FK's Terminal 4. She had abandoned the highway, scrambled over a perimeter fence, and hitched a ride on

r chin in the rough fabric. She jammed a black baseball cap

welcome shield, a cacophony of rolling suitcases, garbled announcements, and

rd the signs for the shuttle to the private aviation hangars. She had to keep them busy, ke

main entrance made her h

re pushing their way through the crow

ing shield as she drifted toward the center of the terminal. The men scanned

she s

lanx of bodyguards, an aura of cold fury radiating from him. His

e feet. The pressure was immense. Every second they watched her was a second they forgot the car approaching

he tour group. She deliberately veered into th

sh of metal and plastic, sending suitcas

it momentarily silenced the terminal. An

chaos, through the dozens of startled faces, and locked onto

es nar

he started moving toward her,

wor

e hangars, but in the opposite direction, tow

desperate, panicked rhythm. The sound of his heavy fo

f retractable belts and uniformed agents, when a

, spinning her around. The baseball cap f

e was

scade of dark, disheveled hair, was il

at. The face he had seen in his dreams, in his nightma

er arm, the veins on hi

m his lungs, a mixture of fury and a p

re was no joy in this reunion, no flicker of warmth. Her eyes w

, though her heart was pounding against her ribs l

coming up to grip her other arm. They were inches apart

voice a low growl. "And who is the ha

tiny, imperceptible wave of reli

k, a bitter, mocking l

Clements, terrified of a ghost in his machine

rk, flashed with a dangerous fire. He tightene

sed, his face a mask of rage. "I

d smile playing on her lips. "I'm right h