Page 40 of Rescuing You

The river was in front of him, and the sun was behind him.

He thought back to the night before. He’d climbed out of the Tigris on the west bank, right?

Come to think of it, it wasn’t getting lighter outside. It was getting darker.

It wasn’t seven o’clock in the morning.

Michael had slept all day.

At least that explained why he was so hot.

Obviously, he’d lost more blood than he’d realized. Been more injured than he’d realized. He was lucky he hadn’t bled to death. Or been found by a hostile.

God had protected him.

Had He protected Leila and her sister too?

The thought of the two women, alone, running for their lives in the Iraqi desert, sent fear to his churning stomach. But if they hadn’t been stopped along the way, they’d reached the safe house before dawn. Michael’s old friend would have already collected them. He’d only have brought papers for one, but surely Splat would figure a way to get the sister out of the country.

Much as Michael might not like being dubbed Wrong by his buddies, he’d take that over Splat any day. Talk was that Splat had taken quite a fall on his first mission, earning him the unfortunate call sign.

Leave it to the SEALs to find the most embarrassing thing a guy ever did and never let him forget it.

If Splat could get the women into Turkey, Michael could catch up with them there. He’d arranged transport for two across the border.

He’d figure out how to add Jasmine to his plans.

One problem at a time.

He prayed for the sisters’ safety, then thanked God he’d escaped and survived the night.

A miracle, to be sure.

Much as Michael would like to rest—and probably needed to rest—as soon as the sun set, he hoisted his pack and started moving.

He had to find a way to Baghdad as soon as possible.

Michael trekked for an hour before he reached a small town on the bank of the Tigris, where he stayed out of sight and searched for a suitable vehicle.

He hated to steal—especially from such poor people. He chose the only car he could find that was old enough to be easily hot-wired. Fortunately, it was parked on the street, not in a driveway. As he shoved his knife into the ignition and twisted, he prayed the car would be located and returned to its owner after he was finished with it.

He started the aged Volkswagen, cringing as the engine sputtered to life. Nobody came running. No lights came on in the nearby houses.

Breathing a prayer of thanks, he hoisted his pack onto the passenger seat and headed south.

It was after eleven when he abandoned the Volkswagen a mile from the safe house and hoofed it through Baghdad, thankful for the darkness that covered him. Despite the hour, the city was hopping. Music drifted from nightclubs, voices and laughter from restaurants.

He hurried past hotels and gathering places, praying he’d either find Leila and Jasmine asleep in the safe house or find that they’d been there and gone. Maybe Splat had already smuggled them out of the country.

After he climbed the steps of the newish building where he’d secured a fully furnished apartment, he pushed open the door and discovered…

Nothing.

Leila and Jasmine weren’t in the kitchen or the living area. He peeked into the bedroom and attached bath. Also empty.

None of the food he’d left in the small refrigerator had been touched, none of the bottles of water emptied. The toothbrush and toiletries and clothing he’d bought remained unopened. The beds un-rumpled.

He stifled a curse word.