Page 19 of Deceptive Lies

Reaching out to the American would be putting his life at risk, but it was the only chance she had. She just hated that it made her feel selfish because she really might get him killed.

Hope wavered inside her.

No, don’t give up.

She couldn’t.

Giving up meant certain death.

Blinking away the tears threatening to blur her vision and give her yet another disadvantage, Willow hardened her heart. She didn't want to put the American in danger, but she also had to do what she had to do to survive.

“I … don’t know what you're talking about,” Professor Mahmoud said with a nervous laugh.

“So, the name Aston Duncan doesn’t mean anything to you?” the American asked.

Even from there, with her head down, mostly covered by the niqab she had been forced to wear, Willow could see the professor’s pupils dilate in fear. He knew the name all right.

Clearing his throat, Professor Mahmoud tried to make his voice strong but failed miserably. “No. It doesn’t.”

“Twenty-year-old kid, just finished his sophomore year, goes to the same school you work at. Does that sound familiar at all?” the American pushed. His voice did, in fact, come out strong, full of confidence, and completely calm. It was like he knew he was in the presence of a potentially dangerous man, he just didn't care.

That was exactly the kind of energy she needed right now.

Chancing a glance at him, this time around Willow took the time to reallylookat him. Even though he was sitting down, she could tell he was tall, and this time, like last time, he wore a T-shirt that showed off his muscled chest and arms. There was no doubt he was fit and strong, and she could tell from the way he carried himself that he had the training to back it up.

If anyone had a shot at saving her, it was him.

If he wanted to.

She even believed he had the skills and abilities to get her out of there even if they would be outnumbered.

Again, if he wanted to.

Lifting her gaze to his face, she searched for signs that he was the kind of man who had a heart, who would care that she was in trouble and take her out of there. He had scruff and brown hair that was longer on top, but it was his eyes that captivated her.

A pretty shade of gray that reminded her of the sky right before a thunderstorm. There was anger in them, and she shrunk in on herself at the sight of it even though she knew it wasn't directed at her. But there was more there, too. Honor, integrity, and loyalty, everything she needed to see to know that this was a man who could be trusted.

Unless she was seeing only what she wanted to see.

Only right now she didn't have time to worry about it.

She had to take this chance.

Had to.

It was the only one she was going to get.

The American might not return, and if he didn't, and her one shot at escape disappeared along with him, then she’d never be able to forgive herself. Whether she continued to stand up to Professor Mahmoud and his friends or not, her self-respect would be left in tatters, and right now, that was all she had left.

“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Professor Mahmoud said, leaning back in his chair and waving a dismissive hand. If he was aiming for nonchalance, he was failing miserably.

“I don’t believe you,” the American said.

“You can believe whatever you want but I?—”

Slamming his fist into the table loud enough to make both the professor and her flinch from the sound and the violence behind it, the American leaned closer to Professor Mahmoud. “I said I don’t believe you. I think you know exactly who the kid is, although how he’s connected to you, I have no idea. You told him to follow me, I want to know why. What are you hiding, Professor Mahmoud?”

She could answer that question.

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