Page 56 of Sweet Betrayal

She was not cut out for this. Jumping between rooftops was something out of a Bond film, not real life.

“Ready?”

Shouts rang out. Their pursuers were already on the move.

She barely nodded.

“You go first. I’ll cover you.”

She peeked at the next gap. It was wider than the first—at least a meter and a half.

She kept her head down and ran. A yell went up behind her. She braced for gunfire. It came, but not from behind. Tom’s rifle barked a warning as she launched herself through the air.

She landed and rolled, just like she’d seen him do. It helped, winding her less.

Before she’d caught her breath, Tom landed beside her.

“Get under cover!” he yelled as bullets rained down on them. They scrambled behind another concrete structure just in time.

A soldier leaped across the gap, and she screamed.

Tom spun out from their hiding place and, with a powerful kick to the torso, caused the man to stumble backward over the edge. His partner halted, raising his weapon, but before he had time to fire, Tom shot him in the head.

Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, turning away.

“Them or us,” Tom said matter-of-factly. “Let’s push on. We don’t know how many others are coming. Once we get into the rebel-controlled suburbs, we’ll be okay. They won’t follow us there.”

Hannah stayed close to his side. She didn’t have a clue which suburbs were controlled by the rebels. How the hell did he? They skirted the long, flat roof that appeared to be the top of an old apartment block. There was no fire escape, which would have made life easier, but at the far end, she spotted an open window.

Tom had seen it too.

“This way.” He forced it open as wide as it could go.

She peered inside. “This is someone’s home,” she hissed, but Tom had already hopped over the windowsill and was scouting about inside.

With a quick look around, she followed suit.

They were in a bedroom—and a messy one, at that. The bed was unmade, and clothing was strewn all over the floor. Gingerly, they picked their way through the clutter toward the door.

So far, so good.

They heard the television from another room, so presumably someone was home. Hannah held her breath, praying they wouldn’t suddenly make an appearance.

A dank, musty passageway led from the bedroom toward the front door. Treading lightly, they inched past the entrance to what she assumed was the living room. The door was slightly ajar, offering a partial view of the TV, but nothing else. Hopefully that meant the occupant couldn’t see them, either.

Then they heard a clunk, like someone had set a mug down on a tabletop. Tom held up a hand. She froze, waiting for a creak or a groan—anything to indicate the person was getting up.

Nothing happened. They hadn’t moved. She exhaled. After a few more seconds, just to be sure, he motioned for them to continue.

On the right was a small kitchen, even messier than the bedroom. She turned up her nose at the smell as they passed by. Tom slid open the old-style bolt that served to lock the frontdoor. It grated slightly but not loud enough to rise above the noise from the living room.

Slowly, he eased open the door, and they slipped out into a communal stairwell.

CHAPTER 22

Tom had committed the address of Jamal’s contact to memory and managed to locate it without much trouble. There was a sense of urgency on the streets, with people going about their business quickly and silently, not stopping to chat or socialize. No one wanted to spend too much time out in the open.

Shops were boarded up, and residents had nailed anything they could find over their windows to protect them when the shelling began. This was a town on the brink of war. It felt as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for Hakeem’s armed forces to attack.

---