Page 47 of Rescuing You

He chuckled, relaxing. He liked this woman. More than liked her, despite all the secrets she’d kept from him.

Not that he should be lobbing stones.

He kept his expression neutral even as he remembered what she’d named him.

Michael Davis.

Yeah, he hadn’t exactly been a paragon of honesty.

Picking out a cracker, he said, “They’re for soldiers. Convicts eat better.”

Her smile faded. “You told me you were not a soldier.”

He stilled, then forced the cracker into the hummus, into his mouth. He took his time chewing. Swallowing. Swigging some water before he set the bottle down.

He grabbed a second bottle from the refrigerator, twisted the cap off, and set it in front of her.

She looked at it, at him, waiting,

“I’m not a soldier. Never was.”

Her eyebrows hiked.

“I’ll explain everything, but not right now. Not until we’re safe.” Because the last thing he needed was Leila or her sister telling anybody who Michael really worked for.

“I’m supposed to trust you, even though you hide things from me?”

“If you want to get out of Iraq, I don’t see that you have a choice.”

She crossed her arms. “How can I trust you when you lied to me?”

“Gee, Nawra, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I had to change my name.”

“You have good reason to keep certain facts about your past secret. I can accept that. You’ll have to believe me when I tell you that I do too.”

She rubbed her lips together, looked past him. Seemed to be building up to another round of questioning.

“So you went to your friend’s house?” He moved the food to a table in the living room and sat in a chair. “Can you tell me why?”

“Jasmine is ill.” She curled up on the corner of the couch, seemed to want to pull her knees up but thought better of it in the dress. By the way she rubbed her arms, she was chilly. Not shocking considering he’d cranked the AC.

He found a blanket and pillow in a closet by the door. He’d need them later, assuming he ever managed to get some rest. He draped the blanket over her.

“Thank you.”

He sat again, leaned forward, and rested his forearms on his knees. Waiting.

“There is something wrong with my sister. She’s too thin. Drawn and pale. I already thought that, and then she vomited a few times after we escaped the compound.”

The way Jasmine wore her hijab, he’d barely gotten a look at her face. But even under the abaya, it was obvious she was skin and bones. “Was she throwing up because of fear?”

“I might think that, except it continued even after we got to Heba’s house, when we thought we were safe.”

Thought they were safe.

He’d circle back to that if Leila didn’t.