Dieter paused, watching her father’s one remaining security guy who was making sure that he looked like absolutely no threat, standing with his hands raised. He whispered,“Durchlauchtig,come with me.”
Flicka nodded. Her forehead rubbed against Dieter’s shoulder. The light wool of his dark suit was smooth against her face.
Gutted.
Maybe that was the word.
She wasgutted.
She was torn apart and thrown away, an empty piece of rubbish no one wanted.
Dieter whispered, “Move.”
They edged out of the room with Dieter still shielding Flicka with his body, as he was contractually obligated to do. Most of the other security guys fell into formation around Dieter and Flicka.
She held onto his waist, even though she knew that he was just doing his job.
But she was so very glad it was him.
As they passed the entry table, Flicka grabbed her phone where Dennis Moritz had tossed it after they had arrived at the hotel.
Friedhelm escorted the last of Phillipp’s security men out with them at gunpoint.
Wulf watched them until they walked through the door.
Flicka didn’t let Wulf catch her eyes as Dieter shuffled her out.
Horror ran through her veins at what she had seen.
Wulf would see her anguish. He would know.
And she would be forever diminished in his eyes because she had been so stupid, so easily fooled.
As they entered the hallway, Dieter turned and caught her elbow, hustling her to the stairwells that led to the garage. The light taps of her sandals on the concrete stairs were lost in the thunder of the men’s combat boots stomping around her as they ran for the cars.
In the underground garage, Dieter shoved Flicka into the middle seat of the SUV and clambered in after her. The driver pulled the car away from the curb before they were even settled and raced to get out of the parking garage.
Dieter fell against her during the sudden acceleration.
She almost wrapped her arms around his strong body and buried her face in his shoulder. She wanted to crawl into his arms and cry, but she couldn’t.
Flicka clutched her phone and squeezed it to power it on. Hot tears ran down her face. She rubbed her cheek on her shoulder.
Dieter offered her his handkerchief.
“Thanks,” she muttered, wiping the mascara smudges from under her eyes and down her cheeks. She wiped black smears off her hands and palms, too. God, she was such a mess.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Flicka texted something illegible because her fingers were shaking so hard. “I just need to touch base with the event coordinators. I’m sure everything is fine.”
Dieter grabbed her hand, gently. He asked in an intense tone that insisted on an answer,“Are you all right?”
She looked up at him, and she turned her hand over in his and held on.
Falling apart would have to wait. Nothing had changed except her perception of the problem.
The problem had always been there.
