Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) (34 page)

There was nothing I could say that was going to get me out of this. I was dead: either by lethal injection with the whole country cheering or a rigged suicide or heart attack at the hands of Kerrigan’s people. I didn’t care anymore. My whole focus was on someone else.

“I have no idea where she is,” I told Miller. “But I hope to God she’s safe.”

Emily

I stumbled through the darkness for what felt like hours. The alleys seemed to be filling up with trash the further from the street I went. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it underfoot: the wet cardboard mulch from hundreds of fast food containers, the jagged, tinkling shards of broken bottles. As I got colder and colder, it got worse: my feet started to go numb so I couldn’t feel what I was walking on and I’d start to slip and slide before I could react. My high heels made it even more treacherous but I didn’t dare take them off with so much broken glass around. I was shaking—I couldn’t stop shaking, but I couldn’t wrap my arms around me to keep warm because I needed them to feel for the alley walls.

If I stayed cold and wet for much longer, I was at risk of exposure. I had to get somewhere warm... could I do what Kian had done and rent a motel room, if I kept my hood up and didn’t look at anyone? I knew I couldn’t use a credit card because they might be monitoring it, but if I paid cash—

I stopped in my tracks.
What cash?
I suddenly realized I had nothing: my purse was in the museum somewhere. I didn’t have a dime on me.

I forced myself to start walking again because I knew that, if I didn’t, I was going to just sink to the ground and curl up and go to sleep, and if I let that happen I’d die there.

Eventually, I saw lights ahead of me and the trash started to thin out. I was approaching a road: I had no choice but to cross it. I kept my head bowed, letting the hood cover my face, and willed myself not to look up: I didn’t know if there were cameras on the street but, if I looked up to check and saw one, it would be too late.

Waiting to cross was terrifying. Every set of headlights that swept towards me could be Kerrigan’s people, about to screech to a stop and pull me in. Every set of footsteps I heard could be one of
them
. And I couldn’t even look up to see.

This is what it’s going to be like for everyone, when Kerrigan goes through with his plan,
I realized. Not
if, when.
Because who was going to stop him now?

I hurried across the street. The rain was so heavy that the water was sloshing over my toes but I was already so cold, I barely noticed. My teeth had stopped chattering and I wasn’t shaking so much... I just felt sleepy. Wasn’t that supposed to be a bad sign?

And then I smelled something that made no sense: soup. Tomato soup. I glanced furtively around but there were no restaurants, at least none that were open at this hour.

I heard voices, too. I followed them along the street and then into an alley. And there, in a vacant lot behind some buildings, I found a crowd of twenty or so people standing around sipping paper cups of soup. A ragged tent that might have belonged to the army about fifty years ago sheltered a couple more people and they were ladling soup into cups. I stumbled closer. I had no plan in mind: my legs just instinctively carried me forward.

One of the two people serving glanced up and saw me. I immediately looked at the ground, hiding my face. “Hungry?” she asked. I’d had a quick glimpse of a woman in her sixties, with short dark hair.

I didn’t know whether I dared speak. Would she recognize my voice? “I don’t, um... have any money,” I mumbled.

“It’s free, honey.” Her voice was gentle. Something in my voice must have told her I was ready to bolt.

I slowly came closer and reached out my hands. She slipped a cup of soup between my palms and I looked down at it in wonder. I could feel the heat throbbing out of it and creeping through my body. My hands stung as they thawed but I welcomed it: pain meant I was alive. And the smell of the soup was even better. I realized I hadn’t eaten in about sixteen hours. “Thank you,” I croaked. I wanted to look at her, wanted her to see how grateful I was, but I didn’t dare.

“That’s okay, honey,” she said. “There’s a dry spot over there if you need somewhere to sit.”

I looked around and found the concrete steps she was talking about. The overhang of a building protected them: they were hard and freezing cold but it was such a blessed relief to be out of the rain for a few minutes that I didn’t care. I sipped the soup and then gulped it, finishing the whole thing in seconds and then panting as the warm glow spread through me. The sleepy feeling went away for a moment but then came back. What I really needed now was a place to warm up and crash.

A hand touched my shoulder and I jerked around, startled. A guy around my age with sandy-blond hair. I’d looked him in the face before I could stop myself.
Shit!
But he didn’t seem to recognize me. “You got somewhere to sleep?” he asked.

I shook my head dumbly.

“C’mon. I know a spot. Nice and warm.”

He took my hand, just like Kian used to, and drew me to my feet. Something in my brain started screaming at me but it was so very far away and I was
so
cold.

The guy led me around the back of the building and moved a board out of the way to reveal the dark, gaping maw of an empty window. I climbed through and, inside, it
was
warmer. And around the corner I found blankets and a tiny battery-powered lantern.

“There,” he said, grinning. “See?” He put his hand on my cheek, his warmth throbbing into me. “We’ll be all cozy, afterwards.”

Afterwards?
My brain was still screaming at me. He wasn’t like the woman serving soup. He wasn’t dressed like her
or
like one of the homeless, more like a college kid slumming it.

“Let’s get you unwrapped,” he said. And lifted the hem of my dripping hooded top. He had it almost to my breasts before I realized what was going on and slapped his hand away.

He sighed as if I was being ungrateful and then his hand cracked across my face so hard I spun to the side and fell to my knees. Too late, I tuned into the warning cries in my brain. I saw him now for what he was. He knew when the soup kitchen came around and he’d had this spot all picked out and ready. He’d waited for a lone woman he could tempt away from the pack….

He grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me up. The fear spread through my chilled body, making my limbs heavy. This was exactly what I’d always dreaded: alone, with no one to help me and a man about to hurt me.

Kian isn’t here.

The man started to lift my top again.

Kian isn’t here.

He stepped closer so that he could haul the dripping fabric up my back.

Kian isn’t here.
The black fear overwhelmed me, spilling down into my lungs and killing my screams. It wasn’t just what the man was about to do to me: it was that everything was over. Kian was gone. My country was gone. My dad was gone. Why not just give up?

But….

Time seemed to slow down. My whole body was filled with the black fear, churning and surging like the depths of the ocean. But right at the center of my chest there was a pinprick of light that refused to go out. A deep, rough-hewn voice with a trace of Irish silver.
I’ll be right here with you, Emily.

Kian couldn’t be with me. But, somehow, he was still there.

I felt my top catch on my breasts, about to rise higher, and I suddenly knew what I had to do. I stepped forward, my leg between his and pressed up against his thigh. And then twisted my hips and brought my knee up as hard as I could.

He screamed a horrible, choking scream and folded, his hands going to his crotch. By the time he collapsed to the floor, I was already at the window. That tiny point of light was expanding faster and faster, pushing back the blackness. I climbed out into the night. I was still cold, still exhausted but I no longer felt alone. Kian was with me. He’d always be with me.

It was time to stop running and
fight.
No, I wasn’t anyone’s idea of a hero. No, I wasn’t equipped to take on someone like Kerrigan. But if I didn’t, who would? Kian had sacrificed himself for me: now it was up to me.

It was the first time I’d been able to think clearly since I’d fled the motel. Kian had said that Kerrigan would want to kill both of us, because we were the only two who knew the truth. But there was a third... my dad. If he was still alive and lying in a hospital somewhere, Kerrigan would try to eliminate him. And his guards wouldn’t realize the threat they faced.

I had to save him.

Emily

George Washington University Hospital was a half hour’s walk away. Fortunately, it had stopped raining and the sun was starting to lighten the sky, so I could make faster progress. I was still chilled to the bone but moving helped to keep me warm and I had adrenaline on my side, now.

I knew that he might be dead: the news may just not have been released, yet. But I had to try.

I kept my head down and tried to stay off the main streets as much as I could to avoid the cameras. At least I didn’t look much like
me,
anymore, in the paint-splattered pants and hooded top.

When I neared the hospital, I slowed down and peeked around the corner to look. They’d closed off an entire floor, according to the news, moving the regular patients elsewhere. Every entrance was guarded by Secret Service agents, which should have made me feel better. But they didn’t know what to watch for. They didn’t know who the real enemy was.

There was no way I could get in without being seen and, if they saw me, they’d take me straight back to the White House and Kerrigan. I imagined being hauled into a Secret Service SUV while I tried to convince them the conspiracy was real. They might even get a doctor to give me a sedative shot to calm my “hysteria.” Then, back at the White House, I’d be easy pickings.

I was starting to despair... but then I saw Harlan come out of the main entrance and talk to another agent. I sidled up to the police do-not-cross tape they’d used to seal everything off and then, at the last minute, ducked under it.

“Hey!” I heard another agent yell behind me.

I ran to Harlan, grabbed his arm and, as he turned, looked up at him so that he could see my face. His jaw dropped.

“Let go of him! Right now!” The other agent, behind me. I was pretty sure he was pointing his gun at me.

“It’s okay!” said Harlan quickly. “It’s—”

He broke off as I shook my head.

“It’s okay,” he said again. I pulled on his arm and nodded to the doors. He hesitated for a second and my stomach tightened... but then he sighed and ushered me inside.

The hospital was weirdly empty: there were plenty of Secret Service agents around but not nearly enough to make up for all the missing patients and doctors who’d been shuffled to other floors. The sharp tang of disinfectant made my nose prickle and I felt my stomach knot in fear. I hadn’t had time until now for this part of it to hit me: he wasn’t just the President, he was my
dad,
and he was somewhere here, dead or dying—