The black SUV moved through the back gates of the complex without using sirens. Dimitri sat between two agents in the rear seat, his wrists bare, his eyes fixed on the tinted glass. He didn't look out at the city streets.
His right hand moved slowly, his thumb rubbing against the palm of his left hand—the exact spot where Hanalei's fingers had locked into his.
I love him. The words didn't belong in his world. They belonged in normal families, in normal houses, not spoken as a declaration of war against a man who could command armies. He let out a short, nearly silent breath through his nose. She had looked at her father and destroyed her own safety just so she wouldn't have to let go of him.
"Plane is fueled," the agent on his right said into his lapel mic. "Direct flight to Frankfurt. Customs has already cleared the entry red-flag."
Dimitri didn't look at him. He just kept his thumb pressed against his palm, holding onto the last physical thing she had given him.
