Page 15 of Rescuing Mia
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern etched into his handsome features.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick in my throat. I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay that I almost laugh at the absurdity of the question.
But there’s something about this man, something that makes me want to trust him despite every instinct screaming at me to trust no one.
“I…” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I need to get to that café. It’s important.” I point in the general direction.
He studies me for a long moment, his gaze searching before nodding. “Let’s get you there then.”
And despite everything—the fear, paranoia, and the weight of my secrets—I find myself letting him guide me forward, his presence a steady force amidst the chaos.
We navigate the crowded street. The brawl dies down. His hand never leaves the small of my back. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like an anchor, tethering me to reality as my mind threatens to spiral out of control.
As we approach the café, he leans in close, his breath tickling my ear. “Are you going to be okay from here on out?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. I’m so close now, so close to the promise of salvation that awaits me inside.
“Thank you,” I manage to whisper, turning to face him. “For everything.”
He smiles then, a crooked, heart-stopping thing that makes my breath catch in my throat. “Take care of yourself.”
And then he’s gone, melting into the crowd as if he were never there at all. For a moment, I stand there, watching the spot where he disappeared; half-convinced I imagined the whole thing.
But the memory of his touch, the feeling of safety in his arms, lingers, and I know it was real.
With a deep breath, I square my shoulders and push open the door to the café. The cool air hits me like a blessing, and I scan the room, my heart in my throat as I search for my contact.
This is it.
The moment of truth.
The culmination of everything I’ve risked, everything I’ve sacrificed.
Chapter Nine
MIA
I spotmy contact in the corner, a red scarf draped around his neck. As if sensing my arrival, he looks up. Our gazes connect across the room, and just like that, the weight of the world comes crashing down on me once more. The secrets, the danger, the constant fear—it all rushes back, stealing the breath from my lungs.
But I force myself to move, to put one foot in front of the other until I’m sliding into the booth across from him.
“Mia Chen?” His voice is low and gruff, with a hint of an accent I can’t quite place.
I nod, my throat too dry to speak.
“My name is Agent Torres, your contact with the U.S. Embassy.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a zippered pouch, holding it out to me. “Take this. It’s everything you’ll need.”
My hands tremble as I reach for the pouch, its weight substantial in my grip. I clutch it to my chest, a lifeline in this dark and uncertain world.
“Do you have it?” he says, his voice low and gravely.
With trembling hands, I reach into my backpack and pull out the tablet, placing it on the table between us. I absentmindedly touch my neck—a sharp reminder of the street’s chaos.
“It’s all there,” I whisper, barely audible above the background chatter. “Everything you need to know.”
He nods, reaching for the tablet, then stops short, his gaze sharpening on my neck.
“What happened?” His concern is palpable, and his voice is low, tinged with urgency.