Page 152 of Rescuing You

He shoved it in the keyhole and turned it.

The dashboard lights came on.

Based on what he heard in his ear, his team had reached the marina. They were discussing the different vessels they could procure. But they’d need to find an owner or figure out how to get one started without permission. It would take time.

“Brock, I’m begging you. We’re going to lose him.”

The voices in his ear silenced. Muted.

He imagined his teammates discussing it. Considering it. While he pulled the ropes off the Jet Ski and tossed them onto the dock.

Please, please.

The longer Brock waited, the smaller the boat got in the distance.

Finally, they unmuted their end. “Keep your distance,” Brock said. “Do not engage until we’re there. And don’t drown.”

“Yessir! I’ll let you know what I learn.”

He started the engine and blasted out of the marina, aiming for the speck on the horizon. The speck that was getting smaller and smaller.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Terror clogged Leila’s swollen throat as the boat bounced over waves, pitching and roiling on the angry sea.

Leila had never been on a boat like this before—had never been on a boat at all except for the blow-up raft Michael had purchased. Whereas that one had been flimsy but new, this one felt solid but ancient.

She and Jasmine had been forced down the stairs into a tiny room. The bench where they huddled together was upholstered with faded red, orange, and green plaid that looked like it’d come from the previous century. The wood-paneled walls were worn and gouged, even separating in some places. The floor was cracked linoleum.

She hated to think of the condition of the…what was it called? The bottom of the boat? The…hull?

Was it also cracked? Was it taking on water?

She wasn’t sure what frightened her more, the horrific death that would come if the boat sank, or the horrific life that lay ahead if it didn’t.

Jasmine had vomited twice, probably not the result of whatever illness plagued her but seasickness. Now she laid her head on Leila’s lap, curled up, arms wrapped around her middle.

Leila’s stomach was churning, too, as she stroked her sister’s long hair, trying to offer comfort despite her fear.

They’d been brought down here a few minutes before the engine roared to life. Most of the men were above, but two guards stayed with them as if they might try to escape. One was seated at a table near the stairs they’d come down, which led to a closed door above. He was eating a sandwich he’d pulled from a small refrigerator.

The other was on a chair adjacent to Leila and her sister, sipping a Coke.

There were other men above, in the pouring rain or perhaps in the little room above the deck. Maybe they’d all get swept away. Maybe the storm would take them.

Leaving her and her sister alone with these two.

Not alone, though. No matter what happened with Waleed and his cohorts, God was here. He was watching out for Leila and her sister. Whatever their future held, the One True God would never leave them or forsake them.

He’d promised.

No matter how bleak things get, I will trust You.

Rather than allowing herself to be overwhelmed with hopelessness, she bent close to her sister and prayed, her raspy voice barely audible over the engine’s rumble, the thunder, the men’s footsteps, and the pouring rain.

She begged God to rescue them. To send help. To get them out of this.

Only God could save them now.