Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) (28 page)

As soon as I was close enough, Kian grabbed a fistful of my dress and lifted me right off the ground, then swung me behind the display case with him. “There’s the exit,” he said, nodding to a lit-up sign at the end of the room. “We’re going to run. Ready?”

I nodded.

“
Run!”

We ran, with Kian firing behind us to slow down our pursuers. I hit the door first, thumping down on the bar that opened it. I had a sudden fear that it would be locked... but it swung open easily and cool night air washed over me. I stepped out onto a metal fire escape.

Kian caught up, slipped an arm around my waist, and led me down the fire escape, taking the stairs two at a time and catching me when I stumbled. Halfway down, a bullet from below ricocheted off the metal handrail. He leaned over, fired once and there was a scream from the street below.

Seconds later, we were in the street, a cool wind whipping at our clothes. All was quiet. For the first time in what felt like hours, we stopped and slumped side-by-side against a wall, the stone blessedly cool against our overheated, exhausted bodies. “We made it,” I panted.

Kian pushed off from the wall and came around in front of me. He opened his arms and I almost fell into them, burying my head in his chest. He stroked my hair as I just...
breathed.
The solid thump of his heart through his shirt made it real: we’d done it, we were alive.

As the adrenaline started to wear off, I began to notice all the places it hurt... and that was
everywhere.
But then Kian’s hands slid down my body and he was lifting me off my feet and into his arms, cradling me there. He leaned his head down to me and I met his kiss, lips hesitant and delicate at first and then hot and urgent, reassuring each other that it was okay.

When we finally broke the kiss, I saw something down the street.
“Look!”
I said excitedly, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

Outside the main entrance to the museum, cones had been used to mark out a space for the motorcade. And the space was now empty. “The motorcade’s gone,” I whispered. “It would only leave if my dad was on board.
He made it out!”

Kian’s arms tightened around me and I felt that mighty chest expand as he gave a long sigh of relief.

A rumble of thunder made us both look up. Dark storm clouds almost covered the sky. We were in for a massive downpour. “Come on,” said Kian. “Let’s find some help.” He looked around. “Where
is
everybody? Why aren’t reinforcements here yet?”

We started forward, with Kian still carrying me. It was only when we passed the main entrance to the museum that he suddenly stopped dead. I followed his gaze and gave a low moan of horror: just inside the building were the bodies of Agent Brannon and the other agent who’d escaped with my dad. They’d gotten him to the motorcade... but they’d died doing it.

I felt Kian’s arms tighten around me in anger. “Bastards,” he spat. “Nothing we can do for them now.” I tore my eyes away and he moved on.

When we turned the corner, my heart lifted. Across the street, a Secret Service SUV waited together with two agents, guns drawn and fear in their eyes. When they saw us, both agents lowered their guns and gawped. One of them spoke into his radio. “I have eyes on Liberty!” he said. “West side! She’s with O’Harra!”

Kian jogged towards them. “Are we glad to see you,” said Kian as we drew near. “Listen up—”

A screech of tires made us glance to the right. A car was approaching, a man leaning out of the window—

“Get down!” yelled Kian. He set me down and pushed me out of the way, then he was finally able to reach for his gun. But by then, it was too late.

There was a hail of gunfire as the car squealed to a stop beside us. Both Secret Service agents died before they could raise their weapons. I saw Kian fall to the ground but couldn’t see where he’d been hit.

I was still sprawled on the ground when they reached me. Hands grabbed me under the arms and lifted me. Men—at least three of them, in black combat gear. And I recognized one of their faces: the second shooter from the park.
Powell.

I was hauled towards the rear of the car. Kian was lying on the ground, groaning and trying to rise. One of the men kicked him in the head, sending him back down to the ground. Then he put a gun to his head. My heart stopped.

“No!” It was Powell. “Keep to the plan. He lives.” The sound of his voice, in person, tapped straight into my nightmares and the fear came shooting up, unstoppable. I felt myself shutting down, the black water pouring down my throat, into my lungs. My legs gave away under me.

They picked me up and rolled me into the trunk of the car. The lid came down.

And everything went black.

Kian

I rolled on the ground and tried to get up, but it took a couple of attempts. One arm was nearly useless—a bullet had clipped it and it hurt like hell. Plus one of the bastards had kicked me in the side of the skull and everything was still woozy.

I got to my feet just in time to see the car carrying Emily speed around the corner.
Shit!
I ran for the SUV, then realized I didn’t have the keys. I wasted precious seconds searching the bodies of the two dead agents before I found them.

The DC police pulled up as I started the car. Why were they only arriving
now?
Where had they been all this time? The officers looked at the two dead bodies on the floor, then at me. “Stop right there!” one of them yelled.

Shit.
I didn’t have time to explain. I had to get after Emily before I lost them. I put my foot down and screeched away. I knew which direction they’d headed in, but that was all.

I roared to the end of the street, skidded around the corner, and then floored it, hoping to see the car in the distance. But traffic was light this time of night: they could be well ahead of me by now.

I felt physically sick with fear. I’m not such an asshole that I won’t admit to being scared in my life. I’ve been scared plenty of times. But I’d never felt fear like this. I’d never felt my whole insides turn cold. I’d never felt like someone had torn something right out of me.

I’d lost her. I’d lost her, without ever fully opening up to her, without ever letting her know all of me.
You feckin’ idiot. You stupid, stupid bastard!

I’d been scared that I’d get to care about her too much. I hadn’t realized that I’d reached that point a long time ago.

Just let me get her back,
I begged.
I’ll do anything. I’ll tell her everything about my past. I’ll never push her away again.
Just let me get her back!

Emily

The scariest thing in the world is to open your eyes... and nothing happens. No dawn breaking through the drapes, no clock dimly glowing in the darkness. Just black. You open your eyes and you can’t tell you opened them.

I wasn’t sure if I’d fainted or not. And if I had passed out, I wasn’t sure if it had been seconds or hours. There was nothing to indicate passage of time. There was nothing at all, just thick, suffocating blackness, like the black of sleep where nightmares breed.

Except this time, my nightmare was real.
They’ve taken you,
my mind chanted.
They’ve taken you and you’re all alone and they’re going to hurt you.

I was way beneath the surface of my fear, now, sinking fast into the black ocean. I didn’t even seem to have a body, anymore: I was just a fading ember in the darkness. Next to go was my ability to think: I was too scared to reason or plan, lost in raw animal fear. My mind retreated further and further, screaming a scream that the darkness swallowed up.

I was
gone.

And then I felt something: a presence. A big, strong, warm somebody who’d always protect me, even when he couldn’t be right there with me. I reached out for him….

...and his voice said,
you can do this. You can beat this.

I didn’t want to. When you’re really, really scared, it’s easier to close your eyes and ears and shut everything out, to go still and quiet because then maybe the monsters won’t see you. But that isn’t what he’d taught me. He’d taught me to fight against the fear, to do what I had to do.

In my mind, I began to kick and struggle against the blackness, swimming my way towards the surface. It seemed to take forever but, at last, I got my lips above the surface of the black fear and I could breathe. I felt my lungs start to move properly again—they hurt, and I wondered if I’d been panic-breathing and hadn’t even realized it. My senses started to come back. I was lying on carpet, but the carpet was moving. A car.

I was in the trunk of a car.

They’ve got you they’ve got you—

I clamped down on the voice and focused on the trunk. I was hunched up into a tight little ball on my side and I didn’t want to try to rise because I knew I’d hit the ceiling and then I’d freak out again. But as I felt around with my hands and feet, I realized there was room enough to move a little.

Everything tilted and I realized we were going around a corner. I remembered that that was important. My head started to clear. We’d turned
left.
Remember
left.

The lesson Kian had given me came back to me. My phone was in my purse and that was lying somewhere in the museum, where I’d dropped it during the initial attack. But he’d given me a second phone…. I hauled my dress up my thighs and felt for it in the darkness, then found the tiny slab of metal I’d tucked into the waistband of my panties. I pressed a button and the screen lit up, filling the trunk with light. And at that second, the phone rang.

Kian

She answered on the first ring—she must have had it right in her hand. “Emily! Are you still in the car?”

She sounded terrified, but she was managing to breathe. God, this girl was brave. “Yes!”

“Do you know which way you turned?”

“Left. Just one turn. About ten seconds ago.”

They’d stayed on the road I was on until just now. I put my foot down and tried to estimate how far I was behind them. “Good girl. Stay with me. Tell me if you turn again.”