Page 44 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

Maybe he was simply undone by the impact of Glo shining under the bright lights. She wore a white dress that hugged her body, black heels, and diamonds at her neck and ears. With her hair curled and tufted like it might be a halo around her head, she looked like a princess.

Scarlett felt like Cinderella next to her.

Even in her amazing dress.

Ford put his hand over hers on the table and squeezed.

Glo air-kissed her mother and waved to the audience.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

Glo rolled her eyes to her mother’s praise.

“And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

She stepped back and the tall, dark-haired man who’d introduced them leaned in to the mic. “I do too. And I plan on marrying that woman.”

Glo glanced at him. Her smile remained intact, but Scarlett could recognize a woman surprised.

“You know how it is. When you meet the right one, the one you’ve been waiting for your entire life? Suddenly it doesn’t matter if it’s been weeks, or days, or even hours—you need that person in your life. Need their smile, their laughter, their wisdom. Need the way they make you feel invincible.”

Like she might be seduced by his words, Scarlett looked at Ford. His strong jaw, the way his fingers curled in hers, so natural, as if they belonged entwined.

She needed him. And not just as a teammate, but…

He picked right then to look at her. To meet her eyes with his devastating gaze and yes, he could probably see right through to her soul, but she could see his too.

What do you want, Red?

“In fact, what do you say I ask her right now?”

No…no…even Scarlett, who didn’t have a romantic bone in her body—okay, maybe a few, but really, she’d never dreamed of roses and sunlit beach walks—knew this wasn’t the way to a woman’s heart.

Except, maybe, if she craved the limelight.

The room exploded in cheers as he stepped up to Glo and took her hand.

Went to his knee.

The applause died, the audience straining to hear his words. “Gloria Jackson. We’ve known each other since childhood. I love you, and I know you love me. I think the only way to kick off this victorious campaign is one way…”

He produced a box and opened it. “Marry me.”

Glo let out a breath.

Scarlett couldn’t help but find Tate again. Oddly, his space by the door was vacated.

She turned back just in time to watch Glo look at the audience, grin, and say, “Aw. Now if that isn’t a country love song, I’m not sure what is.

” She winked, then pulled the man up by his collar and gave him a quick kiss.

Turned again to the crowd. “I think that answer is going to have to be in private.”

The man waggled his eyebrows but pocketed the ring.

Senator Jackson stepped back up to the mic, clapping, but Glo put her hand around her mother and leaned in, taking her spot. “How about if we get this party started with some real music while bussers clear our tables.”

The senator appeared a little startled but stepped back in a moment, clapping.

“Where’s Tate?” Ford asked, turning to face Scarlett.

She didn’t have to answer. Tate’s heavy breathing sparked through the earpiece.

“It’s the sound guy! I’m in the stairwell. He’s getting away!”

He’d had a choice—storm the stage or track down Plunkett.

Tate’s brain had stopped for a full second when the man came onstage because he’d glimpsed, from his vantage point, Glo standing in the wings, and…

She was so beautiful it hurt. Just clawed at his chest, like his heart might be ripping from its moorings. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and nearly ignored the sound guy.

Nearly. Might have missed him altogether had the man not turned and walked back offstage just as Glo stepped forward.

He wore a gray collared shirt with the logo of the sound company on the front, neatly buttoned all the way up. He must have tried to hide the tat with makeup, but the uniform had smudged enough off for Tate to spot bright orange lipping above the neckline.

Please let him be right.

He started to make his way to the door as Sloan stepped up to the mic. You know how it is. When you meet the right one, the one you’ve been waiting for your entire life?

Yeah, he knew.

Because he’d never loved anyone like he loved Glo. Needed anyone like he needed Glo. Yeah, her smile, her laughter, but also the way she believed in the good, the hero in him.

And right then, he’d wanted to rush the stage. Scoop up Glo and make off with her like he might be a crazed fan.

True fact.

But that would be impulsive and fanatical, and he’d not only get tackled by Rags, doing his job, but Plunkett would get clean away.

His words to Glo in Montana found him. I promise you right now—I’m not going to let anything happen to you…or me.

He was keeping at least one of those promises.

He was pushing out the door when Sloan said, In fact, what do you say I ask her right now?

No—what? The blood drained right out of him as he’d glanced at Glo.

She was smiling.

And for a long, painful second, Tate watched his hopes crash and burn onstage. I love you, and I know you love me. I think the only way to kick off this victorious campaign is one way…

He couldn’t watch this, the betrayal like a knife through his chest. Wow. Just, really, wow . How had he gotten sucked so far in that he hadn’t seen that coming?

Maybe he had. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to.

Just like Jammas, he’d wanted to believe the best.

Tate pushed out the door and into the hallway.

He ran around to the main hallway and spied a bouncer near one of the exits. “Did you see a sound guy come out of here?”

The man frowned and shook his head, and it occurred to Tate how often people never noticed the people behind the scenes.

He spied the door closing to the stairwell down the hall. He turned and sprinted to follow, slamming open the door.

Plunkett was two flights down, taking the stairs down two at a time.

“Where’s Tate?” Ford said in his ear as Tate scrambled after Plunkett.

“It’s the sound guy! I’m in the stairwell. He’s getting away!” He didn’t want to ask what Glo’s answer was. “Scarlett, grab security and tell them to lock down all the exits.”

“Do we have a bomb threat?” Scarlett’s voice was hushed, but he heard music and applause behind her words.

Perfect. It was probably a yes.

“I don’t know yet.” He hit the second landing, took the rest of the stairs down in four big steps.

The sun glared off the cement deck of the patio, and he blinked against it, adjusting his eyes as he sprinted after Plunkett, running hard for the end of the building.

“Hey!” Tate wanted to startle him, jerk him out of his escape path, maybe alert local security.

It worked. The man glanced back and leaped toward another door, fleeing back inside the building.

Tate reached it—another stairwell.

“He’s coming back up the stairs. Ford, you’d better be there.”

“On my way.”

The man’s steps pounded above him as Tate gripped the rail and launched himself, two steps at a time, up the cement steps.

A shout echoed against the walls as a door slammed open. Grunts, a curse, shouts.

Tate came up the stairs and nearly bought it when an axe sailed his direction. It bounced off the wall and skidded down the stairs. Plunkett must have pulled it off the wall.

Tate stopped, breathing hard, heard more pounding as Plunkett thundered up another flight.

He wanted to curse when he found the stairwell handle destroyed. Ford was on the other side, banging his fist on the door.

“Get to the roof!”

He scrambled up behind Plunkett, ready to duck, but the man had a two-flight gain on him.

The other man’s steps had died by the time Tate reached the third floor, and he took a guess and launched out into the fourth.

The floor was empty, a yawning conference space that led out to a balcony overlooking the pool area.

He spied a man standing at the edge of the terrace, against the white cement railing, wearing a gray shirt, his body paint swiped off. Empty tables and chairs, conversation groupings of wicker, stood between them.

“Plunkett!”

The man turned, sweaty and desperate.

Yeah, Tate remembered him now. And not just by his picture, but three months ago, in the bar in San Antonio where he’d bellied up next to Kelsey, Glo’s bandmate. Stalking the Belles even then.

Remembered the tattoo, sure, but also the way he’d looked at Kelsey, eying her up, cocky, as if he knew something.

He wore the same look now, and it raised the fine hairs on the back of Tate’s neck. “What are you doing here?”

Plunkett lifted a shoulder, glanced over his own, then back to Tate. “Can’t you read?” He pointed to the emblem on his pocket. Event Sound and Lighting, with a little lightning bolt on the logo.

Tate shook his head. “Then why the sprint?”

Plunkett shrugged. “I know you secret service types. Tough guys, trying to show off. But I’m not running now.”

He was leaning against the half wall of the terrace, with a four-story drop behind him. Although with the high ceilings of the hotel, it felt more like eight.

And that felt…odd. Why run up here? Maybe they weren’t in any bomb danger.

Although, he had been leaving. Tate walked out onto the terrace. “Listen. This doesn’t have to end with anyone getting hurt. Just tell me what’s going on, and we all walk away. You got to terrorize the senator a little, but in the end, no one dies, right?”

“Everyone will die if Jackson is elected.” He looked away. “She’s behind it all.”

Tate kept his voice cool. “Behind what?”

Plunkett met his eyes then. “You know they fight until they die, right? They don’t surrender. Ever.”

He frowned. “Who?”

“The Russians.”

“We’re not in a war with Russia!”

“We will be if Jackson wins.”

And then he got it. “It’s because Jackson is on the National Security Council?”

“No. It’s because she only wants power. And she’ll do anything to get it—including start a war with Russia. Nothing puts a president in power more than a war.”