Page 21 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

“Yeah. Everything my brother collected.” Tate stood up and pointed to two hand-drawn pictures of the suspects.

“The local officials identified the bomber as a rodeo clown, but my brother saw a picture of him with these two guys. One has a tattoo of bright orange flames circling his neck, the other had gauged ears and a port-wine stain. Apparently the one with the port-wine stain is the mayor’s son, so I don’t think they leaned too hard on him.

His name is Alan Kobie, but he didn’t give up his friend’s name.

My sister works for the CIA, and she’s trying to dig up the identity, but the Senator thinks the bombing is the work of a rogue leftist group trying to thwart her campaign. ”

“Was one of these guys responsible for the attack at your ranch?”

Wow, Sly really had opened up his file. “We think so. Kelsey, Glo’s bandmate who was with her that night, identified a guy with gauged ears, so…maybe…” He tapped the drawings. “Could be Kobie, but he’s gone to ground.” He turned to Rags. “Did you find anything at the Anderson place?”

“Sly turned a team loose there, but so far, they only found a couple spent shells.”

This perked Tate up. “What kind of shells?”

“Brass, 7.62x51mm NATO.”

“For a M40A5 sniper rifle.”

“That’s what I was thinking too.”

“You ever shoot one of those?”

“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.

He’d traced his finger up her arm and told her that maybe they had a future after the campaign. After her mother made him press secretary in the new White House administration. She’d love DC, by the way. His favorite bagel place was only two blocks from the Capitol.

Yeah, she had a Sloan problem. Or maybe not a problem, because Sloan was everything a girl could want, really. Smart, wickedly handsome, and he nearly worshiped her.

But every time the man took her in his arms, every time he tried to kiss her, all she could remember was the amazing kiss with Tate, the way he had set her entire body on fire.

No one had kissed her, ever, like Tate Marshall. Like she might be a drink of water to a parched man. Needing her.

She couldn’t bear the thought of kissing anyone else.

Eventually, she’d left Sloan alone under the Milky Way and headed home.

Felt the smallest—okay, a pretty large—twinge of disappointment at the empty deck chair.

She swallowed away the memory of Tate’s lips on hers and grabbed her iPad, a towel, and her sunglasses. She had a slew of emails to answer.

Her father was in the kitchen, sitting on a bar stool, eating a half grapefruit, drinking coffee, and reading something on his iPad, his reading glasses low on his nose. “There’s my Glo-light.”

“Hey, Dad.” She opened the fridge and grabbed a yogurt. Then poured a cup of coffee and sat on a stool next to him.

“Nice picture of you.” He flashed her his iPad. Kelsey stood in the middle, a cowboy hat pulled down over her eyes. Glo stood on the left, a painted rose tattoo down the arm that held her Dobro, dressed all in black.

Dixie flanked them on the other side, wearing a short, sequined dress, her legs about a mile long, her blonde hair down, her violin propped against her shoulder.

“It’s a few weeks old from when the nominations were announced. Carter sent it out.”

“Are you going to the CMGs?”

“Of course. It’s a huge honor even to be nominated.” She opened her yogurt.

“Are you taking Sloan?”

She set the cover on the counter, picked up her spoon. “I…I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“You get to bring someone, right?”

She hadn’t gotten that far.

Or, rather, yes she had. She pictured Tate beside her. As her bodyguard, maybe, but still.

Tate was the Belles’ bodyguard. He deserved to participate in the fun.

“You and Sloan are spending a lot of time together.”

“Mmmhmm.” She took a bite of her yogurt.

“Reminds me a little of your mother and me, back in the day. She had political aspirations…I just went along for the wild ride.”

“I don’t think Sloan has political aspirations.”

Her dad took off his glasses. “You can’t be serious.”

She took a sip of coffee. “Okay. Yes. He wants to be a speechwriter, but run for office?”

“He’s an idealist, like your mother. They see a world that is fairer, kinder, and safer.”

“So do I.”

“They want to do something about it.”

She made a face. “So do I…”

“Of course you do. But this…political life is challenging. And consuming. Some of us have to stay behind and support those who are changing the world. Your mother is a fireball. I’m not. But I do know how to keep the fire going.” He winked.

She didn’t want to know what he meant. Except, “Then why did you leave her? You two have lived apart for…well, nearly ten years.”

He frowned, something quick. “It was because of you, Glo. You needed to get away. After Joy died, you were so withdrawn and scared and?—”

“I was withdrawn and scared because Mother blamed me for her death.” Oh, and she didn’t mean for that to come out, but…

well, “When I woke up after the surgery, Mother wasn’t there.

She was with Joy, waiting for her to wake up.

And I got it…she was always with Joy. Joy was her favorite.

Joy needed her, and Mother likes to be needed. But…I needed her, too, and…”

“And she didn’t show up, even after Joy passed.” Her father touched her arm. “And then we brought you home to the room you shared with your sister.”

“I couldn’t sleep there, Dad. I just kept staring at her empty bed.”

“I know. That’s when you started sleeping in the guest room. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that job in Minnesota, but we thought it was best to get you into a new environment. And your mother was busy with her life in DC. Still is. She’s always had a free spirit—and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“Me either. I guess that’s why I feel like a guest in my mother’s life.” She stirred her yogurt. “And frankly, that’s okay. I don’t like the things she likes. I’m…”