Page 34 of Sweet Betrayal

“We’ll push through the middle and exit on the other side.”

She stumbled, and had she not been clinging to Tom, she would have been crushed underfoot. It was like being in the middle of a stampede.

A sob caught in her throat, but Tom steadied her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Hannah, I’ll get you through this, but you have to trust me.”

She met his gaze—clear, fierce, and steady. A lifeline in the storm.

Her voice was hoarse. “I trust you.”

He nodded, just once, then charged forward, pulling her in his wake.

A loud bang sounded as someone discharged a shotgun only inches away. The noise of the crowd dimmed, and she clutched her head, knowing as she did so that it wouldn’t do anything to stop the sudden, shrill ringing in her ears. Tom didn’t miss a beat. He linked an arm around her waist and thrust her through the mass of protesters, using his bulk as a shield and his incredible strength to barrage his way through.

She let him half-guide, half-carry her to the opposite side. She felt battered and bruised, and more than a little disoriented by the time they got to the relative safety of a mosque entrance, set back from the square.

“You’re okay now.”

His words were dim, unclear. Everything was muted, like she was watching the television on a very low volume.

“Hannah, look at me?”

She raised her head.

“Breathe.”

Only then did she realize she’d been holding it. A man brushed past, and she staggered. She put a hand on Tom’s chest to steady herself and could feel his heart beating underneath her palm. Steady, solid, reassuring, not going like a jackhammer like hers.

“We’ll wait here until you get your breath back.”

She dropped her forehead to his shoulder, waiting for the ringing to subside. “That gun discharged right in my ear.”

“It takes a while.” His arms came around her, not stiff or awkward, but protective, while he kept a lookout for Hakeem’s men.

Without thinking, she pressed closer. Her cheek grazed his collarbone. She breathed in the scent of him—sweat,gunpowder, and something masculine. She wasn’t thinking. Just needing. Anchoring herself in the feel of him.

Tom went very still.

Then, slowly, he pulled her in tighter. His breath caught, and she was suddenly aware she was flush against him, enveloped by his arms. When she dared glance up, the way he was looking at her stole the air from her lungs. It was raw, intense, wanting.

It made her melt. It made her weak with longing. For a moment, she almost forgot the chaos around them.

A shot cracked in the distance.

He jerked away, his eyes scanning the crowd. A man had climbed up on a statue and was shouting slogans at the crowd. They yelled back in unison. Protesters poured in from all directions. Another shop window shattered. The crowd surged again.

“It’s turning,” Tom muttered. “Time to go.”

They cut through the back alleys, weaving their way through the city. How he knew where they were going, she had no idea. She’d never been in this area before. They finally emerged beside a dingy sidewalk café that looked out toward Highway 80—the main artery south.

“The base is ten miles that way,” Tom said, watching the road from beneath the grimy awning. “We’ll try to catch a ride.”

“From here?” she asked, watching cars barrel through the intersection, their tires screaming on the cracked pavement.

“No. We’ll cross over, head for the shoulder, and wait it out by a rest stop. That’s the safest bet.”

Other civilians had the same idea. Whole families were on the move, dragging suitcases and clutching children. Everyone wanted to leave the city before the violence began.

Hannah’s heart ached watching them. She wanted to tell them it would be okay, that she had a plan, that the world wasn’t going to end here in the dust and heat. But what if shewas wrong? What if they couldn’t get out in time or if she was captured? What then?

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