Page 3 of Rescuing You

Michael studied the photographs again, noting details he’d missed at first. He’d never seen her without makeup before. And the confidence he’d always admired in her expression was gone. She looked afraid.

But Stone didn’t know her at all, so that couldn’t be what had him wearing that concerned—suspicious?—look.

And then Michael understood.

Leila wasn’t being dragged onto that plane. There were no weapons. No guards forcing her. As far as Michael could tell, she climbed aboard willingly.

“That doesn’t make sense.” He spoke as if Stone had vocalized his thoughts, which he might as well have. “She was snatched off the street. You saw the footage.”

Michael had watched the CCTV recording a hundred times or more, trying desperately to see something, anything, that would lead him to her kidnappers. But they’d worn masks. Not a single clue remained in the burned-out van, no indication whatsoever of where her captors had taken her.

After days of frantic searching, Michael had lost hope that she’d be found alive. That was when Toby Brock, their team leader, had called him back to the States, promising that the rest of the team would continue the search for Leila while agents assigned to the embassy in Germany would pick up surveillance of Vortex.

Forcing Michael to trust Brock and the team. Which he should. Of course. They were on his side. But it was killing him to do nothing. Killing him that he couldn’t be involved.

“She was kidnapped,” Michael said.

“That’s what it looked like.”

“She’s a hotel manager, not a spy. Not a soldier. She doesn’t have the skills to escape.” He tapped one of the photos. “She’s not fighting because she knows it’s hopeless. Or they have something on her. She’s not going willingly.”

“If you say so.”

Michael had never had the desire to punch his friend before. He turned to face him fully, squeezing his hands into fists to keep from doing something stupid. “When were these taken?”

“Tuesday.”

Four days ago.

“Why did it take that long for us to get them? Or have you had them⁠—?”

“The team watching Vortex was focused on him. They had no idea who she was when they passed along the images. Nobody knew there was a connection.”

“There isn’t a connection.” Not between Vortex and Leila. None except Michael.

Stone said nothing, but his gaze moved to the photos, his eyebrows hiking, the implication clear.

“She’s not a soldier. She has no training. Of course she’s not fighting.” Michael hated to imagine what Vortex and his men had put Leila through. And it had to be something terrible because the only other option was that Leila was involved with Vortex somehow. If that was the case, then… “She’s not a terrorist.”

“Because she’s pretty? Because you like her?”

“Because I know her. She’s sweet and innocent, and⁠—”

“I assume she would say that she knows you?”

Again, Stone didn’t have to explain what he meant.

Leila knew Michael, the machine parts salesman.

She didn’t know Michael, the CIA agent.

But it was different. Maybe Michael hadn’t shared his true profession, but he’d shared who he was—his personality, his character, his values.

And she’d done the same, he was sure of it. Michael might not be the most skilled spy in the world, but he could smell a liar, and Leila wasn’t a liar.

Unless he was losing his edge. Had he been blinded by her beauty and charm?

He wouldn’t be the first to be played by a beautiful woman.