Page 76 of Rescuing You

Michael swung around the side of the door and looked.

Beyond the deceased driver, Leila struggled with the passenger, holding his arm up, keeping the gun aimed at the ceiling. The man was trying to push her away, but she was behind him—and not letting go.

Giving Michael a clean shot.

Stubborn woman. He loved that about her.

He fired.

The passenger slumped forward, and Leila stumbled back.

Michael pulled the driver out. The car was rolling slowly toward the intersection. He reached across the seat and yanked up the parking brake.

The van lurched.

There was one gunman left. The kid. Where was he?

“Michael!”

His name, screamed in fear, came a second before a volley of gunshots.

But at the warning, he’d jumped to the ground. The kid missed.

“I will kill them!” The shout came in Arabic. “I will kill them both!”

“You don’t want to do that.” Fury stole over him, but he wrapped his words in a calming cadence as he matched the man’s Arabic. “Your boss wants them alive or they’d already be dead.”

Splat hobbled to the rear door. Blood dripped from his left arm, more from his leg. Michael had no idea how he was still on his feet.

“You don’t have to die today, son. We can work something out.”

A gunshot, another scream.

The sounds tore through Michael like shrapnel. “You girls okay?”

“They don’t talk!” the man shouted.

“You hurt one of those women”—Michael made his voice deadly cold—“you’ll wish you were never born. You hear me?”

“Throw your gun in. I take the women, and I don’t kill them.”

Yeah. That was gonna happen.

“All right,” Michael said. “I don’t want them to get hurt. That’s the most important thing.”

“Toss the gun!”

Splat was steadying himself on the back of the van. When he caught Michael’s eyes, he nodded.

“Here it is.” Michael threw his gun onto the passenger seat.

A gunshot blasted.

A woman’s scream tore a hole clear through to his soul. Please, God. Not Leila.

Second gun drawn, Michael launched himself into the van, landing so that his head was in the space between the seats. Ignoring the blood splattered there.

Aimed and ready.