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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.”
CHAPTER 7