Page 133 of Rescuing You

The van backed up and parked. The driver, still babbling, seemed proud of himself for his maneuvering.

The man in the passenger seat twisted toward the back, his face barely visible in the dim light.

She gasped.

Waleed.

“Not much longer before you’re mine. You’ll be sorry for all the trouble you put us through.” The words had started conversational but turned threatening at the end.

He clamped the shoulder of one of the men in the back, who was watching her with vitriol. “Hands off. Unless she gives you trouble, in which case… Just don’t leave any bruises.” He handed the man something she couldn’t see in the darkness. To her, he said, “Get that makeup off your face and take your hair down. It is shameful for you to pretend to be a man.”

She held his gaze, refusing to let him see the terror that bubbled inside.

Like that stupid, stupid eleven-year-old girl who’d stood up to him, embarrassed him in front of his friends.

Eighteen years later, he was going to get his revenge. By the anticipation in his eyes, he’d been looking forward to it for a long time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Michael sucked down the bottle of water Bryan had given him, then took the second and drank it as well.

The water helped, as did the chocolate croissant. Food and hydration.

Neither of which Leila and Jasmine had.

Bryan was seated in the chair opposite him, a table between then. “What now?”

“I need the laptop.”

Derrick, in the leather seat facing his direction across the narrow aisle, unzipped Michael’s pack and pulled two laptops out, holding them toward him. They were similar, but his was dark gray. The other was silver.

He reached for the silver one and opened it.

The script Alyssa had sent had worked the afternoon before, getting Michael past the password far enough that he was able to change it to his own highly secret one.

He typed password123 into the box, and the home screen came up.

He’d had no time since they left Antalya to dig around, figuring he’d just hand it over to the tech guys at the Agency. Now, he prayed there’d be something on here to tell him…something.

A clue.

Anything.

He aimed the pointer toward the email program and perused the messages, confirming what he’d guessed.

The laptop belonged to Waleed Shehab.

An icon in the dock caught his attention.

Americans texted. But in much of the world, people stayed connected with friends and colleagues through What’s App. And Waleed Shehab, like Michael himself, had connected his laptop to those messages.

He clicked the app, and all the messages came up, along with the numbers associated with them.

He tapped his pockets, but his cell wasn’t there. “I need a phone.”

Derrick checked his own pockets, then set one on the table. “This was in the car.”

“You grabbed it? Thank you.” Using his own cell, he dialed Alyssa’s number. It was evening in Maine. Was she on a date? Working out?