Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) (13 page)

Kian put his hand on my arm, slowing me to a stop. He waited until I looked at him before he spoke. “No one hates you,” he said sternly. “Everyone understands. They’ll take care of you. This is what they
do.”

I gave him a weak smile. He sounded so sincere... and I knew it must have taken a lot for him to say that, given the differences between him and the Secret Service. But as I looked at Miller, quietly giving his agents a last-minute pep talk, I didn’t feel any better. It still felt as though they were movers, discussing how best to transport a fragile grand piano. They cared about getting the job done right, but they didn’t care about
me.
 

As if he’d read my mind, Kian leaned close. “I’ll be there too.”

And the fear retreated just enough for me to breathe.

This time, my dad rode in one limo with Harlan and the rest of his detail while I rode in a second one with Kian, Miller and the rest of mine. I figured this was so they could whisk me away more easily if anything went wrong: after last time, they probably had all sorts of contingency plans for if I freaked out. Knowing they’d gone to all that trouble only made me feel worse.

I
had
to get through this.

We settled into our seats, Kian beside me, and we pulled away. As we left the safety of the White House and slid into the dark streets of DC, I felt my heart begin to speed up. It felt like setting off from a safe port across a bottomless black ocean. I looked down at my hands, knitting together in my lap. I willed them to keep still but I couldn’t stop. I glanced down at Kian’s massive hands, gently resting on his powerful legs. What I really needed was for him to hold my hand. But that would be totally inappropriate and, when I checked Miller, he was looking right at us and giving Kian a look of open disdain—

Warm, strong fingers captured my left hand and squeezed. I looked down and saw my hand in Kian’s, then glanced up disbelievingly into his eyes.

He just nodded at me, as if to say,
I got you.

I glanced at Miller again. He was staring down at our joined hands. As I watched, he lifted his eyes and gave Kian a
what the hell do you think you’re doing?
look.

Or he tried to. Because when I looked up at Kian again, he was still looking at me, ignoring Miller completely. That’s when I knew he’d do whatever it took to take care of me. I squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. I could feel his strength flowing into me, forcing back the fear.

But when the limo purred to a stop, my panic went into high gear. Each sound pushed me a little further towards the edge: the slamming of doors as my dad got out of his limo; the rising cheers of the crowd as they saw their president; the click-click-click of cameras. I could feel it all pressing in on the outside of the limo, the outside world so big and powerful and deadly that I swore I felt the car shift on its suspension.

The door of our limo opened. That huge, dark ocean of fear swept in: the noise, the camera flashes, the
people.
So many strangers. It felt like freezing water rising around me, filling my mouth and ears, drowning me. I wanted to slam that door and cling to my seat all the way home... and instead, I was going to have to go out there.
I was going to have to go out there!

Miller climbed out and did a last-minute check of the scene, then leaned in again and nodded to me. My turn. My eyes bugged out.
Out there?!

“I can’t,” I whispered.

I’m not sure if I meant it for myself or Kian, but it didn’t matter. He put his big, warm hands on my shoulders, cupping them, and said. “I’ll be right here with you, Emily.”

I knew I was meant to breathe—that was supposed to help—but when I sucked in air it didn’t seem to contain any oxygen. I stared at the scene outside: faces and camera flashes and noise and—

I felt Kian’s hands on my shoulders—not forcing me, not pushing me... it was almost as if they were magnets and he was drawing me up out of my seat, me the puppet and him the puppeteer. “We’re going to do it together,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m going to have a hand on you the whole time and I promise I won’t leave you. Okay?”

I took another deep huff of air and this one contained a faint trace of oxygen. I felt myself nod.

“One,” he told me, guiding me towards the door. My legs felt like wax and I almost stumbled. But he was like a warm lantern casting a glow around both of us, pushing back the darkness. As long as I stayed within that circle of light, I was safe.

“Two,” he said. Just a hint of Irish in his voice, shining like silver. It only came out when he was really under pressure.

“Three.” He said it with so much finality, so much confidence, that I believed we could do it.

I stepped out of the limo.

Kian

My chest tightened up at how brave she was being. I could see how terrified she was and I knew that asking her to step out of that limo was like sending a wounded soldier right back into a war zone. That’s why I hadn’t asked: I’d told her how it was going to be. I had to help her beat this thing. But when I saw the crowd, even I was taken aback.

When I’d guarded foreign dignitaries, it had been about looking for the assassin, the lone shooter. The public doesn’t care at all about foreign ambassadors and minor royals from far-off nations, so I’d never had to cope with crowds like this. But I knew from Iraq how dangerous a big group of people can be. Get enough people in one place and they stop acting like individuals: a pack mentality takes over and they operate like one massive creature. That’s how riots start and stampedes happen: panic and anger spread instantly and the mood can shift in a heartbeat.

The crowd was restrained by waist-high metal barriers and, if they tried to get over them, by a line of Secret Service agents. But even armed as they were, they weren’t going to be able to stop a rampaging mob of thousands if things went wrong.

It wasn’t a hostile crowd. People were cheering and waving as the President slowed to greet them and there’d been a big wave of applause as Emily and I emerged. But they were
hungry.
Every single one of them wanted a piece of her—they felt like they deserved that, they were entitled. It was like being next to a tank of piranha eager to gnaw you to the bone.

We began to move along the red carpet, my hand on her back. God, she looked even smaller and more fragile in the middle of all this noise. Ahead of us, the President was just entering the building. Miller was walking backwards a few feet ahead of us, watching us closely. Emily took slow, cautious steps, as if she thought the ground might disappear under her feet at any instant. And the whole time, on either side of us, the crowd
roared.

I wanted to get her inside as fast as possible. I heard the sigh of disappointment sweep through the throng as they saw us make a beeline straight for the building and I ignored them. But Emily slowed, gazed wide-eyed at the crowd... and stopped. “No,” she said.

I had to lean close and put my mouth almost to her ear so that she could hear me over the noise. “It’s okay,” I told her. “You don’t have to.”

She looked at the crowd again. Her face had gone ghostly white with fear, but her jaw was set in a way I recognized from her father. “Some of them have been waiting for hours.”

And she looked down at her feet for a second. I realized then just how frightened she was: she was having to will herself to walk forward.

Step by shaky step, she moved closer to the barriers. The crowd noise doubled as she approached, until talking was impossible and even thinking was difficult. I put my hands on her shoulders again. I didn’t give a shit if someone thought it was inappropriate—I wanted to communicate with her not to get too close. I scanned back and forth along the crowd, looking for any possible threat.

At this range, the crowd broke up into individuals again: guys who wanted her, girls who wanted to be her. Hands stretched out, desperate to touch her, even if it was just a brush of her dress, but I made sure she stayed just beyond their reach, in case someone grabbed her and dragged her forward, or whipped out a knife or a syringe. I was getting madder and madder: these people were meant to be her fans, but they were so selfish: it was like they felt they owned her. Couldn’t they see how scared she was? She was physically shaking with fear: I knew that she couldn’t even hear what they were saying to her over the roar, but she was nodding and smiling, doing her best to satisfy them.
God, she’s so brave….

Suddenly, a guy about her age hurled himself forward over the shoulders of the people in front of him, as if he was crowd-surfing. “Fuckin’
bitch!”
he spat, his voice slurred with alcohol. A big hand, weighted with rings, reached for her, and his arms were long enough that he was in range.

All of my anger welled up inside me. I slammed my fist into his jaw with all my strength, and he flew backward. The crowd opened up, shying away from his drunkenness, and he crashed down hard on the sidewalk. As I drew Emily away, he staggered to his feet holding his jaw. “You sonofabitch!” he groaned. “I’ll sue!”

I barely heard him. I grabbed Emily’s shoulders and twisted us around so that I was between her and the guy, then gently pressed her forward towards the doors. But she stood stock still, her body rigid under my hands. I knew she was back in the park. Another few seconds and she was going to bolt. That idiot in the crowd had ruined everything.

I gently rubbed her shoulders. “I’m here,” I said in her ear. “I’m right here. And I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

I could see Miller glaring at me, absolutely livid—either about me hitting that guy or touching Emily.
Fuck him.

I felt Emily twist under my hands, looking back at the open door of the limo, ready to run. I squeezed her shoulders a little, lending her strength....

...and felt her take a deep, shuddering breath. She turned back towards the building and walked forward. I was so, so proud of her.

Seconds later, we were inside, the doors closed and the roar of the crowd dropped to a distant rumble. Emily turned to me to say something, but, before she could, Miller was pushing me away. He waved another agent over to escort Emily further into the building. She looked at me, concern in her eyes, but I nodded that she should go with him. I’d known this was coming.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Miller launched into his tirade. He’d obviously been saving it for the second we were out of view of the press. “Are you out of your mind, hitting a civilian?
”
he snapped.

“He was a threat,” I growled.

“You punched him! You sent him
flying through the air!
And what’s with all the touching?” He glanced at Emily’s retreating back.

“I’m protecting her!”

“So am I!” He snapped. “It’s my job to protect her.
From everyone!”
Shit. I could see in his eyes that he suspected something was going on. And his message was clear: it wasn’t just
inappropriate;
he didn’t think I was good enough for her. He didn’t want a scumbag like me tainting the President’s daughter.

The old, familiar anger returned, as hot and dark as ever. “Fuck you,” I blurted. “
Sir.”

We glared at each other until he finally turned away and stormed off.

I marched off to find Emily. Every time my shoes hit the carpet, my resolve hardened a little more.
This whole thing was a bad idea.
I was going to tell Emily I was done. I couldn’t do this, not with pencil-pushers like Miller in charge. I didn’t do
the rules
or
procedure
or going easy on the people who were trying to hurt her. If they tried to touch her,
damn right
they were going to get punched.

I entered the final anteroom before the big hall where the reception was going on. It wasn’t really a room, just a gap between two sets of double doors. With both doors closed to muffle any outside noise, it was almost completely dark between them. On the far side, I could hear the President’s rich Texas accent as he toasted the assembled guests. I put my palms on the doors, about to push them angrily open—