Page 132 of Rescuing You

He washed his hands and stepped out of the bathroom.

Into chaos.

Police and paramedics and security everywhere.

He acted mildly interested as he followed the directions his brother had given him, catching sight of Bryan at a rear door. He approached, holding out his hand as if they’d never met, as if they were pilot and client. Bryan shook it, not missing a beat, and they walked into the windy day to the waiting Cessna.

He climbed the steps to the cabin. And collapsed onto the first seat.

Leila should have been with him. Leila and Jasmine should be seated across from him, marveling at the luxurious accommodations.

But the women were in the hands of men who’d pursued them for a thousand miles.

Terrorists. Psychopaths.

And Michael had no idea how to find them.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Leila dared not speak.

She was seated, cross-legged, on the floor, her back to the rear door, using her hands to keep herself from sliding or tipping with the movement of the van.

Her sister was lying beside her, head on Leila’s lap. But she was awake. She’d looked up, her eyes full of fear, a few minutes earlier.

Leila didn’t recognize any of the four men in the back, watching her with rage-filled eyes, all armed. The windows had been painted black, so the only light came from the deeply tinted windows in the front, where two more men sat.

She couldn’t see either of them very well. The driver was young, based on the higher-than-normal pitch of his voice. He was talking like his words were footsteps and he was in a race, his free hand gesturing as he recalled the ambush at the airport. He sounded jubilant. “Shot him right in the head, man. Did you see the blood? That was awesome.” He sounded eager and excited.

But she wasn’t buying it, the crazed, over-the-top glee. The kid was trying too hard to convince himself that taking a man’s life was awesome. Not fearsome. Not gruesome.

She couldn’t think about what man he was talking about. Michael.

How could he be dead?

But she’d seen the blood. Felt his grip on her loosen and fall away.

Seen him slump.

And that boy driver, acting like it was all some big game.

She wanted to scream at him, let out all the fury inside. The man she loved was dead—dead because he’d tried to rescue her.

But the guards seemed to be waiting for an excuse to take out their wrath on her. How many of their number had died since she and Jasmine had escaped? How many had Michael killed at the compound? How many had he and Splat killed in Turkey?

She could hear Michael’s voice in her head. Maybe, now that he was dead, he was with her there. Weren’t there stories about such things, people hovering between life and death? Watching?

She’d never believed it, but now…now she wanted to believe that the voice so clear in her mind was more than a memory and a vapor and a hope.

Don’t fight them until you have a chance to win.

Don’t weaken yourself. Stay strong. Stay vigilant.

She’d never been good at following his commands in life. But now, she would do what he said. She would make him proud.

The van had been traveling fast on a straightaway. Now, it made a series of turns that had her bracing herself to keep from slamming into the metal walls.

She bounced on the hard floor, wincing as they hit bumps. They went up a hill, around another corner, and then down, down into darkness.