He shook his head slightly, as if he wanted to clear away those vulnerable emotions. But he couldn’t seem to do it because he lifted his arms and cupped her cheeks, his big hands as gentle as a butterfly’s wings, those cold blue eyes tender and troubled. He slanted his head and did what she hadn’t let him do last night. He kissed her. At first the softest touch, then something deeper, a hungry joining with her face protectively nested in his palms.

His mouth moved over hers as if he could never get enough. And then he let her go without warning, turned away before she could stop him. He straddled the bike and kicked the engine into life. A moment later, he was gone, roaring out of her world on a beat-up Yamaha Warrior plastered with bumper stickers that no longer fit the man she’d thought she’d known.

She stood on the sidewalk, her heart in her throat, her backpack at her feet, long after he’d disappeared. Car rental shuttle buses passed. Taxis pulled up. Eventually she gazed down at the envelope he’d handed her. She slipped her finger under the flap, opened it, and took out its contents.

Her driver’s license. Her credit cards. And directions to the security office inside, where someone would be waiting to handle her trip back to D.C.

The evidence of her parents’ wonderful, suffocating love stared back at her. She’d known they could find her if they wanted to. Now she understood why they hadn’t. Because they’d known from the beginning exactly where she was. Because they’d hired a bodyguard.

Two weeks, Lucy.

She should have realized they’d do this. Over the years there’d been a few incidents where people had gotten too aggressive around her … A couple of wacko letters … Once she’d been knocked over—nothing serious, but enough to put them on edge. After she’d lost her Secret Service detail, they’d ignored her objections and hired private security for big events where they felt she’d be too exposed. Did she really think they’d allow her to go unprotected through a highly publicized wedding? Panda had been on her parents’ payroll from the beginning. A short-term contract they’d extended to two weeks after she’d run off. Two weeks. Enough time for the worst of the publicity to fade and for their anxiety about her physical well-being to ease. Two weeks. And the time was up.

She gathered her pack, pulled on her ball cap and sunglasses, and made her way into the terminal. Let her have the freedom she needs, she imagined them telling him. But keep her safe.