HANS: Alliance Series Book Four

Suzanne is wailing loudly in her seat across from me.

I should probably try to comfort her or Bob—who is rocking and crying in the seat ahead of me. But I can’t look away from the man driving our bus.

His head and face are still covered with the ski mask, but the more I stare at him, the more I try to catch another glimpse of his eyes in the oversized rearview mirror, and the more I’m convinced that the man who just killed several people is Hans.

I swallow.

But how would that even be possible?

Okay, so I’ve felt his muscles. I’ve sensed that edge of danger that surrounds him. Maybe I can believe the how.

But why?

Why would he be here? In Mexico. Specifically in the exact location as me.

The bus rocks around a turn, and a car horn blares, but the man behind the wheel never loses control. He just keeps driving.

I can’t wait anymore.

I need to know.

And I need to… move.

I feel too hot.

Too… flustered.

Too—

Oh god, am I turned on right now?

I start to stand, intending to just walk right up to the front, but the bus swerves, making me sway hard enough that I sit back down.

When I look up, I swear I can see the man under the mask glaring at me through the mirror.

I narrow my eyes, trying to make out the color again. But I’m too far away.

We make another turn, but this time, it’s wide, and we’re driving the wrong way down the street.

A few people let out screams, and I’m tempted to roll my eyes at them. Clearly this man is a good guy—or at least good in the sense that he just saved us. Even if he did do it by killing a bunch of people. He’s not kidnapping us from the kidnappers; he’s rescuing us.

Two of the wheels bump up onto the curb, and then we’re screeching to a stop in front of a large building surrounded by a large fence—I look out my window—with a large American flag flying in the courtyard between the gate and building.

The moment the bus comes to a complete stop, the man behind the wheel rises. “Get inside the fence.” He’s talking to the VP sitting in the front seat. “Tell them who you are.”

When my colleague doesn’t answer, the man in the ski mask leans toward him and shouts, “Now!”

When the VP nods, the man in the mask strides down the aisle.

“Get inside,” he commands the rest of us.

His voice is deep. Filled with intention.

It’s not exactly the same as the one that has whispered against my ear, but…

The man doesn’t stop when he passes me. Doesn’t even look at me. Just rushes past, kicks open the rear door, and jumps out.

There’s more shouting, only this time it’s coming from outside. From the armed American soldiers rushing toward the gate we’re parked in front of, and I realize that the man parked this way to get us as close as possible. To get us inside the US Consulate quickly, where it’s safe.

I push to my feet.

Everyone is moving now, staggering to the front of the bus, exiting with their hands up and running toward the gate.

But as soon as Suzanne gets up, I slide across the aisle and climb over her seat.

I press my face to her window. I need to see.

There’s too much street traffic. Too many cars and people.

I can’t…

Then I see him.

Dressed all in black, with his back to me, across the four-lane road, is a man heading into a narrow alley.

With my heart thundering behind my ribs and my blood pulsing between my legs, I watch him reach up and pull the ski mask from his head.

And I watch familiar long hair tumble free.