Page 22 of Rescuing You

But Michael would have to risk being seen—and having Leila seen—which would get them captured. Well, her captured. Him killed.

Which meant his only other option if he wanted to silence him—his only real option—was to slit the man’s throat.

So, kill him, or hope for the best?

He chose the second option. Let him not get free, Lord. Just a couple more minutes.

They reached the first outbuilding and turned toward the second. At the door, he turned the knob, expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t, but before he could push it open, it swung on its hinges.

A woman stood there.

She wore an abaya and hijab, which hid most of her face. All he saw were wide, frightened eyes. “We go?”

The fact that she was there and ready told him she’d seen him in the courtyard, confirming his decision not to expose himself again.

He whispered, “Shh,” and started back the way they’d come. A strong grip on his arm stopped him.

He turned, and the sister—Jasmine, Leila had said—tipped her head into her house. He looked past her but saw nothing but darkness.

Michael glanced at Leila, but she seemed confident in her sister as she slipped past him and into the dark house.

If she had a way out that took them away from the courtyard, he was happy to take it.

The house was dark. His NVGs showed the walls of a long hallway that ended in a door.

Jasmine stopped a few feet in front of the door and stepped aside to give him access. “You pick.” Her voice was so low, it took him a second to figure out what she’d said.

“This leads outside the walls?”

“Yes, yes. Hurry.” Her gaze flicked to a doorway, telling him someone dangerous was behind that door. Who?

Doesn’t matter.

Things had gone remarkably well so far. Another few seconds and they’d be free.

He gripped Jasmine’s elbow, then pointed to Leila’s bare feet.

She nodded and tiptoed away. Hopefully, she’d return with shoes.

Not enemies.

Michael holstered his gun, yanked his lock-picking kit from his pocket, and went to his knees in front of the door.

This lock wasn’t the old-fashioned kind like on Leila’s door. This was new, a deadbolt, and took longer to pick. He heard quiet scuffling behind him but didn’t look at the sisters.

Within seconds, the lock disengaged with a telltale click. When he turned, Leila was shoving her feet into bright red Nikes. They looked so out of place that he nearly laughed.

Except nothing about this was funny.

When she was finished, she and her sister looked up at him, eyes wide. Leila’s face was uncovered, but her sister had her abaya draped across her mouth and chin. He was struck by how similar they were. Same height—barely five feet tall. Thin as fence posts, both of them. Even the way they stood, leaning slightly forward as if ready to run. Holding hands.

Frustrated as he was with Jasmine for not telling him the truth, he could practically feel the love between the sisters.

Help me get them out of here, Father. Rescue them.

And then rescue me.

He turned the knob and pulled the door open.