14. Cole

14

COLE

J ake used to say something that's stuck with me.

Sometimes, you've just got to say fuck it and do the thing, whatever it is.

Some voice of reason inside of me is saying, ‘don't do the thing, Cole. Don't do the thing.'

But you know what? Jake's right. It's time to do the thing. Time to put my money where my mouth is.

"Stay put," I say, undoing my seatbelt. "And lock the doors once I'm out."

"What are you doing? Cole?" Emory looks worried. "Try not to kill anyone."

"I'm not going to lay a finger on any of these idiots," I say before exiting the truck. Of course, mentally, I'm thinking unless they force me to.

I march over to one of the protestors, the one with the megaphone.

"Why should the children of Los Angeles suffer because some bleach blonde bubblehead dancer is–"

"Hey, pal, let me see that for a second," I say, snatching it out of his hand.

"What the fuck? Give that…"

He looks me in the eye, and sees that I'm in no mood. He closes his mouth, looking flustered.

"Don't worry, I'll give it right back." I put the megaphone to my mouth and turn the volume all the way up.

"Everyone. Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

Not everyone complies, but the crowd quiets down considerably. I jump up onto one of the hastily erected barricades to get more attention.

"What in the Hell is your problem?" I bellow at the protestors. "Emory Thorne is a victim! You people are just doing exactly what the piece of shit who hurt those kids wants you to! Go home!"

Something flies out of the crowd. An empty beer bottle. It spirals toward my head. I snap my hand out and catch it.

"The next mother fucker who throws something gets this shoved where the sun don't shine," I bellow through the megaphone. "You're not helping. All you're doing is making it worse. Just go home."

The protestors begin to disperse. The counter protestors give a ragged cheer. That pisses me off, too.

"You people shut up! You're not much better. You don't need to be here, either. Go home, all of you."

I turn back to the protestors who still haven't left.

"Shame on you! Emory should not have to sacrifice herself to a madman, no matter what he says he'll do. Shame on you all."

I don't sound nearly as angry, but for some reason the calmer tone works. The remaining protestors start to disperse, on both sides. I hand the megaphone back to the protestor. It looks like I got through to him. He knows he's been acting like an ass, and doesn't even meet my gaze when he takes the megaphone back.

I get back in the truck and put it in drive, still fuming. Emory gives me a grateful look.

"Thank you."

"Ah, they're a bunch of morons."

"You stood up for me. That's huge, and I won't forget it."

I chuckle and shrug while we wait for the rest of the protestors and police to clear the path into the studio.

"You are paying me. I just want to make sure you get your money's worth."

A sour look crosses Emory's face.

"Cole, I think we've moved past you being my employee. Haven't we?"

I flinch at the plaintive note in her voice. Reaching out, I take her hand in my own and squeeze it tightly.

"Yes, we've moved past that. Way past it. I'm still your bodyguard, but…let's say I'm highly motivated to keep you safe. Very highly motivated."

I don't say it out loud, but I already know I'd die for Emory. If spending my life would keep her safe, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

"When this is over, what's going to happen?" she asks softly.

"I don't know. I imagine Lovejoy and his accomplices will be locked up in a high security prison permanently, if they don't get the death penalty."

"No." She shakes her head. "That's not what I meant. I mean, what happens with us?"

My heart flutters. Why does Emory make me feel so strong and so weak all at once? I feel like I can conquer the world, but I'm helpless in her blue-eyed gaze.

"Well, just because the job ends, doesn't mean we have to end."

Her eyes grow inscrutable. I'm not sure what to make of her reaction. Maybe we don't want the same things after all.

The way is finally clear. I pull up the short lane to the studio gates. Once we're safely inside, I become more vigilant.

"Why do you look so worried, Cole?" she asks.

"Because I am worried. That fucking circus out front was the perfect cover for our resident three assholes to sneak in."

It's not likely that they're here, but then again, Lovejoy has proven himself to be ballsier…or crazier…than I gave him credit for. I'm not taking any chances. Everyone gets scrutinized, from the landscaper to the exec in the three-piece suit.

Emory guides me through the studio lot until we reach the correct building.

"How do people not get lost in here all the time? All of these buildings look the same."

"You get used to it," she says with a grin. "You learn to look for the little things that set the structures apart. Faded paint here, bricked up window there…"

Her voice trails off as a small, balding man in a nice suit two years out of style strides toward the truck. He walks with purpose, his legs stiff with either aggression or nerves. Maybe both.

I would be worried, but he doesn't look anything like our three convicts. Not even with the best disguises Hollywood has to offer. Makeup won't cut a foot off of your height.

"Who is that?" I ask, when I notice Emory has the glimmer of recognition in her gaze.

"Harvey Whippleton. Boys R Us' manager. He hardly ever comes to choreography practice."

"Then what's he doing here now?"

She sighs. "I don't know, but I've got a bad feeling about this."

She gets out of the truck as Harvey approaches. After a moment, I join her.

"What's going on, Harv?" she asks. "Are you here because of the protests?"

Harvey's gaze flashes over to me for a moment before returning to Emory.

"Emory, you know how much I love you, right?"

I get a sinking feeling in my gut. Whatever Harvey is about to say, it isn't going to be good news.

"Thanks, love you too, Harv. Am I being fired?"

Harvey flinches, and drops his gaze to the asphalt.

"I'm sorry, Emory. I really am. Look, I don't like it any more than you do, but we're not moving forward with your services at this time."

"Are you kidding me?" I snap. "None of this is her fault."

"Cole," Emory says, putting her hand on my arm. "It's all right."

"No, it's not alright," Harv says with a long sigh. "I hate having to do this. And I know it's not her fault! But it is what it is."

"If you're worried about Lovejoy or his accomplices trying something," I say, "you should know that if they set foot on this lot while Emory is here, they're not walking back out."

"I believe you," Harv says. "Look, I did my research. I know that you Platinum Security guys are the real deal. As scary as they come. But this isn't about the band's safety."

"Then what is it about?" Emory asks.

Harvey sighs. "Look, the studio execs, they're the ones pulling the strings. I do my best to look out for the band, but there's only so much I can do. The board is concerned that this media circus is drawing attention away from the band's single and upcoming tour."

"This is bullshit," I growl.

"I know," Harvey says, wiping a hand down his face. "I know. It kills me to be the bearer of bad news. But you don't work here anymore, Emory. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…"

Harvey turns his back and walks away, shaking his bald head. I actually think he is sorry. I still want to put my foot up his ass for not having a spine and standing up to the studio, but like he said, it is what it is.

"Let's just go," Emory says, getting in the truck. "Take me home, Cole. Just take me home."

On the way out, we pass by TJ peering out at the dispersing protesters and paparazzi.

When he spots us, he gives us a nod and then turns toward Emory.

"Man, those Paps are the worst. Management too. Don't you sweat though. We're gonna make it right."

Emory gives him a weak smile. "Thanks TJ. Make sure you all keep practicing. And remember, lift your left arm for the Motif."

TJ does a little bow. "You got it boss lady."

Emory is silent for the ride home. I try to engage her, but she only grunts or doesn't even respond at all.

"On the bright side," I say as we pull into her driveway, "there's nothing keeping us here in LA. We can leave town, and find somewhere hidden and safe to keep you until Lovejoy is taken care of."

Emory doesn't respond at first, but then she turns and gives me a smile.

"You're right. When we get inside, I'll start packing."

My heart skips a beat. I can't believe I was finally able to convince her to leave.

"You're making the right decision, Emory."

She nods, and smiles again, but it doesn't quite reach her blue eyes. I'm worried about her.

"Hey," she says when we get inside. "Can you do me a favor?"

"What's that?" I ask.

"I could really use a drink."

I chuckle and gesture at the fridge.

"Shall I get you something?"

"No, I mean, a real drink. Something stiff. Like Jameson whiskey."

"Jameson?"

"What? It's not a good brand?"

"It's a great brand for the price. One of my favorites, actually. I'm just surprised to hear you say it."

Emory kisses me, holding me tight. There's a note of desperation in her kiss, but plenty of passion. My mind spins, even after we break apart.

"Baby, there's a lot about me you have yet to learn," she purrs. "Now, if you'll be super nice and go to the corner store and get some whiskey, I'll finish packing. And then maybe we can have a drink."

"Right before I'm supposed to drive?"

Emory plays with the buttons on my shirt.

"Oh, I'm sure we can find something to do while you sober up. We can leave this afternoon and it won't make much difference, right?"

"I guess not, but I can't leave you alone."

She cocks an eyebrow. "We took four trips around the neighborhood, and you checked and rechecked the surveillance footage. You know that Julian and his goons aren't here. They aren't even in the neighborhood. I'll be fine for the next five minutes while you run to the store."

This is really important to her, for some reason. After the day she's had, I can't bear to say no. But I keep getting this feeling that I'm making a mistake, even if Lovejoy is nowhere to be found.

"All right," I say at last. "But keep the door locked, security engaged, and do not leave until I get back."

"I will."

"And here."

I pull the pistol out of the holster behind my back, and set it on the kitchen counter.

"You ever use one of these?"

"A couple times, at a practice range. Julian…used to drag me along with him when he went there."

I nod. "Then something good came of him. Not that you'll need it. But if you were to use it, you should aim for the center mass. Don't bother going for headshots, or anything non-lethal like a leg shot. Putting a bunch of holes in Lovejoy's chest would make him go down. Believe me."

She nods, staring at the gun on the counter.

"All right."

Reluctantly, I leave her house. I make sure she turns the security system back on before I even step off the porch.

The corner store is more like two blocks away. And they're insanely busy. By the time I check out with the bottle of whiskey, it's already been fifteen minutes.

I rush back to Emory, breathing a sigh of relief when I see that everything looks placid outside of her place.

"I'm back."

I try the door. It's unlocked. My face twists in annoyance.

"I thought we were going to keep the door locked?"

No answer. Now I've got a really bad feeling. I rush through the house, calling Emory's name, but it soon becomes clear she's not home.

Emory is gone, vanished into thin air. And I have no idea how to find her.