Chapter 6
F ear clamped around her chest like a steel trap.
Not again.
She’d only just begun to feel safe. There was something grounding about Tom. It wasn’t just that he was tough, which he definitely was. She’d seen firsthand that he could fight. He’d killed that operative within five minutes, if that. And the brute had been a soldier in the State Security force.
It was more than that. It was the way he carried himself, so calm and assured, the kind of confidence that came from years of elite training. He was a U.S. Marine, and when she was with him, she felt protected.
But now…
Shouting erupted from somewhere beyond the embassy walls, followed by another crash. She cringed.
Holy crap! Were they under attack? Was this the angry swell of a street mob?
Or was this them? Had they come for her?
Prince Hakeem wouldn’t dare strike the U.S. Embassy. Would he? This was American soil. It would be seen as an act of war.
Her heart hammered in her chest while she waited, her eyes locked on the door.
Deep down, she knew.
They’d figured it out. The blood on the road, the missing body, the gunshot. She and one of their own had vanished outside the backdoor to the U.S. Embassy. It wasn’t exactly a mystery.
The door swung open and Tom strode in, face set like stone. “We have to leave. Now.”
“It’s them, isn’t it?” She got to her feet.
When he didn’t answer right away, she stepped closer. “They know I’m here. Don’t they?”
“Looks like it,” he said grimly. “Whoever took out that window had firepower. Now, there’s a column of armored vehicles outside the gate and they’re gearing up to breach.”
“Oh, God.” Her blood ran cold. “What are we going to do?”
He grabbed her hand. “Follow me.”
Tom led her quickly down the corridor, his hand warm and firm. They moved quickly, urgently, passing framed photos and empty desks. Finally, they marched through a pair of double doors.
“This is the ambassador’s suite,” he said, nodding to the dark wood desk.
It looked exactly like how she’d imagined. Polished furniture, a heavy Persian rug beneath their feet, subtle lighting overhead. The glass doors at the back opened onto a private patio with a clear view of the embassy grounds. The space reeked of power, precision, and old money.
Tom didn’t slow. Releasing her hand, he went straight to a built-in cabinet, threw it open, and reached for a set of keys.
A shrill whistling tore through the air.
Hannah turned to him in alarm. “What’s that?—?”
“Down!”
Before she knew what was happening, he yanked her to the floor. She barely had time to gasp before his body came down over hers, shielding her against the impact.
The explosion hit like a freight train.
The walls rocked, glass shattered, and something heavy crashed in the corner of the room. Splinters rained down like needles. She flinched, feeling glass slice across her forearms.
But Tom—He took the worst of it.
He shielded her completely, pressing her down, arms locked around her head, his body a wall of heat and steel over hers. She could feel every breath he took, every muscle tensing in defense.
Her scream ripped through the air.
Another blast cracked somewhere nearby. The room groaned under the pressure. The plaster above them split with a sickening sound. For one terrifying second, she thought the whole building might come crashing down on top of them.
“Tom?” she whispered, her voice shaking.
He didn’t move right away. She could feel the heat of his breath brushing her cheek—steady and controlled, even after the blast.
Then slowly, he lifted his head. His voice was a low rumble in her ear. “Still with me?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She tried to move but found she couldn’t. Tom was still on top of her, his body glued to hers. Her heart thudded like it might punch through her ribs.
Tom shifted his weight and rolled off her. Slowly, carefully, she sat up. Her arms and legs responded, and she didn’t feel any sharp pain. No blood that she could see.
His eyes scanned her, quick and efficient, checking for signs of injury. They lingered on her bare feet, but then he blinked and glanced away again.
“Was that a bomb?” she asked, looking around them. “I thought the whole building was going to collapse on us.” The office reeked of smoke and the air was heavy with dust. She glanced up and exhaled in relief when she saw the ceiling hadn’t caved in.
“No. Just a grenade.” He stood and brushed the dust from his fatigues.
“ Just a grenade?” she repeated, staring at him. “Seriously?”
He gave a humorless grin. “Rocket-propelled. It hit the west wing. We got lucky. Structural damage will be contained to a few rooms.” He extended a hand. “Come on. We don’t have a lot of time.”
She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. Part of her wanted to cling to him, to stay tethered to that strength for just a second longer, but she forced herself to let go. She couldn’t fall apart now.
The entire situation felt surreal. This morning, she’d gone to work like any other day, completely unaware of the political storm brewing outside the palace gates. And now, just hours later, she’d committed treason, was on the run from State Security, and had freaking grenades lobbed at her.
Tom approached the shattered patio doors then kicked away what remained of the glass.
“Hakeem and Abdul Anwar must really want that document back,” he said as he cleared the frame. “There’ll be a massive fallout for this. You don’t fire an RPG at an American Embassy and expect no consequences. It’s a straight-up act of war.”
“He knows I read it,” she said quietly, her voice wavering. “But I never thought he’d go this far.”
Tom turned and studied her. “Now I know what’s at stake, I don’t think there’s any lengths to which they won’t go in order to get it back.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and gazed at him. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”
She couldn’t outrun the State Security force. They were insane to even think they stood a chance.
“They won’t get to you,” Tom said without hesitation. “Not on my watch.” Then, without asking, he bent and scooped her up into his arms.
She gasped as her feet left the ground, arms instinctively looping around his shoulders.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, stepping over broken glass and twisted metal. He cradled her easily, like she weighed next to nothing. His grip was solid, confident, and the heat of his chest against hers made her breath catch.
If only she could stay like this, cradled in his arms. Protected.
But once they were clear of the debris, he set her down on a patch of grass. Her feet were already torn up from the gravel, so more cuts would’ve been unbearable.
“Thank you,” she murmured, touched.
“Can’t have you slowing us down.”
So much for chivalry.
Tom scanned the garden. “We’ll get somewhere safe, make some calls, and figure out our next steps.”
“Sounds good.” She raked a hand through her hair and dislodged a cloud of dust, along with a few stray shards of glass and other debris. Then she stilled.
“Crap. I left my headscarf behind. It’s the only thing I have to cover my hair.”
“Forget it. We’ll get you another one.” His tone was clipped but not unkind. “Time’s ticking.”
He led her quickly along the outer wall of the embassy compound. They passed manicured flowerbeds and a kidney-shaped koi pond, its orange-and-white fish gliding aimlessly beneath the surface without a care in the world.
She almost envied them.
Tom moved like a soldier on mission. Shoulders squared, eyes scanning, body braced for the next threat. He had his rifle back in his hands, barrel low but ready. The dead operative’s handgun was tucked into the back of his fatigues, and God only knew where he’d hidden the knife.
“Here.”
He stopped near a thick tangle of creeping plants along the back wall. Pushing the greenery aside, he revealed a narrow concrete stairwell.
She peered down to where the steps disappeared into darkness.
“What’s down there?”
Tom glanced back at her, jaw tight. “The way out.”