Page 20 of Rescuing You

He must’ve seen her fear because he said, “I don’t want to shoot anybody, but I will if I have to.”

“My father is here. Please, don’t kill him.”

“Your father?” Michael seemed to take in the information, file it away.

“We’ll get Jasmine?”

“Where is she exactly?”

Leila pointed out the window to the building across the courtyard.

“Okay. Stay right behind me. If I tell you to do something, do it, no questions. Okay?”

He didn’t know the house as well as she did. He didn’t know the threats. But now didn’t seem the time to argue. He’d gotten this far, after all. Maybe he could get them all the way out.

Surely, he and his team had come up with a plan.

“Leila?” His voice was barely audible, but she heard the urgency in it. “Do you trust me?”

She did. And even if she doubted, what choice did she have? “I’ll do as you say.”

He started to turn the knob, then turned back again. “You used to drive a moped, right?”

She had, in Baghdad when she was a teenager.

At her nod, he asked, “You ever drive a motorcycle?”

“Once.” A friend in school had let her drive his, just for fun.

“You remember how?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” He opened the door and peeked out, then stepped into the dark hallway. She followed him toward the stairway that would take them to the ground floor and out…to freedom.

She prayed they wouldn’t run into anyone along the way. Not guards, not Baba or Hasan. And definitely not Waleed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Michael didn’t understand.

As soon as he got Leila and her sister to safety, he’d ask all the questions ping-ponging in his brain.

Like how both Leila’s father and sister were here, but only her sister needed rescuing.

The house was old, though by his guess, not the oldest structure on the property. The other buildings looked more dilapidated. He and Leila crept across the tile floor down the hallway and past closed doors, the only thing separating them from sleeping people—probably more guards. They reached a stairwell that was so narrow his shoulders barely fit.

His plan had been to exit the house on the outside of the walls and run.

He did not want to go back through the courtyard. He hadn’t killed the guards he’d encountered, and they’d only sleep another few minutes. If this had been an official CIA operation, he’d have had access to all the tools he’d need. As it was, he’d gone old-school, buying a bottle of chloroform and drenching a rag.

The chemical didn’t work as fast in real life as it did in the movies. He’d had to hold the cloth over the first guard’s face for a couple of minutes before the man lost consciousness. Fortunately, Michael had done his homework, wearing gloves and a mask to keep himself from inhaling the chemical.

Once the guy had inhaled the first whiff, he’d been too weak to fight back. Michael had just needed to wait until he passed out, at which point, he’d dragged the guy into the garage, tied him up, and gagged him.

The guard in the courtyard took a little less time to lose consciousness—but more time to tie up and gag. Michael wanted him to look awake, which meant tying him in place on his chair. The ropes would be visible in the daylight, but as dark as it was, he felt confident nobody would see them.

He’d scaled the rough stone walls to the center window on the third floor.