Page 41 of Rescuing You

Where were they?

In the city? Or still in the desert?

Were they even alive?

Refusing to consider the alternative, he cranked the air conditioner and removed his laptop from where he’d hidden it beneath the cookie sheets in one of the kitchen cabinets. He powered it up and searched for the location of the cell phone he’d left with them.

He got a location—but it was from outside of Tikrit, the city where he’d launched his rescue plan, two days before.

Fine, then.

That didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean they were dead. It didn’t mean they’d been recaptured. It just meant they hadn’t gotten close enough to a cell tower to connect to service.

His gaze flicked to the windows. He knew what lay beyond the buildings.

Desert. And darkness. Miles and miles and miles of darkness.

Where are they, Lord?

He stared at the screen, willing their location to flash.

No deal.

He showered in the bathroom off the living area, leaving the en suite bathroom for the sisters, then checked his wound. No longer bleeding, and he saw no redness or puffiness, so not infected. He changed into clean clothes and holstered his Glock beneath his black T-shirt.

He powered up one of the burner phones he’d brought with him, connected it to the one he’d given the girls, and brought up the tracking app.

Still no sign of the women.

He donned a head scarf—a keffiyeh. That, along with his beard in need of a trim, would help him blend in.

He couldn’t sit here and wait. He’d look for them. Maybe the phone had been damaged. Or run out of juice. Maybe they were wandering around, trying to remember the instructions he’d given on where the apartment was.

Besides, he’d only bought enough supplies for one woman. He needed another toothbrush, if nothing else.

Because, yeah. Right now, that was what he was worried about. Toothbrushes.

Before he left the apartment, he found paper and pen and wrote a note.

Do not leave. I’ll be back. M

He left it on the counter, upside down, pen angled across it just so. He needed to know if anybody came in while he was gone and assumed the women—and intruders—would read the note.

Outside, he headed toward the river and the hotels and nightclubs that lined it, following the hum of music and the glow of lights. There’d be a store open, somewhere.

He'd look for them. Maybe he’d just happen upon them.

Right. There were more than seven million people in Baghdad. It would take a miracle for him to find them.

He prayed for that miracle.

He’d sent them off, on a motorcycle, on their own, in the middle of a hostile nation. If anything happened to them…

It would be his fault.

He walked, shoulders back, head up, as if he belonged. Nobody paid him any attention as he kept his eyes open for two tiny women in Arab garb. Or a motorcycle.

Cars whizzed past on the busy street as if it were noon, not midnight.