Page 36 of Rescuing You

Who, then? Qasim, who’d snatched Leila in Munich?

More likely, Hasan was pulling the strings.

Was he telling Baba what to do now?

Had he become so dangerous that Mostafa would rather betray a friend than risk his wrath—and Heba wouldn’t disagree?

Leila didn’t know anything for sure, only that they wouldn’t be safe until they were out of this wretched country.

After that terrifying moment in Germany, the hands that gripped her, the hood over her head, would she ever feel safe again?

At least Jasmine had stopped throwing up. Her arms around Leila’s waist were strong, proving she was awake and alert on the back of the motorcycle, probably scanning the surroundings like Leila was.

The highway was deserted in this stretch between villages, but that wouldn’t last, especially as they neared the city. Leila had stayed on the paved road, choosing speed over stealth, but now they needed to find a place to hide.

A tap on her shoulder had her easing off the gas.

“There.” Jasmine pointed to the right, away from the river and onto a small rise. At the top, a few trees rose. In this barren land, trees usually meant water…or people. There’d be no water that high up, but trees would provide cover and shade.

Leila spied a narrow road and turned onto it. She drove up the slight incline, eyes open for threats and ready to speed away if any appeared.

At the top of the hill, dilapidated structures lined the road. There were no families, no cars, no pets. When Leila cut the engine, she heard nothing but silence.

A gecko darted out of their path, the only sign of life.

Could it still be called a village if the people had abandoned it?

Who had lived here? Where had they gone?

One of the buildings was crumbling, clearly the target of a bombing. In the early morning light, shadows highlighted pockmarks on the exterior cement walls. There’d been a battle here. Very little had escaped the war. Villages. Families. People. All were affected.

Had this been an enemy stronghold? An Al-Qaeda base?

For whatever reason, the people who’d lived in this village had migrated elsewhere—or had all been killed.

They climbed off the motorcycle.

“I think it’s safe,” Jasmine said.

“Hmm.” Leila hoped so as she pushed the motorcycle between two buildings and lowered the kickstand.

Back on the street, nobody peeked to see who’d so noisily arrived. No generators hummed. No dogs barked.

“Sister.”

Jasmine stared at one of the small houses. Stone, flat roof, probably only one or two rooms. No glass in the windows, no life at all.

Before Leila could stop her, Jasmine started that direction.

“What are you doing?”

“They are gone,” she said. “We need to rest.” She reached the doorway and knocked.

The sound seemed thunderous in the creepy silence.

When nobody answered, Jasmine pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Leila followed her into a tiny room with stone floors and stone walls. Everything was covered in dust.