Page 57 of Rescuing You

“Jasmine will travel in this until we’re clear of the city. Then I’ll break you out, and you’ll ride up front with me. How’s your English?”

“Not as good as my sister’s, but I can speak.”

“Perfect. You’re my interpreter. I’m a civilian working for the US, and I’m moving furniture for a bigwig colonel. I don’t speak Arabic, and that’s why you’re there, to help me through the checkpoints. Can you do that?”

“A simple task.” She flicked her fingers at him and spoke in her native tongue. “I am curious, though. Do you?”

He answered in smooth Arabic, “When it suits me.”

Jasmine smiled. “Okay. This will work.”

Splat turned to Michael, then included Leila. “You two will be in the big box.”

“Together?” The pitch of her voice—too high—revealed her surprise.

How she’d missed the obvious, Michael had no idea. “It’s either that or you travel in the cube. I’d offer, but I won’t fit.” He sent the small box a glare as if that were its fault. “But you’d have to stay in it all the way to Turkey. With no hinged side, it’ll take too long to get in and out of. If you were outside and we got stopped…”

It would be fatal.

She swallowed—and seemed to be considering that option anyway. As if she’d prefer to take her chances in the little box rather than be stuck in the wardrobe with him.

He tried not to be offended.

Nobody spoke, and after a few tense seconds, she nodded.

“Good,” Splat said. “Hit the head, and then we go.”

Michael had known this wouldn’t be easy. He’d figured he’d be donning his old-man disguise again, which was how he’d made it to the store that morning. He’d even been considering different disguises for the women. Dressing them up like boys would work.

Never had he thought they’d be leaving the building in boxes.

As long as the boxes weren’t coffins, though, he wouldn’t complain.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

This was not going to work.

After Michael backed into the tiny, tiny crate and leaned against the edge farthest from the hinged side, Leila stepped inside.

She felt cramped, and she was much, much smaller than Michael was.

He couldn’t even straighten to his full height. He was hunched over, giving her space at his expense.

The plywood was covered with a thin layer of foam, but the boards holding the plywood in place were not. Even with the foam, it was not comfortable.

She was still trying to figure out how they were going to make it work when Michael’s friend said, “Scoot forward for a sec.”

She scooted nearer to Michael, turning to see what Splat was doing.

He set her backpack on the floor, then dropped Michael’s on top. “We gotta hide these, in case we get searched. I’ll put them in the cube after your sister’s with me.”

He closed the narrow door behind her, and the latch clicked.

“Maybe you can sit on mine?” Michael’s voice was low, a rumble in the darkness.

After her eyes adjusted to the dim light that shone through tiny cracks—made on purpose so they wouldn’t suffocate—she propped his giant pack against the plywood behind her and tried to sit. It was too tall, but she couldn’t lay it flat or it would take up the entire floor.

She leaned back onto it, trying to keep her feet out of Michael’s way.