Page 70 of Rescuing You

He opened one and handed it to Splat.

“Thanks.” He kept his voice barely audible over the engine noise.

Michael did the same. “Need a protein bar?”

“I got some.” He nodded to the console. “She all right back there?”

“Resting.”

“You do the same. I’ll get us there.”

Michael had hoped for a distraction, but with both the ladies sleeping, it seemed rude to talk. He settled on the floor and went over his plan.

Not that it was much of a plan. Get the truck, move a bunch of boxes and crates into it—including the empty one that would hide one of the sisters—and drive.

By his calculations, they’d make it to Istanbul the following day, then cross into Bulgaria, where they wouldn’t need visas. With Michael’s American passport and Leila’s German one—it was a forgery, but it would pass—they shouldn’t have any trouble.

In Bulgaria, he’d get them on a flight to the US. At that point, Brock would catch up with him. He’d been ordered to stand down, after all. And when Brock showed up at his hotel room, he’d probably planned to detain him to keep him from searching for Leila or even question him.

Once Brock got ahold of Michael, he was going to be in trouble. But maybe the information Leila and Jasmine could supply about Vortex—Qasim—would buy him leeway.

He grabbed his laptop, itching to do some research into Qasim, but the service available through his burner phone’s hotspot was patchy at best. His own phone would work, but he had no doubt Brock was waiting for him to power it up so he could use that to track him down.

So fine.

Michael would get his answers soon enough.

It was dark by the time they reached the outskirts of Diyarbakir, a city of nearly two million people in central Turkey about a hundred kilometers north of the Syrian border. Michael had never been there. He stood between the seats to look through the windshield, but it was hard to get a sense of the place. A distant glow told him the city wasn’t far, but they seemed to be in the middle of fields.

Jasmine said, “It is so dark.”

“Are we skirting the city on purpose?” Michael asked.

Splat flicked his gaze to a phone attached to a holder on the console. “Just following the directions.” A few minutes later, he exited the highway toward the airport.

Leila joined Michael, and he stepped aside so she could see. She’d slept—or at least stayed in the crate—for the nearly four-hour drive from the border.

“Did you get some rest?”

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

Her overly formal response did not bode well.

But she was scared. He understood that. And he didn’t want to argue with her. He was about to slip his arm around her waist when she spoke again.

“Did you change your mind about driving?” Her voice was filled with hope as she read a passing sign for the airport. “Are we getting on a flight?”

He dropped his arm and faced her. “How would we do that with only papers for one of you?” He tried to keep his voice level. Tried not to let the fresh annoyance seep out.

“I thought maybe you figured something out.”

“There’s no forged-passport superstore.”

“I know that. I just thought maybe Splat...” Her voice trailed.

Wow.

How much more afraid would she be when her apparent savior left her alone with Michael?