Page 21 of Sweet Betrayal

Before she could object, he disappeared into a nearby store, only to return moments later with a pair of sneakers, a scarf, and a plastic bag containing traditional clothing.

“Put these on,” he instructed, handing her the items. “We have a long way to go and we can’t do it with you looking like that.”

She slipped on the sneakers, grateful for the protection. Next, she pulled out the scarf, but it slipped through her fingers. He picked it up, shook it out, then gently draped it over her head, brushing a strand off her cheek.

She stared at him, speechless. Of all the things she’d expected him to do, that hadn’t been one of them.

“Best keep it covered,” he said, gruffly, turning away.

She nodded. “What else is in the bag?”

“A shalwar kameez,” he replied. “It’s a?—”

“I know what it is.”

He nodded. “It'll be more comfortable than your current outfit.”

She pulled it on, then stripped off her dirty work skirt and blouse underneath. The loose-fitting fabric was a welcome relief.

Tossing the ruined clothes in a nearby trashcan, they continued their journey, weaving through the western suburbs. The sun beat down, causing sweat to trickle between her breasts. Hannah was sure her face was as red as a beetroot, yet Tom didn’t seem to be bothered.

Just when she was about to drop from sheer exhaustion, they arrived at a run-down apartment building.

“Where are we?” she asked, staring at the worn, weathered façade.

“My place.”

Her eyes widened. “You live here?”

He tensed. “Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”

Hannah gazed up at the building, relieved. “No, it’s perfect. No one would think to look for me here.”

He gave her a funny look. “That’s what I thought.”

They climbed the stairs to the third floor, the coolness of the stairwell a welcome respite. She could tell by Tom’s rigid stance that he was keeping a vigilant eye out as they approached his door.

Unlocking the door, he held up a hand and she waited while he took a quick look inside. “It’s clear. Come on in.”

She stepped into his apartment and looked around. She stood in a living room, modest, but clean. A comfy, worn couch stood on one side. She walked over to it and dropped down.

“Oh, my God. It feels good to sit down.”

He smirked. “You did well. I usually catch the bus, but I didn’t think that was wise under the circumstances.”

Hannah tended to agree.

Tom disappeared, then returned with two glasses of water.

“Here,” he offered, handing one to her.

“Thanks.” She was so thirsty, she could drink the entire Persian Gulf. As she took the glass, their fingers brushed, and she swore she could feel a spark pass between them.

There was silence as they drank. Hannah suspected she was probably slurping and gulping her way through, but she didn’t care. It felt that good to rehydrate again.

Once they’d had their full, Tom set his glass down and looked at her. “We can rest here overnight. You’re safe now.”

The words were like music to her ears.

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