Chapter 10
H annah bent over the basin, her breath shallow as Tom’s fingers threaded through her hair. The dye was cool against her scalp, but his touch burned. He worked with a quiet intensity, careful, deliberate. Surprisingly gentle for someone trained to break things.
His presence filled the small room. She couldn’t help but notice how his combat pants hung low on his hips, or how the gray tank clung to the cut of his shoulders.
Above her, his arms flexed with each motion, the play of muscle distracting as hell in her peripheral vision. The space was too small for both of them, too intimate. Every time he moved, she felt the warmth radiating from his chest, his breath stirring the fine hairs along her neck.
She tried not to look. Tried not to think about how those hands had snapped a man’s arm not twenty-four hours ago. Yet now they were massaging dye into her roots like she was made of glass.
“You’re good at this,” she said, trying to sound normal.
“Three sisters,” he muttered. “Learned a thing or two.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. She wasn’t used to this version of him—quiet, focused, almost tender. Not the lethal Marine who’d dropped a man with a single move. This was different. Softer. Dangerous in a whole other way.
He shifted closer to reach the front of her head, and she inhaled sharply as his hips brushed her butt. For a split second, her knees threatened to give out.
Her heart pounded, blood warming. Had he felt the jolt too?
If he had, he didn’t react.
“I think I can finish up now,” she whispered hoarsely, needing space before she did something stupid. Like lean back into him.
He hesitated, his hands still cradling her scalp.
Then he stepped back, breaking contact.
He held up his hands and she moved aside so he could rinse them, her arm brushing his. Every bristled hair felt like a static shock.
Neither of them said anything as he turned on the faucet.
The air between them tightened.
She focused on the mirror, not daring to look up. He was too close. She could feel the heat coming off his body, smell the faint mix of soap and sweat that clung to his skin. He finished washing his hands, water splashing quietly, but made no move to leave.
She felt him looking at her.
The silence stretched.
Her skin prickled.
He straightened, drying his hands with a slow, deliberate motion, like he was buying time.
“I’ll let you finish,” he said finally, his voice low—rougher than before. Thicker.
She nodded without meeting his eyes.
He lingered a beat longer. Like he might say something else. Like maybe he didn’t want to go. But then he turned and stepped out, his broad frame brushing hers once more as he edged around her and disappeared into the hallway.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Hannah stood there, heart thudding, hair dye forgotten. Her scalp tingled, but it wasn’t the chemicals—it was him.
And she knew, with a certainty that made her breath catch, that something was building between them.
Hannah stepped out of the bathroom, a towel draped around her shoulders. Her freshly dyed hair was darker, almost black, and curled around her face. It was startlingly different, and would take some getting used to, but she liked it.
Tom sat at the table, elbows braced wide, eyes locked on his phone.
He wore the same desert camouflage pants from earlier, and the tight olive-green tank did nothing to hide the defined tension in his ripped shoulders.
A map was spread across the table in front of him, its creases worn and corners soft.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
He didn’t look up right away. “Cell service is down.”
She stepped closer. “The whole network?”
“Yeah. Either the regime shut it down on purpose to control comms, or the rebels blew the towers. Either way, we’re dark.”
“Is that going to be a problem for us?”
Tom let out a slow breath, jaw tightening. “It could be. No backup. No way to reach out if things go sideways.”
“I thought we were on our own anyway.”
“Not entirely,” he said, looking up. “If the shit hits the fan, I know some people I can call.”
His eyes caught on her hair—and stayed. His gaze flicked over her, and she felt the warmth rise beneath her skin.
“Damn. That worked,” he murmured. “You look… different.”
She gave him a half-smile. “That was the idea.”
“No, I mean it. You could pass for a local.” His voice had gone lower, rougher.
Her hand drifted up to toy with a dark tendril near her cheek. She wasn’t used to being looked at that way—like she was something rare, something worth staring at. It caught her off guard.
Tom glanced away first, but not before she saw the flicker in his eyes. He busied himself with the map again, fingers tracing lines and routes across the country.
But something had changed.
It had started hours ago, back at the embassy, when he’d pulled her against him like she was the most important thing he’d ever protected. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, hadn’t dared give the feeling a name—but it had been growing ever since.
Her gaze dropped to his hands, so strong and capable. She could still feel them in her hair.
She shook it off. Time to focus. Her eyes dropped to the map. Syman City sat in the north, with Hamabad far to the south. Towns dotted the interior—some sizable, others no more than specks. All of it surrounded by the deep blue sweep of ocean.
“How bad is it?” she asked, meaning the situation out there.
He leaned over the map, one arm bracing the edge.
“There’s a UN Air Force base five clicks west of the city.
If we can make it there, they might have a flight heading out, maybe moving troops, diplomats, or whoever else they can evacuate before the border shuts down. If we’re lucky, we can hitch a ride.”
Her pulse leaped. “That’s our best shot?”
“It’s our only shot.” His eyes met hers. “But we can’t move tonight.”
“Why not?”
“There’s probably a dusk-to-dawn curfew. The whole city will go into a military lockdown. They’ll be sweeping the streets, arresting anyone who doesn’t belong.”
She looked out of the window. The sky outside had deepened to navy, stars beginning to scatter above the dusty skyline. Somewhere, far off, a pop echoed—distant but ominous.
“What if we wait too long? Won’t it be harder to leave?”
“It will. That’s why we’ll go at first light, when people are on the move. Factory workers, commuters, delivery trucks… we can blend into the noise and chaos.”
Her chest tightened. “So, we just have to wait until then?”
“We can eat something, then rest up. We move at dawn.”
His eyes were back on the map, but he wasn’t focused. His hand had stilled.
“I appreciate everything you’re doing for me,” she said quietly.
He looked up, slow and deliberate. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do. I don’t know what I would have done if it wasn’t for you.”
He didn’t reply.
She moved closer to the table, close enough to see the flecks of green in his otherwise dark eyes.
He stood abruptly, scraping the chair on the floor. “We should get some food in you. You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”
They talked over dinner, finalizing the plan for the morning.
“We’ll need to move at first light,” Tom said, biting into a piece of flatbread stuffed with seasoned lamb, roasted vegetables, and a swipe of tahini. It wasn’t much, but it was warm, fragrant, and exactly what she needed. After the day they’d had, it might as well have been a feast.
“Prince Hakeem’s men will have eyes everywhere.
So we keep our heads down, stay alert, and move fast,” he added, tracing a route across the map with one blunt fingertip.
“If we head southwest, we can intercept this arterial road out of town. From there, we follow it until we’re within a few miles of the U.N. airbase.”
She frowned, chewing slowly. “Won’t they be watching the roads?”
“Yeah, but they’ll be looking for a blonde American moving solo. Not a local couple.” He paused and gave her a look that warmed her cheeks. “You can wear your souk outfit and scarf, plus you speak the lingo. It is still risky, but there isn’t time to go cross country.”
Her appetite dulled as the weight of the plan pressed in. “How long did your CO give us?”
“Three days. Tops.”
Her heart stuttered. “That’s… not a lot of time.”
“No, it’s not.”
He looked at her again, his expression thoughtful. The soldier in him wanted the intel now. She could tell by his calculated gaze.
Part of her wanted to hand it over.
“You know, you could give me the safe house locations now. That way we could send in a strike force to capture Hakeem. We’d cut off the head of the snake. We could end this now.”
She wanted to, she really did, but once she told him what she knew, she was expendable. The rebels were a real threat. If they took her, he wouldn’t hesitate to terminate her. He’d be duty-bound, and duty came first. It always did with men like him.
If she still held the information, he might try to rescue her instead.
Might .
“What are you going to wear tomorrow?” she asked instead, pushing the conversation in another direction.
Tom didn’t fight it. He let the subject drop, for now. “Not this.” He glanced down at his fatigues. “I’ll pass for a rebel sympathizer headed to Al Teham. It’s crawling with freedom fighters. They’re all toting guns and rifles, so I won’t stand out.”
“Al Teham?”
“It’s a village outside of Syman City. That’s where the rebels are regrouping under their leader, Abu-al-Rashid. From there, they’ll attack the head of Hakeem’s organization.”
“The Royal Compound?” she whispered.
“Yeah. The seat of power.”
“I know people there. Cooks, admin staff, security personnel. They’re civilians. They don’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s war, Hannah. No part of it is fair.”
“But there has to be something we can do. Warn them somehow?—”
He cut her off gently. “There’s not. Best thing we can do is stop this before it escalates. And for that, we need you.”
There was a beat of silence. She watched the muscles in his forearm tighten as he rolled the map back up. To think she could save all those people, if she handed over the intel now.
A lump formed in her throat. Soon, she’d give it to him soon, once she was safely on a plane out of here.
“Why did you take the job with Prince Hakeem?” he asked, when the silence stretched on.
“It seemed exciting at the time.” If only she’d known. . . “I want to go into public relations, and this seemed like a great opportunity. It would look good on my resume. Plus, the salary package was excellent.”
“How long were you there?”
“Six months.” She laughed without humor. “Doubt I’ll ever see that last paycheck.”
He gave her a small smile. “You’re alive. That’s more than a lot of people will be able to say when this ends.”
That sobered her. He had to go there. Didn’t he know this was destroying her?
“And the language?”
“My grandmother. I was very close to her and my grandfather. Spent a lot of time with them growing up.”
“What about your folks? Were they around?”
“My mother died when I was in high school and I don’t get on with my father.” They hadn’t spoken in almost a year, ever since she’d told him she was taking this job.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shook her head. Frustration, guilty, exhaustion, they were all making her snappy. “I think I should turn in.”
“Yeah, we both should. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“You sure? I don’t mind the?—”
He got to his feet. “I’m sure.”
Hannah followed him down the short corridor to the bedroom. He opened the door and switched on the light. “It’s not much, but it’ll do.”
She walked inside and immediately felt a weird sense of intimacy. The bed was a single, unmade, the covers thrown hastily over the mattress. The stand beside it contained a lamp, a half-drunk glass of water, and a pencil. Beneath the bed, she could see a set of free weights.
“I’ll get you some clean bedding.”
“Please, don’t worry on my account. I’m so tired I’ll be out like a light, and it’s too warm to get under the covers anyway.”
He hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. We’re leaving tomorrow and not coming back. Changing the sheets is pointless. I’ll sleep on top.”
Giving her an awkward nod, he went to the closet and took out a couple of items of clothing. “So I don’t wake you rummaging around.”
She watched him, suddenly struck by the intimacy of the moment. His things. His space. Her heart tugged in her chest.
“Thanks, Tom. For everything.”
He paused in the doorway. “It’s not your fault, Hannah. Don’t blame yourself.”
He was wrong there.
She looked down. “If I hadn’t gone to the embassy… maybe none of this would’ve happened. We wouldn’t be in danger, and you wouldn’t be stuck babysitting me.”
He didn’t answer at first. Then, surprising her, he said, “If you hadn’t shown up, I’d still be rotting in a guard hut wondering if I’d ever do something that mattered again. This? You? It matters.”
Her breath caught. “It does?”
“If it means stopping this war, then yeah. Definitely.”
She swallowed hard, her gaze locking with his. For a moment, the air between them thickened, charged with everything they hadn’t said.
Then he stepped back. “Good night, Hannah.”
“Good night, Tom.”