Page 32 of Rescuing You

Leila related everything that had happened from the time she’d been snatched off the street in Munich to that night.

Heba looked horrified. Mostafa, angry.

“We need to get to Baghdad,” Leila said, “but it is not safe for us to travel by motorcycle. And Yasamin is sick.”

They all looked at Jasmine, who didn’t waste their time arguing the point. Her skin was pale as beach sand, her cheeks gaunt, her eyes sunken, the skin around them dark.

“Is it a flu? A virus?” Mostafa asked.

“It is nothing,” Jasmine said.

He studied her a long moment, then shifted his gaze back to Leila. Though she was only a few minutes older than her twin, she’d always been the one in charge.

“You will stay here tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow, we will see about getting you to Baghdad.”

“Thank you.” Leila exhaled anxiety with the words. She’d been sure—nearly sure—her old friends would help her again. But, as Jasmine had said, things had changed since the last time she’d seen them. A decade had passed, after all. Heba and Mostafa had a houseful of children now. They didn’t need trouble.

But they would help.

The couple moved their children out of a bedroom to make room for Leila and Jasmine, who crawled beneath the sheets in a twin bed in the air-conditioned space.

Leila let herself relax for the first time in hours.

She needed to sleep. Tomorrow, they would get to Baghdad. Hopefully, Michael would be there, waiting for them.

She closed her eyes, prayed for his safety, and tried to sleep.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Michael hadn’t been thinking.

After he’d slit the man’s throat, he should have dragged his body out of the river. He should have found a place to hide it.

He absolutely should not have let the body float downstream.

But his brain was slow, his thoughts fuzzy. He stared at the black, gritty water as it streamed past him on its journey to the Persian Gulf, and he considered swimming after it.

But the body was gone.

What would happen when it was spotted?

Leila’s captors would know which direction Michael had gone. And they’d search for him.

A problem he’d deal with.

Soon.

He was back against the riverbank, catching his breath. Watching.

Waiting for someone else to pop up. To attack. Or shoot.

He couldn’t be stupid again. He wouldn’t survive another mistake.

He stared for five minutes. Ten.

Thirty.

When he was sure nobody else was coming, he climbed out of the river and collapsed. Vegetation covered the ground, something softer than dirt.