Page 18 of Sweet Betrayal

They’d figured it out. The blood on the road, the missing body, the gunshot. She and one of their own had vanished outside the backdoor to the U.S. Embassy. It wasn’t exactly a mystery.

The door swung open and Tom strode in, face set like stone. “We have to leave. Now.”

“It’s them, isn’t it?” She got to her feet.

When he didn’t answer right away, she stepped closer. “They know I’m here. Don’t they?”

“Looks like it,” he said grimly. “Whoever took out that window had firepower. Now, there’s a column of armored vehicles outside the gate and they’re gearing up to breach.”

“Oh, God.” Her blood ran cold. “What are we going to do?”

He grabbed her hand. “Follow me.”

Tom led her quickly down the corridor, his hand warm and firm. They moved quickly, urgently, passing framed photos and empty desks. Finally, they marched through a pair of double doors.

“This is the ambassador’s suite,” he said, nodding to the dark wood desk.

It looked exactly like how she’d imagined. Polished furniture, a heavy Persian rug beneath their feet, subtle lighting overhead. The glass doors at the back opened onto a private patio with a clear view of the embassy grounds. The space reeked of power, precision, and old money.

Tom didn’t slow. Releasing her hand, he went straight to a built-in cabinet, threw it open, and reached for a set of keys.

A shrill whistling tore through the air.

Hannah turned to him in alarm. “What’s that?—?”

“Down!”

Before she knew what was happening, he yanked her to the floor. She barely had time to gasp before his body came down over hers, shielding her against the impact.

The explosion hit like a freight train.

The walls rocked, glass shattered, and something heavy crashed in the corner of the room. Splinters rained down like needles. She flinched, feeling glass slice across her forearms.

But Tom—He took the worst of it.

He shielded her completely, pressing her down, arms locked around her head, his body a wall of heat and steel over hers. She could feel every breath he took, every muscle tensing in defense.

Her scream ripped through the air.

Another blast cracked somewhere nearby. The room groaned under the pressure. The plaster above them split with a sickening sound. For one terrifying second, she thought the whole building might come crashing down on top of them.

“Tom?” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He didn’t move right away. She could feel the heat of his breath brushing her cheek—steady and controlled, even after the blast.

Then slowly, he lifted his head. His voice was a low rumble in her ear. “Still with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. She tried to move but found she couldn’t. Tom was still on top of her, his body glued to hers. Her heart thudded like it might punch through her ribs.

Tom shifted his weight and rolled off her. Slowly, carefully, she sat up. Her arms and legs responded, and she didn’t feel any sharp pain. No blood that she could see.

His eyes scanned her, quick and efficient, checking for signs of injury. They lingered on her bare feet, but then he blinked and glanced away again.

“Was that a bomb?” she asked, looking around them. “I thought the whole building was going to collapse on us.” Theoffice reeked of smoke and the air was heavy with dust. She glanced up and exhaled in relief when she saw the ceiling hadn’t caved in.

“No. Just a grenade.” He stood and brushed the dust from his fatigues.

“Justa grenade?” she repeated, staring at him. “Seriously?”

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