Page 75 of Sweet Betrayal

“What–?” He’d seen the weapon. His hand flew to his holster.

Hannah bent down and grabbed her gun. She leveled it at him. “Don’t.”

He studied her warily. “Where did you get the gun?”

“I found it. This is a warzone.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I’m from al-Mahilyah, I told you. All I want is it to go back to my family.”

“You are lying,” he spat. His hand hovered over his own weapon.

It had been worth a shot.

“Touch it and you’re dead,” she warned, surprising herself by her resolve. Perhaps she could pull the trigger if she had to. If it was him or her.

His gaze flickered over her and ended up on the gun. “I don’t think you will shoot me,” he said.

She stiffened her back. “Don’t tempt me.”

He reached for his gun.

She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She tried again.

There was nothing but a dull click.

“Wha–?”

Before she had time to register what was happening, he’d grabbed her wrist and twisted the gun out of her hand. She yelped as he held her hand behind her back.

“You forgot the safety.”

She nearly wept. Idiot, she berated herself. Tom had warned her about the safety.

He grabbed her headscarf and pulled her head back. “You’re not from here. Your skin is too pale.”

Hannah remained silent. Now she was busted, it was better not to say a word. Thankfully, he hadn’t spotted her bag with her passport in, under the crate.

Where were Tom and Jamal? Now would be a very good time for them to come back.

She glanced at the door, willing him to walk through, but he didn’t.

The soldier pulled her out of the building and into the baking sunshine. He glanced at her face again, then nodded, as if the bright light only served to confirm what he already knew. She wasn’t local.

“Help!” she screamed, trying to draw attention to herself.

Perhaps Tom and Jamal would hear and come running. The soldier twisted her arm behind her, making her eyes water.

“Shut up or I’ll break it,” he warned.

She nodded, in too much pain to speak. No one was coming to her rescue. This time Tom wouldn’t be able to save her.

She was half marched, half dragged down the busy road. Army vehicles rattled past, men walked with purpose, commanders shouted. The rebels were fighting a losing battle against this lot.

She was taken to the rear of the encampment where some large tents had been erected. It was quieter here, less frenetic, but still tense. The army was fighting for control overthe rebel-held town, and every soldier wore an expression of determination as they went about their business.

He pushed her into one of the tents. It was surprisingly spacious with a wooden table in the center, covered with maps and rulers. Someone’s makeshift study.

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