Page 134 of Tate
Let go and live.
That worked out sometimes too.
“Which one, Red?” he whispered. “Tell me which one.”
She drew in a breath. “The white one. For hope.”
He nodded and slid the knife under the wire.
Beside him, Tate tensed.
Then he cut and waited for the world to explode.
Glo had been set up—maybe not by Tate but definitely by Sloan.
As soon as she walked outside the ballroom, Sloan directed Rags to grab her and drag her away from the trauma inside, leaving Scarlett to crouch beside the door, watching and relaying the events to whomever she talked to on the phone.
“Let me go!” Glo had kicked Rags in the shin, but he’d simply pulled her up into his arms and held her in his Hulkish embrace as she battered him. “This is kidnapping!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Rags said as she pushed against him.
She wouldn’t slap him—that wasn’t fair—but when they reached the escalator, she said, “Fine—fine. Put me down. If people see you dragging me away, they’ll panic.”
Still, it took a look from Sloan, the betrayer, before Rags would set her down. He steadied her with his hand on her arm as they rode to the main floor.
The security had led everyone outside, to the grassy park area beyond the hotel. A few of the women had taken off their shoes. Servers walked around with desserts on trays. The sun had juststarted to sink into the ocean, a bloody red upon the water. The chamber orchestra had reset up, Nicole at the helm of the disaster, as usual.
The whole thing felt a little like the sinking of theTitanic. Ford and Tate were inside disassembling a bomb, and?—
“Are those sirens?” her mother snapped and turned to Sloan. “Make them go away.”
“Mother. There is a bomb in the building. Of course we need police and sirens!”
Reba turned to her, swallowed hard. Then blew out a breath. “Yes, of course.” She reached up to her neckline and unclipped her mic. “Come with me. I need your help to get this off me. I don’t know why the sound guy mic’d me up if he was going to use the stand mic.”
Glo followed her mother back into the lobby and down to the bathroom, Rags and Sly on their tail. She turned to them at the door of the bathroom and held up her hand. “Really. I got this.”
Her mother was washing her hands, muttering. Blowing out controlled breaths.
“Mother.” Glo stepped up and unzipped her to where the mic pack hung on her camisole. “It was a great night. Every single one of these people are here to see you. Because you…you’re amazing. You fight for the underdog, and you give the voiceless a voice. That matters.” She unclipped the mic pack and wound up the wire around it, setting it on the counter. “That’s why people vote for you. Because of your character. Not because you throw them a great party.”
Her mother looked up, drew in a breath. “How did I get so lucky as to have two such brilliant daughters?”
Glo looked down and zipped her mother back up.
Reached for the mic pack.
But her mother grabbed her hand, stopping her, and turned, her back to the mirror. “I mean it, Gloria. After Joy died, a partof me died too. And I threw myself into public service, thinking it would fill that empty place inside. And it did, it does. But not enough. Not like having you around does.”
Glo’s eyes burned.
“But you carry that same light Joy had inside you. It shows when you sing. And it shows…well, when you love other people. Like your band. And your father. And…Tate.”
She looked up at her mother.
“I was wrong about Tate. He might be trouble, but he is also a hero.” She touched Glo’s cheek. “And he came all the way to San Diego. For you.”
Even after she’d rejected him.
