Page 6 of Rescuing You

“If you go after her,” Brock said, “you’ll give me no choice but to assume the worst. You know what that looks like.”

Once, a few years past, Michael had questioned a witness at a black site. He’d seen how terrorists were treated. If it was believed Michael betrayed his country, his American citizenship wouldn’t garner him better treatment. In fact, it would probably earn him far worse treatment from people who believed him a traitor.

“Stand down,” Brock said. “We’ll find her and take it from there.”

Michael kept silent for so long, eventually Brock gave up waiting for the yes sir that wasn’t coming and ended the call.

In all the years Michael had worked with Brock, he’d never known the man to change his mind about anything. Which meant Michael would be stuck in Maine, twiddling his thumbs while somebody else rescued Leila.

Assuming they did.

Assuming Michael’s attraction to her, his desire to get to know the pretty hotel manager, his desire to have a life beyond the CIA…

Didn’t get her killed.

CHAPTER TWO

My name is Leila Amato.

Leila mouthed the words silently, first in German, then in English—staring at the image in the mirror and willing herself to remember who she was. Who she really was.

It wasn’t the name she’d been given at birth. It was the name she’d chosen.

Just like she’d chosen the life she’d been living.

Just like she’d chosen her city, her profession.

Just like she’d chosen her faith.

“Nawra.” That name was a jab from a sharp knife. “Look at me when I speak to you.”

She forced her gaze away from the dirty mirror, over the narrow bed in the tiny room where she’d been locked for days, and onto the father who’d once loved her. “Where is Mama?”

Baba flinched at her demanding tone.

“Where is Yasamin?” She waved her hand toward the room, the compound. “Do they know you’re holding me here? Qasim told me my sister was here.” Only Qasim’s threats to Yasamin had kept Leila from escaping—or at least trying to. But she hadn’t seen her sister or her mother since she’d been locked in this room.

In Iraq, under her father’s thumb, in a world of lies and fear and secrets.

She was so tired of secrets.

“You are my responsibility.” Baba’s words were cold, delivered in Arabic, the language of her youth, and punctuated by his finger jabbing toward her. “You have been deceived.”

He was the deceived one, but for once she managed to hold her tongue.

“You will learn to obey.” Beneath his commanding tone, there was a hint of pleading, almost fear. She’d once thought of her father as a powerful man. She’d been proud to tell people she was the daughter of Saad Farad Fayad. After all, he’d rubbed shoulders with the most influential people in Baghdad, thriving in the government set up after Saddam Hussein’s fall, meeting and dining with leaders from all over the globe. He’d been powerful, hadn’t he? Or had that all been an illusion?

Or did the grown-up Leila Amato see what little Nawra Fayad never had? That Baba’s power was mere bluster hiding a deep layer of fear. Either that or the father she’d once revered had changed—and not for the better. Because the man who stood in front of her now seemed broken, as if it took all his energy to survive.

“You will remain in this room until you learn to behave properly and respectfully.”

“You’re going to keep me locked away forever?”

Because she had no intention of subjecting herself to his rule or anyone else’s.

He scowled, then swept her tray of food onto the floor. The bowl shattered, broken pieces skittering with the rice and scant vegetables. “You can eat off the floor like a dog—or learn to control your tongue. And obey.” He stepped through the open door and turned to face her. “Trust me, Nawra, you would do better to learn under this roof than that of your husband. Waleed won’t be nearly as patient.” Baba slammed the door.

The ancient lock turned.