Page 57 of Tate
“I wasn’t a Marine. Straight up Army.”
“The Rangers used MK11s.” Tate turned back to the wall. “Which means our man could be a former Marine. That helps. Maybe RJ can cross-reference known members of the Bryant League with former Marines.” He picked up his phone, sent a speed dial, but the call went directly to voicemail.
He bit back a word and tossed the phone on his bed. Considered it for a moment. “Maybe I need to get on a plane.She hasn’t called me back for over a week. It’s weird. And we’re supposed to be together this weekend for my brother’s wedding.”
“Oh, leaving the ship in the hands of the crew, huh?” Rags leaned against the wall. “Good. Go to a wedding, find a cute girl, try and forget Glo.”
“Every girl there will be either my sister or future sister-in-law, so…probably not.” But maybe he could go down to the Bulldog Saloon…
No. The very thought tightened his gut. He hated the man he’d been during the two years since Vegas, trying to forget Raquel.
In fact, he liked the person he was now, or at least the one he was turning into since he’d signed on with the Belles.
The guy who refused to stay down. Steady. Reliable.
It might be the first time he wasn’t ashamed of himself.
“Naw,” he said to Rags. “I’m in it for the long game. Even if she breaks my heart, I’m sticking around. But yeah, I need to get some headspace. Glo is desperately trying to push me away—I get it. I get her. She’s got some baggage in her past that makes her terrified that I’m going to get killed. But there’s only so much pummeling a man can take.”
“Right?” Rags said.
Tate picked up his phone, pocketed it. “How about a game of eight ball?”
“Instead of camping out by the pool staring up at her room?”
He let himself smile, lifted a shoulder. “That’ll come later. After she gets home.”
“Rango, you’re in such trouble.”
Yeah. Well, maybe for the first time it was the kind of trouble he wanted.
Glo stood at her window, the morning light sliding across the creamy white carpet, and noticed that his deck chair was empty.
In fact, when she’d returned home last night, it was empty too.
And although she’d checked, he never showed up.
Glo had made a real mess of everything, just as Tate predicted. What had he said…a train wreck?
Because Sloan Anderson just might be in love with her.
And Tate wasn’t going down for the count. She’d thought two moonlit walks, maximum. Thought after the first night when she’d let Sloan kiss her—just a quick good-night peck on the cheek—that Tate would charge into her mother’s office and tender his resignation.
Instead, after she’d gone inside, she’d seen him appear poolside in his off-duty attire of a pair of faded jeans, a white T-shirt, and flip-flops—not exactly the most utilitarian of footwear if he wanted to run down an assailant. But maybe he wasn’t sitting out there because he feared for her life.
Maybe he simply wanted to remind her that she still had his heart.
O Romeo, Romeo.
She turned away. Maybe she’d finally driven him away, and that thought hollowed her out, just a little. But, good.
Right?
Maybe it had been impulsive—and frankly, cruel—to order him from the car last night. But when she’d looked over and seen him watching as Sloan put the moves on her, as his jaw tightened, she just knew the man wasn’t quitting.
She had to get drastic. So she’d made him think she was going back to Sloan’s place. Alone. With Sloan. Wanted to drive home the point that she could do what she wanted, and no amount of his glares, pursed lips, and tight shoulders could stop her.
Except, well, it had stopped her. Because she’d also managed to give Sloan the wrong idea and had to convince him to sit with her by his pool, cocooned in his embrace, watching the stars.
