Page 74 of Rescuing You

Michael grabbed a second handgun from his bag and shoved it in his waistband. He checked the knife sheathed at his ankle, looked at the map once more, and noted the time.

“Two minutes.”

He got out and ran.

Michael stayed low and crept along the edge of the building toward voices, all male, all speaking Arabic.

A quick peek around the corner showed the cargo van and a few men. They were discussing who would drive in what.

Where was the second car? Vehicles lined the street. Most were dark, but there was a dome light on in one of them.

Michael crept in that direction. Thanks to the light, Michael got a good look. A guard…? Maybe. Maybe not. Impossible to be sure. But if it was, Michael could cut off at least one escape route.

A man sat in the driver’s seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently.

Crouching beside the rear door, Michael took a breath, exhaled a prayer. He stood and yanked the door open.

Pulled the driver out, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck.

It took precious seconds, and the driver fought. But Michael kept the pressure until the man went limp. Michael dropped him on the ground, sat in the car, and took the keys, only then noticing the laptop bag on the passenger side floor.

He grabbed it and dropped the strap over his shoulder as he jogged back to the mouth of the alley.

The buildings were dark at two in the morning, only a couple of the windows showing light beyond blinds or curtains.

Hopefully, nobody was looking out those windows. Once bullets started flying, they certainly would be.

A light attached to the side of the building illuminated the area enough for Michael to get a decent look at what was happening.

Three men were engaged in conversation in front of the van. Complacent, which would work in his and Splat’s favor.

If Leila and Jasmine had already been taken away, Michael would get their whereabouts from one of those thugs. He prayed he could before the twins were whisked over the border.

One of the men had the slightly higher voice and clean-shaven cheeks of a young man. Late teens, maybe early twenties. The second man was nearly bald but overcompensated with a thick beard. The third looked familiar.

It was hard to be sure in the dimness, but Michael thought he’d seen his image before. He knew he'd heard his voice—back at the compound. He was the one who'd insisted the guards find the women, that Leila would be ready for something the following day.

The man was taller than his compatriots, and broad. All the men wore dark pants and long-sleeved tops, but this one had donned a red-and-white keffiyeh, which he’d wrapped around his head and secured with a black cord. He had a round face and a black trimmed beard and mustache.

He was the one in charge.

They were discussing logistics—what route they should take back to the border and where they could fill up the gas tank and who would drive what.

He checked his watch. Thirty seconds to go.

Keffiyeh-guy answered his phone, then barked to the kid something Michael didn’t catch.

The kid headed for the back of the van. The door rumbled.

A moment later, Leila and Jasmine walked hand-in-hand into his line of sight.

Michael stifled a curse. This would have been much easier with the women inside.

He willed the time to move faster. When there were ten seconds to go, he aimed at the one in the keffiyeh. Cut off the head, and maybe the body dies. If nothing else, it gets very confused.

Three. Two.

A gunshot split the silence, a second too early.