Before I can say more, Hans shoves his door open and climbs out.
And just like that, all my earlier travel stress flares back to life. But rather than begging Hans to take me back home, I follow him out of the truck.
He’s already got my suitcase on the sidewalk next to him, and he’s holding my backpack out for me to put on like a jacket.
I slip one arm through the first strap, then the other, before turning back to face Hans again.
He moves his hands to my shoulders, adjusting the backpack.
“I get back Friday afternoon, but my dad is planning to pick me up.”
Hans nods, adjusting the straps again.
“Thank you for driving me this morning.” I wet my lips. “I really—”
Hans slips his fingers under the straps and yanks me forward, my chest bumping into his. “Be careful, Cassandra.”
“Wh-what?”
He pulls me tighter against him, even though we’re already touching. “Be fucking smart. Stay with your group. Don’t go anywhere alone.” He leans down, his face inches from mine. “Promise me, Butterfly.”
An overwhelming sense of comfort fills me, his concern acting as a balm for all my worries. “I promise, Grizzly Bear.”
He narrows his eyes. “Such a brat.”
Then his mouth is on mine. Claiming mine. Invading mine.
I grip his sides. His T-shirt warm from his body. His hard muscles flexing beneath the fabric.
He pulls back.
“Hans.” I can’t stop myself from pushing up on my tiptoes.
His hold on my straps shifts, and he’s helping me stretch up to reach him.
My tongue brushes over his lips, and he parts them.
This time it’s me. I’m the one claiming him. I’m the one wrapping my arms around his back. I’m the one tasting him.
A car horn honks farther down the lane, forcing us to break the kiss.
“I should go,” I whisper.
Hans uses his hold of me to set me back a step. “Remember your promise.”
He drops his hands from my shoulders and, after reaching for my suitcase, pulls out the telescoping handle for me.
I grip the handle tighter than necessary. “Bye, Hans.”
“Behave yourself, Girl.”
CHAPTER 50
Hans
I flex my jaw as I watch Cassandra walk through the glass doors into the airport.
I want so badly to grab her and haul her back into my truck. But I don’t do that. Instead, I climb behind the wheel.
Cassandra has already disappeared out of view when I merge into the lanes of slowly moving cars leaving after dropping their passengers off.
I follow the traffic out of the departures area.
I keep my speed steady with everyone else.
I stay in the far lane as we all head toward the airport exit.
I flip on my blinker.
I follow the sign directing traffic that wants to return to terminal.
I follow the looping road until I join the cars heading into the airport again.
But instead of taking the lane for departures, I follow the signs for parking.
The ramps are crowded, but I find a spot between two other pickup trucks.
After turning the engine off, I unbuckle, then twist around and press a hidden button behind my seat.
The rear bench seat silently unlocks, and with minimal effort, the whole seat lifts on a hinge to reveal a compartment within.
I drag my nondescript black backpack out, then reach for my folded suit jacket.
I wait until I’m out of the truck to shake out my jacket and put it on.
Black leather boots, dark jeans, gray T-shirt, black suit jacket, and boring black backpack. I look like every other upper management douchebag heading out for a week of sales meetings.
Making it super easy to blend in at the airport.
No one questions me.
No one even looks twice at a man flying with just a backpack. Seasoned travelers have their packing down to a science.
Three changes of clothes.
Minimal toiletries.
A laptop containing four throwing knives.
A passport and airplane ticket for a man whose name isn’t Hans Eklund but who looks just like me. And who has TSA PreCheck, so I, or whoever this man is, don’t even have to take off my shoes to go through security.
Picking my backpack up after its uneventful trip through the X-ray machine, I make a stop in the first shop I see.
Since I purchased my ticket last night, I don’t have much of a game plan for when I get where we’re going. At least, no real plan beyond follow Cassandra.
I grab four bags of beef jerky, a bag of peanuts, bottle of water, two packs of Skittles, and a magazine about cars that will either work as a cover or as a fire starter. Whatever turns out to be more useful.
CHAPTER 51
Cassie
The pilot hits the gas, or whatever it’s called in a plane, and we start to speed down the runway.
I know the jostling is normal, but I still hate it.
Rather than turning my head to look out the window at my side, I close my eyes and think about Hans and that kiss we shared.
We might not be people who kiss when they see each other, but it turns out we’re people who kiss when they part ways.
Hans would’ve made it back home already. I wonder if he went back to sleep or if he stayed up to start his own workday.
CHAPTER 52
Hans
My plane taxis into position, our pilot letting us know we’re next to take off.
I pull my hair free from its tie and lean my head back against the seat, closing my eyes.
My conversation with the Cantrells fresh in my mind, I think back about how this all started.
CHAPTER 53
Hans
(AGE 19)
“You really think that’s gonna work?”
My sister rolls her eyes at me. “It’s a dance club. It’s not like I’m trying to get into the CIA.”
“Why not just go to an eighteen-plus place?” She turned eighteen last month, a few days after graduating, so she could get into those with her actual ID.
“Because those places are fucking lame. You’d know that if you ever came out with me.”
“No thanks.”
I don’t have time for partying. I’m too busy taking summer classes so I can graduate earlier than the rest of my classmates and get started on the life I want.
“Nerd,” she sighs, but I know she doesn’t mean it.
“It doesn’t even look like you.” I hold up the driver’s license.
Freya twirls, her short silver dress flaring out, her blond hair shiny around her shoulders. “They aren’t gonna look that close.”
“Mom and Dad will kill you if they find out.” I state the obvious.
“Which is why I’m going to tell them I’m staying at Kay’s house tonight.” She snatches the ID out of my hand and tucks it into her handbag. “And I am.” She sets the bag on her dresser, then snags a pair of sweatpants off the floor and pulls them on, the baggy material covering the skirt of her dress. “We’re just going out first.” She tugs her favorite T-shirt on next, the tie-dye pattern forming a flower across her chest.
I shake my head. “Good luck.”