In the Marines, it had been different. I’d respected my captain and I’d had no problem obeying him. They’d known how to use my anger: I’d always been the first one through the door, the one they didn’t so much send in as unleash. In the Secret Service, there’d been too many damn rules... but even that had been bearable. I’d been good at my job and that had bought me some slack.
Until that day at the hotel when I suddenly went, in their eyes, from hero to criminal.
And now I was meant to take orders from them again, after they’d chewed me up and spat me out?
I closed my eyes and sighed. I’d call them. I’d call them and tell them the whole thing was off. They’d be relieved. I’d been able to hear it in the guy’s voice when he called: they were going along with this under duress. They’d be relieved, I’d be relieved…
... and Emily would be unprotected. She’d have the Secret Service, but not that close, personal protection she needed to feel safe. The nightmares would continue. She’d turn into even more of a recluse. That light in her eyes would fade to nothing.
I growled and thumped the wall with my fist, then stomped through to the bathroom. When I’d showered, I rooted through my closet and dug out the black suit I’d used to wear. It was still wrapped in plastic: I hadn’t touched it in a year. When I pulled on the white shirt, I felt like a kid forced into their Sunday finest for church. The black tie made it even worse.
I took another look at myself in the mirror, then ran a hand through my hair. It was long enough to be soft and tousled, not like the clean buzz-cut the other agents sported. I drew my thumb down my cheek, feeling my stubble. That was wrong, too. Aw, the hell with it.
I fastened on my holster, checked my handgun and slid it in, then pulled on my suit jacket. It was tight across my shoulders: I must have packed on a little more muscle, since I left. I shook my head at my reflection. I looked like a criminal who’d jumped a Secret Service guy and taken his clothes. This is nuts!
But I didn’t have a choice. Not if I wanted to save her.
I stalked out of my apartment and headed for the subway before I could come to my senses.
***
At the White House, the guard at the guard post looked me up and down and radioed for confirmation, twice, before he let me in. To be fair, I probably would have done the same.
Waiting for me in the Secret Service command room was Miller, the head of the White House detail. I’d never been assigned to the White House—my job had been to guard foreign dignitaries—so we’d never met. But I knew the type right away: the close-cropped hair, speckled with gray, the perfect suit and shiny shoes; the disapproving look he gave me. Smaller than me but fit: the sort of guy who hit the ground every morning doing a hundred push-ups just because he felt that he should. He was made for the job as surely as if he’d popped out of his mom with his Secret Service earpiece already in his ear.
“Before we start, I want to make something perfectly clear,” he told me. “You’ve been temporarily reinstated as a courtesy to the President and to Miss Matthews. Don’t get the idea that any of us here actually like the idea.”
I nodded silently.
“Your job will be to guard Miss Matthews. Her codename is Liberty.”
“Liberty?” It suited her.
Miller continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “The President is Lone Star. The First Lady is Lark. You’ll pull one eight-hour shift per day: whichever one coincides with her leaving the White House. You will stay by her side and you will follow orders. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” His barely-concealed contempt for me was really starting to get to me but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting it show.
He picked up a file as thick as my fist and shoved it at me. “You’ll need to get up to speed on procedure: read and inwardly digest.” He slapped a radio and earpiece down on top of the file. “Wear this. Now wait while I get you your service weapon.”
I shook my head and patted the bulge under my jacket. “I have my own gun.”
Miller shook his head. “Not on my team. Hand it over.”
My gun was a Desert Eagle: big and dumb and all about brute force. We’d always gotten on very well. It had saved my life more times than I could count, including at the park. I raised my eyebrows: really?
Miller just glared back at me and held out his hand.
I had to take a deep, calming breath. I drew my gun out but hung onto it for a second. I loved everything about that gun, from its worn handgrips to the little chip in the side of the barrel where some guy had caught it with a samurai sword.
For Emily.
I laid it in his hand, secretly loving the way his arm dipped a little under the unexpected weight. He glowered down at it in distaste and then locked it away in a gun safe, returning with a plain black SIG Sauer. It felt like a toy in my big hand but I sighed and holstered it. “Anything else I should know?” I asked. I lifted the file he’d given me. “Aside from memorizing the rulebook?”
He just stared at me.
It took me a few seconds to realize what he was waiting for. Aw, hell. Really?! “Anything else I should know... sir?”
“Since you’re guarding Miss Matthews... you should be aware that she had a tracking chip implanted under her skin when her father took office, in case of kidnapping.”
“You can track where she is? Via satellite?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t have that sort of power: the chip’s only the size of a grain of rice. But if she was taken, we can set up roadblocks and make sure she doesn’t pass them, or sweep the city with a low-flying helicopter and zero in on her that way.” He fixed me with a look. “Obviously, this isn’t public knowledge.”
I’d just about had it with this guy. I wanted to slam a fist right up under his jaw and send him halfway to the ceiling. I knew how to keep a damn secret. I’d had security clearance the whole time I was with the Secret Service.
But, of course, he knew that. He was making sure I knew that I was no longer trusted. The reputation I’d built up when I was here was a distant memory: I was going to have to build it up all over again. What the hell am I doing back here, I wondered.
Then I thought of that fading light in Emily’s eyes. The way she’d seemed smaller, more fragile, than she had in the park. She needed help... and if I didn’t save her, who would?
“Yes sir,” I grated. “Understood.”
Miller turned on his heel. “Come on,” he snapped. “There’s someone else who wants to meet you.”
I fell in behind him. The first few rooms we passed through were used by the Secret Service and, at first, I assumed we were going to meet someone else from the detail. Maybe they’d buddied me up with someone so they could keep an eye on me.
But then we were into the main part of the White House, with its softly-carpeted hallways and hushed conversation. I’d only ever visited a few times when some dignitary I’d been guarding had an appointment there. I hadn’t thought it would affect me but... it did. There’s something about the place, the power that throbs through every room. I’m just about the most cynical person in the world but even I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. We started to pass by guys I recognized as senators and lobbyists. All of them did a double-take when they saw me: the differences between Miller and myself were obvious.
And then it got weird. We entered the West Wing. I glanced around uncertainly. He must be around here, somewhere. We might even run into him. I straightened up—I didn’t mean to, it was just an unconscious reaction. Don’t be stupid. We probably won’t even—
We stopped outside the Oval Office. I turned to Miller and blinked but he didn’t give me a chance to speak, just knocked twice and then opened the door. Inside was a sort of anteroom: wood paneling and an elderly but very intimidating lady behind a desk. She picked up a phone. “Mr. President,” she said, the disapproval clear in her voice, “Special Agent O’Harra is here to see you.”
Special Agent
O’Harra was something I hadn’t heard in a long time. Normally, that alone would have been enough to make me reel. But the Mr. President part made that seem insignificant. Wait! Are we—We’re not seriously going to—
The lady put down the phone and nodded us towards a door. Miller led the way and I followed dumbly behind him, still playing emotional catch-up.
We walked into the room, Miller stepped out of the way and….
I’d always disliked politicians. I’d always thought of them as a bunch of privileged rich guys sitting smugly round a table, carving up the world. So I wasn’t ready for what I felt, what had been building inside me ever since we’d entered the West Wing.
I stared at the man sitting behind the desk and... I was in awe. I’m a big guy but, in his presence, I suddenly felt small.
“Well,” said the President. “So this is him.”
I tried to speak but my mouth had gone desert-dry, so I nodded instead. I’d underestimated how deep it all ran: my time in the Marines; every time I’d sung The Star Spangled Banner or looked up at the flag.
He wasn’t a politician. He was the President of the United States of America.
I glanced across at Miller and caught him smirking, as if my reaction was entirely predictable. I suddenly wished I’d shaved.
The President strolled out from behind his desk, straightening his jacket with a little tug. Like his daughter, Jake Matthews still had a lot of Texan in him: he hadn’t tried to smooth out what some saw as rough edges. Squint and you could still see the ranch owner and oil man. He folded his arms and leaned back against his desk. “My daughter tells me you’re the one guy she trusts.”
I swallowed. There was something about the way he said it: just a hint of suspicion. He was a master of reading people: could he read something in me? Did he know just how much I wanted to take Emily, push her up against a wall and kiss the hell out of her? I couldn’t speak. I settled for nodding again.
“And people at the Secret Service tell me you’re the one guy she shouldn’t,” said the President. He gave me a look I suspected he reserved for hostile dictators. “Can I trust you, Mr. O’Harra?”
I finally found my voice. “Yes sir, Mr. President.”
He glanced at Miller. “Miller here has already registered his protest.” He paused. “Several times.” He let the tension in the room build for several seconds before continuing. “You were in the Corps?”
“Yes sir.”
“And you were good. But you left after four years. Why?”
I closed my eyes: only for a split-second, but it felt like it lasted a lifetime. Stinging sand in my face, the wetness of blood and the sound of their screams in my ears.
“I lost some men, Mr. President.”
His gaze softened just a little. He’d served himself, long ago: Army, if I remembered right. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the softness was gone. “And then you joined the Secret Service... and you refused to do things by the book.”
“Three counts of insubordination,” muttered Miller. “And the third one—”
“The third one would have been assault, if the ambassador had pressed charges,” said the President. “You should be in jail, O’Harra, not protecting anyone. Least of all my daughter.”
I couldn’t meet his gaze any longer. I stood there staring at the floor with the heat rising in my face. It was useless to try to explain. I’d tried that enough times when it happened and it had gotten me nowhere. Clearly, this wasn’t going to happen after all. I waited for him to order me out: I actually lifted the file I was holding, ready to give it back to Miller.
But the order never came. I slowly lifted my eyes and found he was still staring at me.
“My daughter doesn’t eat,” he said. “She doesn’t sleep. She won’t—can’t—leave the building. She thinks you can help her. Can you?”
“Yes sir, Mr. President,” I said. “I believe I can.”
The President gave me a long, appraising look. “Then I don’t care what you did,” he said at last. He nodded at the door. “Go to work.”
Suddenly, the heat of shame was gone, replaced by cool, clean air that filled my lungs. All of the resentment Miller had stirred up faded away. “Yes sir, Mr. President.”
I walked out of the Oval Office about an inch taller than when I’d walked in. It lasted ten paces, until Miller stopped me in the hallway. “The President is desperate,” he told me. “I have to go along with this; I don’t have to like it. Maybe you got away with things on your old detail but this is the White House and I don’t need a loose cannon on my team. One mistake, O’Harra, one screw up and I’ll personally kick your ass out the door and all the way down Pennsylvania Avenue. You are not going to embarrass the Secret Service again.”
I felt my hands tighten into fists but I knew that was what he wanted. “Yes sir,” I said. “Understood.”
“Go to the residence,” he almost spat. “And for God’s sake, learn how to use a razor!”
I stalked away, only stopping to stash the file he’d given me in my locker and put on my radio. Moments later, I’d reached the residence. And there, right at the end of the hall….
I slowed to a stop as I reached Emily’s door. I’d been mad as hell when I left Miller but, suddenly, all the rage was draining out of me, to be replaced by something even stronger. It was as if I could feel her presence oozing through the thick oak of the door: a subtle hint of her perfume, an aura of soft femininity.
I stopped. My hand was already raised to knock but, all of a sudden, I was as nervous as some kid arriving to pick up his prom date. How did she do that to me?
I knocked. A second later, she opened the door wide and—
It wasn’t how it had been in the car. Maybe it was because we were alone, this time, or maybe it was the quiet of the hallway but it felt much more intense—way too intense to deny. A good foot or so separated us and yet it felt as if we were already touching. I was immersed in that aura that surrounded her, the sweet warmth of her bathing me. And I could feel her responding, too, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her eyes stroking over my arms, my chest, my face. This thing we’d started... it was like a physical presence between us, the air pulsing with it.
“You scrub up well,” she said at last.
I inclined my head. “Reporting for duty, Ma’am,” I said. Inside, I was asking myself what the hell I thought I was doing. This was a bad, bad idea. I’d sworn I’d never let myself care about anyone. But she needed me: I could see how scared she was and it made my chest ache. That feeling that I had to protect her, combined with the attraction... I could feel it tugging at me, drawing me towards her... and it was only going to get worse.
“Well, you’d better come in, then,” she said. And stepped back out of the way.
I knew, then, what was different. It wasn’t just that we were alone or that it was quiet. It was that I was standing on the threshold of her private space: the one room where the press couldn’t follow. And she was inviting me in.
I took a deep breath... and stepped inside.
Emily
Holy hell, he gets better looking every time I see him.
I stepped back from the door, praying he couldn’t see how he was affecting me. I could feel his gaze on me, leaving a trail of heat as it passed over my face, my neck, my breasts... either he wasn’t bothering to hide it or he couldn’t and both of those options made me heady. I’d never had a guy want me like that—not in such a direct way. Washington guys played mind games. Kian didn’t.
At least I wasn’t that obvious. I tried to stop looking at the smooth curve of his pecs under that snow-white shirt. He doesn’t know, I reassured myself. He totally doesn’t know.
I had a sudden stab of worry as he closed the door behind him. Was that what this was really about? Had I really tracked him down and gotten him reinstated because I was—I weakened and admitted it—ferociously attracted to him?
I took a deep breath and looked at him, pushing the feelings away
, and... no. It wasn’t just that. I could already feel the fear easing, the black waters retreating like a tide.
It was real: he made me feel safe. I took another slow, deep breath and it felt good. It felt as if I could really fill my lungs for the first time in days—I hadn’t realized how tight my chest had been. I luxuriated in the feeling... and then noticed that Kian’s eyes had dropped to my breasts and were following their slow rise and fall. I turned away, blushing, and pulled my cardigan a little tighter around me... but a wave of heat was rippling down to my groin and I felt oddly proud.
“Kian,” I said to break the silence. I tried to pronounce it like he did: Key-an. “Is that Irish?”
“Yes Ma’am. Born over here, but my dad’s Irish.”
I turned around just in time to see a flicker of pain at the mention of his dad. It made me curious... but I didn’t know him nearly well enough. Not yet. So I said, “Are you really going to call me ma’am the whole time?”
“Yes ma’am.” He looked down at my leg, my injured calf visible beneath my green skirt. “How’s the leg?”
I looked down at it. “It’s okay. Not too bad as long as I don’t walk far... and I haven’t been doing much of that, of late. It stiffens up, sometimes…” I looked up at him... and found he was still gazing at my legs. He seemed to be having trouble taking his eyes off them. Part of me wanted to be righteously offended but... it didn’t feel lecherous or creepy, as it would have if some stranger in the street had stared. Coming from Kian, it felt... honest. Good, clean, absolutely filthy red-hot desire... aimed at me. Maybe that would be normal for some women, but I’m nothing special. I didn’t understand why he was so into me... but the fact he was sent a deep, warm glow through me.
He finally looked up and met my eyes. He didn’t look the slightest bit guilty that he’d been savoring my legs. There was another one of those silences, the ones that built and built until I wanted to just hurl myself against him. “Anyway,” I said to break it, “at least it made some people happy.”
Saving Liberty (Kissing #6) Page 6
