Page 65 of Rescuing You

Scraping. Demands to know what was inside this or that. The opening of more boxes and crates.

“Clothes,” Splat said. And a few minutes later, “Pots and pans.” After that was confirmed, “Books.”

Another smack sounded, this right over her head.

She managed not to gasp this time. Not that it would matter. They were about to be exposed.

“It’s a wardrobe,” Splat said.

Omar translated.

The soldier barked, “Open it!”

“Aw, man.” Splat managed to sound genuinely disappointed. “We gotta move all this⁠—”

“Do it!”

Grunts, the drag of wood against metal.

Michael let up his grip on her and pushed her back, gently.

He aimed a gun toward the soldiers.

She stared at it, at him. Shook her head. Better to be taken than be killed.

But he didn’t seem to agree.

The sound of nails coming out.

The wood around them shifted.

Additional light filtered in.

“Like I said”—Splat’s voice was flat—“a wardrobe.”

Fingertips poked between the two panels that would make up a wardrobe’s doors were it truly a wardrobe, not a well-crafted trick.

As soon as the soldier lifted, he would discover them inside.

“Where are the pulls?” he asked.

Omar translated, and Splat said, “We took them off for transport. To protect them. They’re in one of these boxes.”

“Show me, then.”

Did they actually have pulls for the wardrobe? No, of course not. Splat was making his answers up.

Now, he said, “All right. Give me a sec… It was a box of knickknacks, I think.”

As Omar translated, more boxes were moved, shifted.

The fingers were pushing through, trying to get a grip.

Michael’s weapon was inches from those fingers. If the wood came up, he would shoot.

All hell would break loose. Would they escape? Even if they did, soldiers would hunt them down. They’d all be killed.

Jasmine. Michael. These two men who’d come to help them.