Page 42 of Tate
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 theirtwo-thousand-dollar plated dinnerfor 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—mydaughter’slife—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 privatesuite, 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 beenright.
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.
