Page 42 of Sweet Betrayal

“No.”

CHAPTER 15

The airplane accelerated down the runway, its powerful engines roaring as it gained speed. The nose lifted, and the jet soared into the cobalt sky, climbing higher with every second.

Hannah watched it go, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. “If only that was a U.N. plane,” she whispered.

“They must’ve pulled out because of the fighting,” Tom replied.

“I thought that’s what they were here for,” she snapped, exhaustion making her tetchy. “To keep the peace.”

“They’re here to observe, not fight,” he said. “They’re not a military force.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not doing us any good now.” She blew out a breath and slumped her shoulders. They were stranded.

“They must’ve left last night.” He scanned the base. “There’s no sign of a hostile takeover.”

One day. They’d missed their chance by just one day.

“I can’t believe it.” She dropped her head into her hands. “We came all this way. Now what are we supposed to do?”

He didn’t answer.

She knew he’d tried. He’d gotten them this far. But now the Symanian Army held the base. If they set foot on it, they’d be arrested—or worse.

“First, we need to find shelter.” He glanced up at the darkening sky. The wind whipped her hair about her face. It was getting stronger.

The sandstorm. How could she have forgotten?

“How much time do we have?” she asked. She remembered the newspaper article—three o’clock.

He checked his watch. “Less than an hour.”

Crap.

They returned to the outbuildings for cover. Tom dragged the second dead soldier into the hut with the first. Hannah didn’t look at either of them.

“Come in here.” He ducked into the empty structure and spread his map across the concrete floor.

“This is us.” He pointed to a speck southeast of Syman City. “There are ruins about a mile and a half east. If we get there before the storm hits, we can hunker down.”

She glanced at the huts. “Why can’t we just stay here?”

“They’ll come looking when the guard doesn’t report in,” he said, nodding toward the body. “We’re exposed. We need to move.”

“Okay.” Weariness crept in. She wasn’t sure how much farther she could go.

“It’ll be okay.” He gripped her shoulders, steady and firm. “I’ve got a plan. But first, we reach those ruins.”

“What plan? This was the plan!” She gestured toward the base, a flicker of hysteria in her voice. “Unless you’ve got another airstrip up your sleeve?”

“Hannah, there’s no time for this.” He grabbed her hand and met her gaze. “You said you trusted me. Then trust me now. I’ll get us out. I promise. But we’ve got to move.”

She stared at him. He couldn’t guarantee that promise. But she nodded anyway.

She slung her bag over her shoulder. The fence rattled in the growing wind. Heading into a sandstorm was madness—but it beat standing still and waiting to die.

“Okay, let’s go.”

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