4

The sun shone brightly. The crowd cheered. American flags and pennants fluttered wildly. Connor stood at the edge of the podium scanning the joyous faces as the US president delivered his speech. “I prayed for a miracle, and one was delivered . . .”

The western end of the National Mall was overflowing with the smiling faces of men, women and children, all gathered to celebrate the president’s daughter’s safe return.

But Connor wasn’t celebrating. He was looking for a face. The face of a killer.

It was like searching for a hornet in a hive of bees. The assassin would blend in, become the gray person in the crowd. And that made everyone a potential suspect . . . Then Connor’s eyes homed in on the barrel of a gun, protruding between a boy and his younger sister. The president beckoned for his daughter, Alicia, to join him. The gun sights tracked her as she stepped onto the stage. The siblings continued to flourish their flags, oblivious to the lethal weapon between them. Connor screamed at the Secret Service agents stationed by the barrier. But none heard him above the roar of the crowd.

In desperation Connor rushed onto the stage. But gravity seemed to weigh him down. The harder he ran, the more slowly he went. He cried out a warning. Turning, Alicia gave him a bemused look.

A noise as loud as a thunder crack punctured the cheers. Connor thought he could see the actual bullet emerge from the gun barrel. He dived into its line of fire. But the deadly bullet whizzed past, missing him by a fraction of an inch. He landed in a useless heap on the stage as Alicia gazed down in shock at the bloodred stain blossoming over her crisp white dress.

“NO!” cried Connor, watching her crumple slowly to the ground . . .

•   •   •

“Connor! Connor! Are you all right?”

Shaken by the shoulder, Connor blinked, disoriented for a moment. The room was swallowed in darkness, just a rectangle of muted light spilling across his bedroom floor from the open doorway.

“You were crying out,” said Charley, who sat beside his bed in her wheelchair, her face half in shadow. She took her hand away from his shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind me checking on you.”

Connor sat up and rubbed his eyes. “No . . . not at all . . . I was just dreaming.”

“Sounded more like a nightmare to me.”

Connor hesitated, unsure whether admitting his inner doubts would be regarded as weakness for a guardian. Then he realized that of all the members of Alpha team, Charley would be the one to understand most.

“I keep reliving Alicia’s assassination attempt.”

“Near-death experiences can do that to you.” A haunted look entered her eyes but was gone so quickly that Connor could have been mistaken.

“But in my dream I’m always too late,” he explained.

“It was a close call. You got shot. So such anxiety is understandable. But you did save her.”

“I know, but what if that was just beginner’s luck? I mean, I’ve not passed a single Guardian training exercise this last week.”

“Training is where you’re supposed to make your mistakes,” she reminded him. “Besides, the tests are designed to be tough so that we’re at the top of our game when we’re on an assignment.”

Connor let out a weary sigh. He felt the mounting pressure of his forthcoming mission. The responsibility of protecting another person was overwhelming. “But what if next time I don’t react quickly enough?”

Charley gave him a disapproving look. “You mustn’t allow yourself to think like that. You did protect the president’s daughter when the time came. That should be proof enough that you’re up to the job.”

“Exactly my point. Everyone thinks I’m this hotshot bodyguard. But I’m not. A second later and . . .” His voice faded into silence at the terrible thought.

Charley glanced toward his bedside table, where a plastic key fob was propped up against his alarm clock. “Listen, it’s in your blood, remember?” she said softly, nodding toward the key fob.

Connor studied the faded photo beneath its scratched surface. His late father, Justin Reeves, stared back at him. Tanned, tough and with the piercing green-blue eyes that Connor had inherited, his father looked every inch the soldier—a man who could be relied upon in even the most dangerous situations.

Connor felt a weight even heavier than responsibility upon his shoulders. “I’m not my father,” he admitted quietly. “As much as Colonel Black believes I am, I can’t live up to his name. Dad was Special Forces. I’m Special Nothing.”

Charley’s eyes met his with a fierce intensity. “That’s negative thinking. Of course you’re going to fail if that’s your attitude! Listen to me. You can’t measure yourself against a memory.”

Connor was taken aback by her sudden fire. “I know. You’re right. It’s just—”

A door creaked open somewhere down the hallway. They weren’t supposed to be in each other’s rooms after ten o’clock at night. Charley eased herself back toward the door. At the threshold, she paused and looked at him.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Connor. Whenever I question my own abilities, I remember the saying Whether you think you can or think you can’t, you’re probably right.”

She shut the door and Connor lay in the darkness, thinking about what she had said. About the power of self-belief. As he closed his eyes, he pictured his father’s face willing him on, like he always had when he was alive.