Page 16 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

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 their two-thousand-dollar plated dinner for 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—my daughter’s life—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 private suite, 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 been right.

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.

“In case you’re wondering, you’re staying. So, get yourself some medical help.”

He frowned.

“I can tell when a man is in pain.” She let go of his hand. “Then, call your CIA contact. We need to track down these guys before they kill me—or my daughter.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She reached out for her husband, who had gone over to hug Glo. He took her hand, glanced at Tate, and gave him a grim smile.

Then, from the senator, “Sloan, we may need your help calming these masses.”

Sloan headed out after her.

Glo looked like she might follow, and Tate didn’t move, didn’t watch her go. But he was bracing himself to turn, to force himself to trail the happy couple for the rest of the evening.

“Tate.”

Glo stopped in front of him, and he sighed, looked down.

Wow, she was pretty. It could knock him flat, the way she became prettier the longer he knew her. Silky blonde hair in curls he longed to wrap his fingers around, her face a little flushed, those hazel-green eyes.

Except, oh, she had fire in her eyes, and he braced himself.

“Really? Really ? You work for my mother?”

“Glo—”

Now tears filled her eyes. “Don’t you think it was hard enough to say goodbye to you? Now I have to watch you watch me everywhere I go?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t get in the way of you and Slick.” Oh, he hadn’t meant for any of that to emerge and immediately swallowed, ground his jaw, and looked away.

He still felt her gaze on him, and after a moment, he hazarded a glance back at her.

Oh, she was lit, nearly a firecracker ready to blow for the way she looked at him. “For your information, Sloan and I are childhood friends. Nothing more.”

“That’s not what it looked like.” And oh, he should just shut up.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Really? Because I thought security is supposed to be invisible and impartial. Be seen and not heard?—”

“Unless we’re saving you and your boyfriend from a bullet.” Sheesh, he might as well give it up.

Her mouth pinched, and she considered him. “You know, you should quit before this gets ugly.”

“Oh, it’s already a train wreck. But I’m staying, sweetheart. Because someone has to keep you alive.”

“Then avert your eyes,” she snapped. “Because guess what, you’re going to be seeing a lot more of Sloan Anderson in my life.”

“Perfect. I can’t wait.”

She wore tears now and angrily swept them away. And he was a royal, tier one jerk. “Glo?—”

“That’s Miss Jackson to you, Mr. Marshall. Remember your place.”

Then she brushed by him, slamming the door behind her.

Tate hung his head, unmoving. Only then did he remember Sly still stood in the room.

“So, I was right. You two are a thing.”

Tate’s head shot up. “ Were a thing. Sort of. I don’t know, now. Maybe…at any rate, it’s over.”

But Sly’s mouth tipped up one side. “For now. But Gloria is a peacemaker, always looking out for others. You must have gotten under her skin.”

He walked over to Tate. “And clearly, she got under yours or you wouldn’t have rushed back to work, injured.”

“I’m not?—”

“Let me see it.”

Tate frowned, but the big man stood in front of him, and he seemed to have no choice but to shake off his jacket and unbutton his shirt. Sly reached inside it and felt the bones, the muscles of his shoulder.

Tate gritted his teeth, but a small moan emerged.

“It’s not dislocated, but it’s definitely still swollen. You need ice on it and immobilization. Go back to the estate, get rested?—”

“No.” He jerked away from Sly. “I have a job to do.”

“Someone else can do your job.”

He met Sly’s eyes as he buttoned his shirt.

“And let’s, for one moment, say it wasn’t me standing there.

Wasn’t me who spent months training in every kind of terrain, learning how to spot threats.

What if it was one of your rent-a-cops with guns who you’d assigned to protect Glo?

” His jaw went hard. “You have some good guys on this team—I got that part already. But no one knows Glo like I do. No one can protect her like I can.”

Sly’s mouth tightened. He stepped back to sit against the desk. “I did my homework on you. I know about what happened in Afghanistan, to you and your unit.”

Tate’s fingers stopped buttoning his shirt.

“That’s tough—to lose everyone like you did.”

Tate didn’t move. Took a breath. Resumed buttoning.

“The report didn’t say how you survived.”

Tate reached for his jacket. Held it for a moment. “I hid under the bodies of my buddies as the Taliban went house to house looking for me.” For three long, horrifying days. “Then I sneaked out under cover of darkness.”

“And escaped to the wilderness with a busted knee, contacted help, and survived.”

The short story, yes. And the entire time, hearing shame in his ears.

He’d left his men behind. After walking them right into an ambush.

“I’ve met your type before. Heroes?—”

“I’m no hero, sir.”

“Well, you clearly don’t have anything to prove to anyone, so are you sure you want to stay?”

He did have something to prove. If not to Glo, then himself.

Maybe especially to himself.

“You may or may not have noticed the black eye Glo was sprouting when she returned from Vegas,” Tate said quietly. “Or even the gunshot wound that’s still healing on her shoulder?” He took a step toward Sly. “That was on me. I failed her. Twice. It’s not going to happen a third time.”

Sly folded his arms over his chest. Considered Tate. “‘Never shall I fail my comrades.’”

Tate’s mouth tightened. He nodded. “I remember the Ranger creed, thanks.”

“‘Surrender is not a Ranger word.’”

“No, sir, it’s not.”

Finally, he nodded. “Go to the kitchen. Get some ice. I’ll pick up Gloria’s detail until you get back.” He stood up as Tate turned.

“Tate?”

He stopped, glanced at Sly.

“We’re a team here. My team. And you’re not the only one who made promises to people. Good job today…but next time you show up hurt to work, I’m sidelining you. You’re not the only one who can keep Gloria safe.”

Tate nodded, but as he pushed out the door into the hallway, cast a look into the crowd and spotted Glo, he wanted to respectfully disagree.

Go ahead and date Slick, honey.

Because he may have lost the battle, but he wasn’t about to concede the war.

Tate was out there, and she was in here and?—