Page 137 of Rescuing You

But…they’d had an op? “Everybody okay?”

“Considering we were a man down?” Brock didn’t even try to keep the scorn out of his voice, and Michael winced at the implication.

Had someone gotten hurt because he hadn’t been there? Had the op gone sideways?

Brock didn’t explain. “Text me the address, and we’ll start working up a plan. I’ve got an SUV waiting, but if you’re up for it, we’ll need a second vehicle.”

“On it. And Brock…sir?”

“Sir?”

Yeah. Michael had never been a yessir kind of guy. “Thank you. For coming, and⁠—”

“You’re still on my team. This is what we do for teammates.” He ended the call before Michael could think of a response.

He’d barely set his cell down when the roar of a jet had him looking out the window.

Sure enough, a small charter touched down and turned for the terminal.

Derrick stepped through the door and into the aisle. “Got your car.” He tossed the keys, and Michael snatched and pocketed them.

“What are we doing?” Derrick asked.

“I got some friends here to help.” If anybody could get Leila and Jasmine out of Shehab’s grasp, they could.

And take the terrorist into custody in the process.

For the first time since he’d seen those armed men, a spark of hope lit. Maybe, with God’s help, they could actually do this.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Leila pulled the wig and cap off while Waleed was gone, then wiped off makeup with tissues and hand sanitizer the guard had handed her.

The men in the cargo van had nothing better to do than watch. The four of them sat with their backs to the walls. The one closest to her had moved to his feet and now crouched as if preparing to launch. He seemed to be trying to take up as much room as possible, so that every time she shifted, she risked touching him.

She was very, very careful not to allow that.

When she was finished removing her own makeup, she wiped her sister’s away. Jasmine had already removed her wig and brushed her fingers through her long hair.

The makeup and wig had been hot and confining.

And, in the long run, useless.

Leila settled against the door again. “How did you find us?” She directed the question to the guard closest.

“We saw the man walk by this morning. Didn’t pay him any attention until he drove away. Waleed had a feeling, but we weren’t sure until you got near the terminal. You make a better woman than a man.”

The door behind her jerked open. She tipped backward, windmilling but unable to stop her fall.

Waleed caught her and swung her to the ground, pulling her against his chest.

It happened so fast, she barely uttered a gasp before she found herself face-to-face with the man Baba had decided would be her husband.

Waleed held her there, his body hot against hers, his smile cruel and tight. He tugged at her hair. “That’s better.” He plucked at her sweatshirt. “You will be lucky if you don’t spend your life in a burka after this. Assuming you are ever allowed in public again.”

He leaned toward her, his breath smelling of garlic and fish, and she feared he was about to kiss her. She would fight—and be punished—but how could she not? How could she let this murderer kiss her? Touch her?

This man who’d caused the death of the man she loved?