot? They are both the same, yes?”

He laughed. “The pot calling the kettle black?”

“It is not so easy, after you have lied, to be honest. I think this is something you understand?”

“I wanted to tell you the truth.”

“I wanted to tell you the truth,” she said. “But I was afraid you would not understand. Perhaps you feared the same?”

One short nod, and then, “What’s your full name?” Before she answered, he added, “The name your parents gave you.”

The thought of telling him raised anxiety inside her. “If I tell you, and if they catch me again⁠—”

“I’ll do everything I can to protect you. The more I know, the safer you’ll be.”

Perhaps. But what if, after she told him who she was, he no longer wanted to protect her? What if the information changed how he felt about her?

Asking the questions would raise his suspicions.