Page 26 of Sweet Betrayal

Tom’s gut clenched. “Understood, sir.”

“I want that intel in my hands within seventy-two hours. You’ve got that long before this turns into a goddamn international firestorm. Air Force assets are mobilizing out of Cyprus. We’ve got F-35 squadrons already spinning up. RAF and the French Navy just deployed a carrier group. Subs are moving into position.”

Tom’s fingers curled tighter around the phone. The shit was hitting the fan in a big way. “Copy that.”

“This intel could change everything, Wilde. You get it here, and you give our side the advantage.” A pause. “Do not screw this up.”

His pulse kicked higher, adrenaline punching through his veins. “I won’t, sir.”

Across the room, Hannah was watching him, her wide eyes filled with equal parts fear and hope. He gave her a subtle thumbs up. Relief swept across her features. She closed her eyes for a second, just breathing.

Larson continued. “If we can neutralize Hakeem’s next move before it happens, maybe—maybe—we avoid a full NATO engagement. But listen carefully, Wilde. There’s something else.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We believe Hakeem has already fled the capital. If the locations of those safe houses she mentioned get compromised, and they fall into rebel hands... it’s going to be a bloodbath.”

Tom’s stomach turned cold.

“I’m authorizing you to use any means necessary to protect that intel. You hear me? Any means. If we can’t have it... I don’t want anyone else having it either. If anything happens to that woman, you have authority to eliminate the threat.”

A silence settled between them.

Tom felt his throat tighten. “Understood, sir.”

“Seventy-two hours, Sergeant. Make it count.”

The line went dead.

Hannah pushedherself into a sitting position. Her eyes were huge in the dim light of the apartment. “He’s okay with it?”

Tom slipped the phone back into his pocket. He tried for calm, but the adrenaline was still pulsing through his system. “Yeah. We’ve got seventy-two hours to get the hell out of Syman.”

“Oh, thank God.” She launched forward and threw her arms around his neck.

The move caught him off guard. Her body pressed tight against his, warm and alive and soft in all the ways he hadn’t let himself feel in years. Her scent—vanilla, maybe jasmine—wrapped around him, and something primal stirred low in his gut.

He went very still.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched him like that. Since someone had reached for him not out of obligation or fear, but out of raw, human gratitude.

She must’ve sensed the shift in his body because she pulled back abruptly, cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“It’s not a problem.” His voice was low, too low, and he didn’t meet her eyes.

But it was a problem.

His body was reacting like it hadn’t since Afghanistan. Since Amrain. And that was dangerous. That was how mistakes got made. Emotions, feelings—those were luxuries he couldn’t afford. Not with this op. Not with her life in his hands.

He turned away to collect himself, running a hand through his hair as if that could clear the tension coiling in his chest.

Hannah dropped back into the armchair, the relief on her face unmistakable. “I can’t believe it. I thought we’d be stuck here for weeks.”

Tom didn’t answer. His mind was already running through contingencies. Routes. Checkpoints. Weak spots in the rebel lines.

Seventy-two hours wasn’t a lot of time—not in a collapsing nation with rising hostilities and a target on your back.

He had to protect her. Not just because it was the mission. But because he couldn’t let another innocent pay the price for war.

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