Page 36 of Sweet Betrayal

At the sight of the bills, the wife nudged her husband eagerly. Reluctantly, the driver signaled for them to get in. He shook his head at the rifle, though. He didn’t want to be caught harboring rebels.

Hannah couldn’t blame him, but she also knew there was no way Tom was going to leave his weapon behind. He was joined at the hip to that thing. Besides, he was carrying another handgun and at least two knives as well.

Hannah couldn’t blame him, but she also knew there was no way Tom was leaving that weapon behind. He was joined at the hip to it. Besides, he had another handgun—and at least two knives.

“Get in.” Tom opened the back door for her. Two faces stared up—an older woman in a burka and a young girl of aboutfourteen, in jeans and a pink sequined T-shirt. Despite the age gap, the resemblance was unmistakable.

Hannah smiled, trying to reassure them, but it didn’t help. They continued to stare.

Then Tom did something strange. He dropped onto his back and rolled under the car. A metallic clunk followed. She guessed he was securing his weapons to the undercarriage. Ten seconds later, he was back on his feet, dusting himself off as if nothing had happened.

The driver, tight lipped, said nothing. He didn’t want the weapon in the car, but not as much as he didn’t want the hundred dollars.

His wife climbed into the back beside Hannah, and Tom took the front passenger seat. It would have looked odd with him riding in the back with the women, and right now it was essential to look like a normal, extended family.

Tom nodded to the driver, who eased into the slow-moving traffic. The roadblock loomed less than a mile ahead.

Hannah took some deep breaths, fighting against the rising panic. Would they make it through? Or would they recognize her and drag her out onto the street?

Her stomach lurched at the thought. She’d be handed over to Abdul Anwar and then God only knew what they’d do to her?

She gripped her hands tightly in her lap and stared at the back of Tom’s neck. He was tense too—she could tell by the way the muscles stood out. He was trained for this. She wasn’t.

To keep from spiraling, she dug her nails into her palms.

Five cars ahead. The businessmen in the Mercedes were right in front of them. A pickup behind that, loaded with men sitting on planks of wood, dressed like construction workers.

“Tell him to overtake this car,” Tom said.

Hannah relayed the instruction. The driver frowned, confused, but complied. He slid into the outside lane, pullingback into traffic behind the pickup. He waved apologetically to the Mercedes driver, who honked in irritation.

“Why did you do that?” Hannah leaned forward, murmuring. “Are you trying to attract attention?”

“I’ve got a feeling about those guys,” he whispered, nodding toward the vehicle ahead. “They could be a diversion.”

Hannah studied the pickup’s occupants. They looked like ordinary workers to her.

Three cars away.

She focused on breathing. In for four, out for four. Don’t panic.

Two cars. . .

Checkpoint officers waved the pickup over. The men climbed out and lined up on the side of the road. Their driver argued, pointing at the planks and then his watch.

One soldier kept a weapon on him while the other inspected the workers. He walked down the line, studying each face. Suddenly, the second-to-last man bolted. He dashed into open terrain, zigzagging through the dust.

He didn’t get far.

The soldier guarding the driver raised his rifle and fired.

The woman next to Hannah cried out, clutching her husband’s shoulder.

The runner fell, unmoving.

“They shot him,” Hannah gasped, blinking in shock. They’d just killed a man in cold blood at a security checkpoint. They hadn’t even questioned him first.

Tom didn’t say anything, his gaze was fixed on the guards.

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