Page 77 of Tate
Clearly, that was a no.
“Get close to him!” Tate shouted.
Rags obeyed. Tate drew up his leg to the seat, then leaped for him.
They went down together in a rolling tackle, Tate letting him go so he could find his feet.
He’d gotten the wind bullied out of him a little but gulped back hard as he rounded on the man.
The intruder sprawled in the grass, his hands over his head, his legs brought up to protect his belly.
“Sheesh,” Tate said. “Get up. I’m not going to beat you.”
The man pushed himself up onto his knees, and Tate gave a start. Not a man, but a kid. But young and gaunt, and fear in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
He was breathing hard. “I saw Miss Jackson leave the event tonight and I thought maybe I could get some pictures of her and her new boyfriend.”
Rags had circled back around and now pulled up. “Who is he?” He cut the engine.
“Paparazzi.”
“No, man. I’m a freelancer. I work for the Lincoln. It’s a political website that discusses national issues.”
“Seriously. And taking pictures of Gloria Jackson and her…friend…is political how?”
“If Sloan Anderson has the ear of the future president via her daughter, the world needs to know.”
“Why?”
“Because of his ties to Russia! He has known liaisons with low-level Russian diplomats in Washington.”
“Liaisons, how?”
The kid drew in a breath. “He plays golf with Russians.”
“He’s a lobbyist. Of course he does.” Tate reached down to haul the kid up to his feet. Then he yanked the camera from his neck.
“Hey!”
Tate held his hand up in warning, and the man piped down. Tate opened the screen, scrolled through—oh my, he had shots of their kiss.
His hands in Glo’s hair, his mouth practically devouring hers. And Glo’s arms around his neck, equally as eager.
Delete.
He scrolled more, found the ones of Glo standing by the pool, pouring out her heart as he walked from the shadows. He looked like a freakin’ wounded puppy.
Delete.
He sort of wanted to keep the one of Glo staring up into the sky, as if seeking answers from the moon, her hair glowing, her eyes soft.
Delete.
The next one was of her at some fancy hotel, getting out of her car, then going inside, then?—
Wait.
He enlarged the picture.
