Tate Page 9

  “Not that good. There were extenuating circumstances.”

  “Like the bombing in San Antonio?” He had nabbed a gin and tonic from the bar and now sipped it. “Yeah, when I heard you were performing, that shook me up.”

  Oh.

  He shrugged. “So I’m still a fan. Can’t help it. But, are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Thanks. We’ll be back on the road in a few months. We’re trying to write and get some in-studio time before then.” A wish more than a plan, but it had been forming since Cher threw out the idea of a solo act. She didn’t want to go it alone.

  Hated the silence of her own thoughts, if she were honest. Because inevitably it was filled by the voices.

  So, she needed to galvanize the Belles, start putting pen to paper.

  Except right now her mother’s world felt pretty good, with the evening glow on her shoulders, a bubbly drink on her tongue, and way-too-handsome Sloan Anderson grinning at her.

  Maybe she could fill Joy’s shoes.

  “Listen. I’m starved, but dinner’s going to be late. And unless you like octopus and fresh anchovies, I know where we can get a decent snack. How do frozen Ho Hos sound?”

  “Oh, you are diabolical. I can’t believe you remembered.”

  His eyes twinkled when he smiled, and how had she not noticed that before? Maybe the glitter of the spotlights had blinded her.

  She glanced at her mother, wound up in a conversation with some general dressed in his Army Service Uniform, and nodded.

  Sloan took her hand and they threaded through the crowd, around the side of the house, and up the stairs to the balcony. He led her into a side entrance.

  The air conditioning raised gooseflesh, and she dropped his hand, rubbing hers on her arms.

  “Sorry. I keep it pretty cool in here.” He went over to a kitchen area. A long granite bar top separated the kitchen area from the pool table and the lounge area. A giant flat-screen covered one wall, flanked by built-in speakers. He opened the freezer and pulled out a box of Ho Hos. Set them on the counter. “Dad let me take this over when I moved home.”

  She guessed one of the closed doors might be a bedroom. “Where did you move from? I thought you were living in DC.”

  “I was. Worked for the NRA as a lobbyist, but…I got a better job.”

  She slid onto a counter stool and reached for a Ho Ho. “As?”

  “Assistant campaign manager.”

  She stopped her movements, the unwrapped Ho Ho in her hand. “For…Senator Reba Jackson.”

  He pointed at her.

  “Seriously?”

  “Your mother represents all I believe in. She’s a moderate, votes conservative on freedoms, progressive on social issues, and represents the ideals of the majority of Americans. Besides, I think it’s time for a woman president, don’t you?”

  He seemed so sincere she just had to nod.

  “And I’m not campaigning here, but your mother always…well, not having a mother, she was sort of a fill-in. She’d show up at your events, and somehow I’d end up hanging out with you guys. Going for ice cream after school award ceremonies. Your mother always took care of me.”

  It was good to see her mother through Sloan’s eyes. Because even if it had been her sister her mother had shown up to watch, she had been in the audience.

  Every time.

  “I’m sure you know this, but she got into politics because of Joy. She didn’t want Joy to miss out on any opportunities because of her physical challenges, so Mother ran for the school board. Made sure they were up to code, opened the door for personal help for the physically challenged, and pretty much transformed not only our school but brought changes to schools across Nashville.”

  “It became her platform when she ran for mayor and won. I did my homework.” He winked at her. “Her law degree didn’t hold her back, either.”

  He came around the counter. “Let’s go back outside. You’re freezing.”

  She was cold and followed him out onto the balcony, now draped in the twilight hues of the setting sun. Behind them, the crowd had begun to take their seats at the tables, but Glo stayed at the railing, her gaze out on the rolling hills, the horses grazing in the pastures.

  Maybe she could fit into this world, embrace her mother’s dreams. Be the daughter she needed.

  Maybe she owed her mother that much.

  Sloan pressed his hand to the small of her back. “I was hoping you’d come back, Glo. I…” He drew in a breath. “I missed you.”

  She turned to him, very aware that her childhood friend had grown up, become the sort of man any woman would want.

  Any woman but one still bleeding from the broken edges of her heart.

  But maybe he was the distraction she needed. The perfect way to forget Tate.

  What had Cher said—giddyup?

  She smiled, mostly at Cher’s word, but he read it as something more maybe, because his hand came up to caress her cheek.

  A feather touch, and she stilled.

  No, she wasn’t ready. Not yet. So she leaned away.

  A shout erupted behind her. Sloan looked up, his eyes widening a second before something—or someone—hit her from behind. Slammed her into Sloan, and they all went down in a tumble.

  A shot cracked, and it hit the house, chipping off mortar and brick.

  Glo lay atop Sloan, who’d broken her fall in his embrace, but over the top of both of them, one of the security personnel covered their bodies.

  Where had he come from?

  “Stay down!” he hissed.

  She felt his body over her, solid, warm, protective.

  She froze. No—

  But she couldn’t look as more shots barked.

  Then feet hammered the veranda, shouts and return gunfire.

  The man protecting her was breathing hard, a tiny groan to his voice, and she deduced he might be in pain.

  Shot?

  Please—no—

  “Let’s get them inside!”

  She recognized Sly’s terse voice, and the man protecting them rolled away.

  Sly grabbed her arm, helped her to her feet, and wasted no time hustling her back inside, Sloan on her tail.

  Sly led her behind the bar and instructed them both to get down, but she wasn’t moving until—

  Yes. Oh no, she knew it. But what on earth—?

  Tate came into the room, a gun drawn, his face whitened with pain.

  He turned his back to the wall, leaned his head back, and met her eyes.

  And incredibly, offered her a rogue, one-sided smile. “Hey, babe. Miss me?”

  Glo had nearly gotten shot on Tate’s watch.

  No, while he’d been watching Slick Sloan hit on her, reeling her in for a kiss.

  Tate might be ill, right here in the corner of Liam Anderson’s dark-paneled office. If not from the memory of Glo looking up at Sloan like…

  Like she’d looked at Tate two short weeks ago. Might have been a decade for the way she acted. Apparently, it took exactly two weeks for her to forget he existed.

  And while he’d been standing there, corralling the Neanderthal desire to throw Sloan off the balcony—definitely not a part of his job description—a sniper had adjusted his gun just enough for the setting sun to glint off the barrel.

  A smart sniper would have wrapped his weapon, to protect it from betraying tells.

  Tate’s instincts had simply kicked in and he’d leapt at Glo, taking Sloan down too.

  A sort of collateral save, really, but it made him look good.

  Even if his shoulder felt like he’d torn something and threatened to send him to his knees. The pain radiated down his arm and across his back. He’d barely held in a shriek of pain as he landed on it, sweat beading on his forehead as he held Glo and Sloan down long enough for his crew to arrive for backup.

  So, yeah, if the sight of Glo standing next to Sloan, his arm on her shoulder, wasn’t enough to make him ill, Tate could easily drop into the fetal position and lose his
guts over the agony coursing through him.

  But he couldn’t do either. No, his job was to stay quiet and resolute in the corner while Reba unloaded on Sly and her security team.

  “How could this even happen? We’ve been prepping for weeks, even months!”

  Poor Sly took her onslaught like the former SEAL he’d been. Quiet. Resolute and not without a grim look of frustration. No doubt mentally recapping his preparations. “I’m sorry, Senator,” he said, his voice tight. “We have men patrolling the perimeter of the property, and all the catering staff was vetted. We’re not sure how he got in…or got away.”

  It reminded Tate oh-so-vividly of the attack at the Marshall family ranch a month ago. Someone had fired at the barn and shot Glo.

  Shot. Glo.

  A fresh chill went through Tate, and his gaze landed on her.

  She must have felt his eyes on her because she glanced at him, ever so briefly. Her mouth tightened, and she blinked fast, as if trying not to cry.

  Sloan pulled her close, and she drew in a breath.

  Nice.

  Somehow in Tate’s romance-soaked brain he’d thought she’d be glad to see him. The thought of their reunion had kept him focused on yesterday’s orientation, the prep for this event, the run-through of scenarios like this one—probably the reason they were all still alive and relatively uninjured—and most of all kept him from finding her last night after the lights went out, as he patrolled the perimeter of the house on his first shift.

  Because he had given his word to the senator. And the last thing he wanted was to get fired on day one.

  But he’d longed to see Glo with every cell in his body.

  “And now?” the senator said, her voice a whisper of fury. “I have guests gathered in the hall wondering why we asked them to forgo their two-thousand-dollar plated dinner for dance music.”

  “He’s gone, ma’am. And the area is secure. You can resume your festivities.”

  But Reba marched right up to Sly and met his eyes. In her heels, she was nearly as tall as her head of security, and the look on her face reminded Tate a little of his instructor at Ranger school.

  Raised the little hairs on the back of his neck.

  “I put my life—my daughter’s life—in your hands, Sly…” She shot a look in Tate’s direction, her mouth pinched. “And apparently yours, Mr. Marshall. Don’t either of you let us down.”

  He swallowed. Nodded. Let his gaze fall again on Glo.

  For a very long minute, after Tate had followed Glo up the balcony stairs, watched her laugh with Sloan inside his private suite, as she emerged onto the balcony and Sloan charmed her, Tate had wanted to leave. Because just seeing her leaning into Sloan in that body-hugging dress, her skin tan, her hair a white-gold halo, could drive a knife clear through his heart.

  He hadn’t seen that coming.

  But now he was in it, up to his ears. Because he’d been right.

  This wasn’t over.

  Apparently, the only thing dead was his hope of a future with Glo.

  He looked outside at the darkness, lethal if the team hadn’t swept the area again.

  Deep in his gut, he just wanted to grab Glo and run.

  Footsteps sounded, and Reba approached him. She stopped in front of him. “Thank you, Tate. You did your job.” She held out her hand, her eyes in his, cut her voice low. “But don’t forget our deal.”

  He drew in a breath, managed not to moan around the rush of pain—he might have freshly bruised a rib too—and shook her hand. Nodded.

  She offered the tiniest smile, something honest, ripe with relief, and maybe, someday, he had a hope of earning her respect.

  Not that it mattered anymore.

  “In case you’re wondering, you’re staying. So, get yourself some medical help.”

  He frowned.

  “I can tell when a man is in pain.” She let go of his hand. “Then, call your CIA contact. We need to track down these guys before they kill me—or my daughter.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She reached out for her husband, who had gone over to hug Glo. He took her hand, glanced at Tate, and gave him a grim smile.

  Then, from the senator, “Sloan, we may need your help calming these masses.”

  Sloan headed out after her.

  Glo looked like she might follow, and Tate didn’t move, didn’t watch her go. But he was bracing himself to turn, to force himself to trail the happy couple for the rest of the evening.

  “Tate.”

  Glo stopped in front of him, and he sighed, looked down.

  Wow, she was pretty. It could knock him flat, the way she became prettier the longer he knew her. Silky blonde hair in curls he longed to wrap his fingers around, her face a little flushed, those hazel-green eyes.

  Except, oh, she had fire in her eyes, and he braced himself.

  “Really? Really? You work for my mother?”

  “Glo—”

  Now tears filled her eyes. “Don’t you think it was hard enough to say goodbye to you? Now I have to watch you watch me everywhere I go?”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t get in the way of you and Slick.” Oh, he hadn’t meant for any of that to emerge and immediately swallowed, ground his jaw, and looked away.

  He still felt her gaze on him, and after a moment, he hazarded a glance back at her.

  Oh, she was lit, nearly a firecracker ready to blow for the way she looked at him. “For your information, Sloan and I are childhood friends. Nothing more.”

  “That’s not what it looked like.” And oh, he should just shut up.

  She planted her hands on her hips. “Really? Because I thought security is supposed to be invisible and impartial. Be seen and not heard—”

  “Unless we’re saving you and your boyfriend from a bullet.” Sheesh, he might as well give it up.

  Her mouth pinched, and she considered him. “You know, you should quit before this gets ugly.”

  “Oh, it’s already a train wreck. But I’m staying, sweetheart. Because someone has to keep you alive.”

  “Then avert your eyes,” she snapped. “Because guess what, you’re going to be seeing a lot more of Sloan Anderson in my life.”

  “Perfect. I can’t wait.”

  She wore tears now and angrily swept them away. And he was a royal, tier one jerk. “Glo—”

  “That’s Miss Jackson to you, Mr. Marshall. Remember your place.”

  Then she brushed by him, slamming the door behind her.

  Tate hung his head, unmoving. Only then did he remember Sly still stood in the room.

  “So, I was right. You two are a thing.”

  Tate’s head shot up. “Were a thing. Sort of. I don’t know, now. Maybe…at any rate, it’s over.”

  But Sly’s mouth tipped up one side. “For now. But Gloria is a peacemaker, always looking out for others. You must have gotten under her skin.”

  He walked over to Tate. “And clearly, she got under yours or you wouldn’t have rushed back to work, injured.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Let me see it.”

  Tate frowned, but the big man stood in front of him, and he seemed to have no choice but to shake off his jacket and unbutton his shirt. Sly reached inside it and felt the bones, the muscles of his shoulder.

  Tate gritted his teeth, but a small moan emerged.

  “It’s not dislocated, but it’s definitely still swollen. You need ice on it and immobilization. Go back to the estate, get rested—”

  “No.” He jerked away from Sly. “I have a job to do.”

  “Someone else can do your job.”

  He met Sly’s eyes as he buttoned his shirt. “And let’s, for one moment, say it wasn’t me standing there. Wasn’t me who spent months training in every kind of terrain, learning how to spot threats. What if it was one of your rent-a-cops with guns who you’d assigned to protect Glo?” His jaw went hard. “You have some good guys on this team—I got that part already. But no one knows Glo like I d
o. No one can protect her like I can.”

  Sly’s mouth tightened. He stepped back to sit against the desk. “I did my homework on you. I know about what happened in Afghanistan, to you and your unit.”

  Tate’s fingers stopped buttoning his shirt.

  “That’s tough—to lose everyone like you did.”

  Tate didn’t move. Took a breath. Resumed buttoning.

  “The report didn’t say how you survived.”

  Tate reached for his jacket. Held it for a moment. “I hid under the bodies of my buddies as the Taliban went house to house looking for me.” For three long, horrifying days. “Then I sneaked out under cover of darkness.”

  “And escaped to the wilderness with a busted knee, contacted help, and survived.”

  The short story, yes. And the entire time, hearing shame in his ears.

  He’d left his men behind. After walking them right into an ambush.

  “I’ve met your type before. Heroes—”

  “I’m no hero, sir.”

  “Well, you clearly don’t have anything to prove to anyone, so are you sure you want to stay?”

  He did have something to prove. If not to Glo, then himself.

  Maybe especially to himself.

  “You may or may not have noticed the black eye Glo was sprouting when she returned from Vegas,” Tate said quietly. “Or even the gunshot wound that’s still healing on her shoulder?” He took a step toward Sly. “That was on me. I failed her. Twice. It’s not going to happen a third time.”

  Sly folded his arms over his chest. Considered Tate. “‘Never shall I fail my comrades.’”

  Tate’s mouth tightened. He nodded. “I remember the Ranger creed, thanks.”

  “‘Surrender is not a Ranger word.’”

  “No, sir, it’s not.”

  Finally, he nodded. “Go to the kitchen. Get some ice. I’ll pick up Gloria’s detail until you get back.” He stood up as Tate turned.

  “Tate?”

  He stopped, glanced at Sly.

  “We’re a team here. My team. And you’re not the only one who made promises to people. Good job today…but next time you show up hurt to work, I’m sidelining you. You’re not the only one who can keep Gloria safe.”

  Tate nodded, but as he pushed out the door into the hallway, cast a look into the crowd and spotted Glo, he wanted to respectfully disagree.