Page 24 of Rescuing You

“Go, or you’ll get us all killed.” Michael lifted Leila and settled her on the seat like he might a small child, then he leaned close. “Listen to me,” he said. “Memorize this, both of you. Go to Baghdad. South of Victory Square, there’s a hotel. Dijlat Al Khair. Across the street, there’s a small store with a red awning. Go past the store on the north side to a green door. Inside, second floor, through the first door. Repeat it.”

She did.

Behind her, Jasmine said, “We got it. We go.”

Michael opened the storage compartment on the back of the bike. Leila didn’t know what he was doing, couldn’t see beyond her sister. “My friend is coming tomorrow to get us out. If he gets there before me, go with him. I’ll find you. There’s food and water in here. I’m leaving my cell phone so I can get in touch with you. Don’t make any calls but leave it on. It’s untraceable.”

“Please.” She heard the pleading in her voice. “You can fit. We can all⁠—”

“You’re too small to pass for a man in the daytime,” Michael said. “But at night…” He shoved a baseball cap on her head. “Hide your hair.”

Jasmine shoved Leila’s hair into the back of her T-shirt. “I’ll fix.”

“Get to the safe house before daylight,” Michael continued. “Maybe nobody will stop you. Go. Now.” He reached across her and started the engine. It roared, the sound so loud it sent a fresh shot of panic through her.

The guards knew exactly where to look now.

A map lit up on the dash.

Michael leaned close and spoke over the noise. “The address is already plugged in. Follow the directions. Get there as fast as you can. I’ll find you.”

“But—”

He kissed her again, then kicked the stand back. “Go.”

Before she could protest again, he bolted away, back toward the compound and the men with guns. Disappearing into the darkness.

Behind her, Jasmine yelled, “Hurry, hurry!”

A gunshot sounded over the too-loud engine.

Leila had no choice.

No choice.

She shifted gears, twisted the accelerator, and sped over the rocky ground toward the highway.

Leaving Michael behind.

CHAPTER NINE

Michael had endured six months at the CIA’s training facility.

He’d considered himself at least a little prepared when he arrived at the Farm. After all, he’d known how to shoot a rifle and a handgun. He’d even been a pretty good shot, having hunted with his father and brothers his whole childhood.

But he hadn’t known how to spot booby traps. He hadn’t known about dismantling—or building—bombs. He hadn’t known how to identify chemicals and known which were used to make weapons of mass destruction.

He hadn’t spoken multiple languages.

He hadn’t successfully recruited assets.

Fact was, he hadn’t known anything, really, that he’d needed to know to become a spy.

He certainly hadn’t known evasion techniques—how to escape on foot, in cars, on speedboats.

But he’d learned—and learned well.

Surely, with all that knowledge, he could figure out how to hide from a bunch of guards at a remote compound in Iraq.