Page 30 of Rescuing You

Michael waited until he was facing away.

He got right behind him.

Stood. Grabbed the guard’s face, covered his mouth with his gloved hand. Yanked his head back.

And slit his throat.

CHAPTER TEN

“What are you doing? This isn’t the way.”

Leila ignored her sister’s protests as she angled toward a tiny town on the bank of the Tigris.

Yes, Michael had told them to go straight to Baghdad, but he didn’t know about Leila’s friend.

Or about Jasmine’s illness.

Her sister had thrown up twice in the forty minutes they’d traveled. Leila hadn’t stopped, had only slowed down so her sister wouldn’t fly off the bike as she leaned over, trying to keep her vomit off both of them.

Maybe the problem was the rocky terrain. Once they’d gotten far enough away from the compound that she could no longer see it in the rearview mirror, Leila had left the highway, traveling instead on an old dirt road, far from the river and houses. Anything to evade capture. Because in Iraq, two women, traveling alone at night…

If they were seen, they might be stopped. And if they were stopped, they would not be allowed to continue.

Between that and Jasmine’s sickness, Leila didn’t dare try to get all the way to Baghdad. She needed to get her someplace safe, now.

Once they got to Heba’s house, they’d find another way into Baghdad, preferably not on a motorcycle. Heba and her husband would help. This was the safer play.

If Michael were here, he’d agree with her.

Michael.

Dear Jesus, let him be okay.

But how could he evade all those men? Even if he did, how would he escape? How would he get to Baghdad without a car? Miles between towns, the desert temperatures scorching in the daytime, even this late in the year.

He’d had nothing but weapons. No food and water, as far as she knew. And he’d left his cell phone with her.

That thought was a twist in her heart. He’d left his cell because he’d known they’d need it—and he hadn’t believed he would survive long enough to use it again.

If he died, it would be her fault. She should never have had her sister call him.

And Jasmine should have told him who she was, that they both needed rescue.

A mile outside of town, Leila navigated behind an old, crumbling house that would hide the motorcycle from passersby and killed the engine. “We walk from here.” She climbed off and helped her sister do the same.

“We should continue to Baghdad like your friend said.” Jasmine’s voice was weak. “There’s a safe house.”

“You need rest and water.” Leila opened the storage compartment. It was nearly impossible to see in the darkness, but she felt fabric on top.

Her abaya and hijab, and below those, a second set, which Michael must’ve bought. Since her sister already wore hers, Leila slipped an abaya over her sweatpants and T-shirt, thankful for the warmth after the chilly ride, then covered her head with the hijab.

When she was suitably attired, she searched for Michael’s cell phone, which she shoved in the pocket of her sweatpants, then found two bottles of water and handed her sister one. “Drink slowly.”

Jasmine twisted off the cap and took a few small sips, and Leila did the same. When they’d both had enough, she returned the bottles to the storage compartment and closed the lid. “Let’s go.”

As they ambled toward the few houses clustered near the Tigris, Leila struggled to remember where exactly her friend lived. Heba had moved into her husband’s house after they’d married when Leila was still in school. Her friend had dreamed of graduating and going on to university. She’d dreamed of becoming a doctor. But her father had decided she needed to marry.

Heba might’ve fought harder against her father’s plans, but she liked the man he’d chosen. Mostafa was kind and gentle, and Heba, almost against her will, fell in love.