Page 19 of Rescuing You

Rather than answer, he pulled her up and into his arms.

Just like that, she wasn’t alone.

Cheek pressed against his slippery jacket, she wrapped her arms around his back and breathed him in. In Munich, he’d always smelled of sandalwood, a manly scent she’d come to associate with feeling cherished. Here, he smelled of sweat and desert, and still, it made her feel cherished.

Valued.

“Thank God,” he said. “Thank God you’re all right.”

The words were a whisper against her hair, warm breath on her skin. It was surreal that Michael was here, in Iraq, in a compound-turned-prison. So strange that it was almost fantastical, but his arms were strong and sure and altogether solid.

He stepped back, gripping her shoulders. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? What did they do to you?”

“I’m all right.” She took in the image of the man she was coming to love. He wore sand-colored camouflage from his long-sleeved T to his cargo pants to his boots and his gloves. He had on a matching helmet with strange eyewear perched on top.

Night vision goggles.

He was suited up like a soldier. Speaking of… “Where is your brother?”

“My…what?”

“Grant. Isn’t he with you?”

“Why would he…?” Michael’s words faded. Rather than answer, he slipped past her to the doorway, pulled something from his pocket, and crouched in front of the lock.

“Is Grant getting Jasmine?”

Michael stopped what he was doing and turned. “What are you talking about?” His voice was barely audible.

“My sister. We have to save her.”

“Your sister is…? How is she…?” He took a breath. “You should have told me about her.” Leila had never heard anger in Michael’s voice before. Maybe it was just confusion she picked up now. Or frustration. Either way, she didn’t understand.

“Jasmine called you. She told you where we were. Didn’t she?”

“You called…” And then, “It wasn’t you?”

Now Leila was confused. Why wouldn’t Jasmine have told him who she was? “It doesn’t matter. I can’t leave her here. I won’t.” Not again. Surely, Michael wouldn’t ask her to.

Michael said nothing for a long, terrifying moment. Then he nodded and returned his focus to the door. “What you’re wearing works.”

She glanced down at the dark sweatpants and T-shirt. Ugly, but it should blend in the darkness.

“If you have a jacket,” Michael said, “grab it. It’ll get chilly. Do you have an abaya and hijab? We might need them for your sister. I only brought one set.”

Michael worked the lock while Leila grabbed the garments from the wardrobe.

A moment later, the lock clicked.

He stood and looked her up and down. “Jacket? Shoes?”

“I have neither.”

The faint light coming from the courtyard illuminated his face just enough to see the fierce expression. If she didn’t know him, she’d fear him. But she didn’t, not really, except… Where was the salesman? Who was this soldier?

He slid his backpack down and opened it, snatched the abaya and hijab she held out, and shoved them in before swinging it back on. Then he lowered his goggles and, from a holster beneath his T-shirt, grabbed a handgun. “You ready?”

Her heart stuttered in her chest.