Page 128 of Tate
Plunkett shrugged. “I know you secret service types. Tough guys, trying to show off. But I’m not running now.”
He was leaning against the half wall of the terrace, with a four-story drop behind him. Although with the high ceilings of the hotel, it felt more like eight.
And that felt…odd. Why run up here? Maybe they weren’t in any bomb danger.
Although, he had been leaving. Tate walked out onto the terrace. “Listen. This doesn’t have to end with anyone getting hurt. Just tell me what’s going on, and we all walk away. You got to terrorize the senator a little, but in the end, no one dies, right?”
“Everyone will die if Jackson is elected.” He looked away. “She’s behind it all.”
Tate kept his voice cool. “Behind what?”
Plunkett met his eyes then. “You know they fight until they die, right? They don’t surrender. Ever.”
He frowned. “Who?”
“The Russians.”
“We’re not in a war with Russia!”
“We will be if Jackson wins.”
And then he got it. “It’s because Jackson is on the National Security Council?”
“No. It’s because she only wants power. And she’ll do anything to get it—including start a war with Russia. Nothing puts a president in power more than a war.”
Right. The man had survived a war—and come home angry. Even delusional. Tate held up his hands. “Listen, pal, I’m sure she’ll be glad to listen to your side of things. Just…how about you tell me what you’re doing here.”
Plunkett shook his head. “It’s too late, man. The lies have already started.”
Tate frowned just as Plunkett turned, grabbing the edge and hoisting himself up?—
“No!” Tate rushed him, grabbed him, and that’s when he realized it might have been a trick. Plunkett rounded on him.
Tate just barely deflected his punch.
Plunkett got a knee into his gut, but Tate grabbed him around the neck and spun him around.
Tate took him down, landing hard against a table. A couple chairs skidded away.
Plunkett’s breath whooshed out of him, and Tate managed to get a shot in.
The man got a leg under him and tossed him, but Tate landed on his feet.
His ribs burned, old wounds surfacing, but he ducked as Plunkett’s fist arrowed toward him.
And that was justit.Tate wrapped his arms around the man’s girth and pedaled him back against the wall. He sent a couple jabs into his gut, then punched his hand into his jaw. “Stop. It’s over.”
Below, a few people spotted them, and screams lifted.
“It’s just started,” Plunkett snarled, burying his fist into Tate’s side, but Tate grabbed his hand, trapping it to the wall.
“You think I’m the only one?” Plunkett spit out.
“We know about your brother. He’s next, big man.”
Plunkett brought his knee up. Tate dodged it, but the movement unbalanced him.
Plunkett roared to the advantage, rolled, and in a second had Tate pressed against the wall, pushing him over.
