Page 42 of Rescuing You

He found a dingy little shop where he purchased a toothbrush. As soon as he’d arrived in Iraq, he’d bought toothpaste, deodorant, a container of lotion because…didn’t women like lotions? Along with all the other stuff he’d thought of.

Trying to be thoughtful, anticipating Leila’s needs.

He shoved the toothbrush into his jeans pocket and wandered the street, checking his phone often for the sisters’ location.

An hour passed with no sign of them.

And then, just like that, their location showed up—only a few blocks away, coming toward him.

Thank You, God!

He’d been wandering near the safe house. Now, he urged his feet to hurry back to the main drag.

As he turned the corner onto the sidewalk, a group of young people exited a nightclub just ahead of him. They were loud, laughing, chatting. Drunk, Michael guessed when one of the women stumbled on heels even sober women shouldn’t wear. She was kept from falling by the man nearest her, who took the opportunity to pull her against his side.

The group quieted as they approached a crowd gathered ahead, the guys lifting on tiptoes to see what was going on.

Other voices filled the void, shouts in Arabic—two men, maybe more. Arguing.

Michael scanned the faces of those who’d stopped to witness the fight. Even with his height, he only glimpsed the tops of heads but nothing else.

He glanced at his phone. Leila and Jasmine were close. He dialed the number.

No answer.

Traffic on the sidewalk had ground to a halt in both directions, and people were bunching up.

But cars zoomed past on the road.

The shouts got louder, followed by the thwack of a fist hitting a target.

The young people in front of him backed up, one bumping into him.

Up ahead, someone screamed.

The woman who’d stumbled earlier dashed into the street to avoid the mass of bodies.

A horn blared.

Michael snatched her back an instant before a van whipped by.

She was babbling to him, her breath heavy with the scent of liquor, and he didn’t even try to decipher her slurred Arabic.

He caught sight of something on the other side of the scrum.

Red sneakers poking out beneath a black abaya. The short, slender woman wore a brown hijab.

Leila.

But a second after he’d spotted her, the crowd swallowed her up.

Michael passed off the drunk girl to one of her friends, all the while searching for that brown hijab.

He checked the traffic and dashed onto the street, skirting the edge of the crowd.

Where were they?

He was nearly to the far side of the fight. He searched faces, clothes…