Page 45 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

Right. The man had survived a war—and come home angry. Even delusional. Tate held up his hands. “Listen, pal, I’m sure she’ll be glad to listen to your side of things. Just…how about you tell me what you’re doing here.”

Plunkett shook his head. “It’s too late, man. The lies have already started.”

Tate frowned just as Plunkett turned, grabbing the edge and hoisting himself up?—

“No!” Tate rushed him, grabbed him, and that’s when he realized it might have been a trick. Plunkett rounded on him.

Tate just barely deflected his punch.

Plunkett got a knee into his gut, but Tate grabbed him around the neck and spun him around.

Tate took him down, landing hard against a table. A couple chairs skidded away.

Plunkett’s breath whooshed out of him, and Tate managed to get a shot in.

The man got a leg under him and tossed him, but Tate landed on his feet.

His ribs burned, old wounds surfacing, but he ducked as Plunkett’s fist arrowed toward him.

And that was just it. Tate wrapped his arms around the man’s girth and pedaled him back against the wall. He sent a couple jabs into his gut, then punched his hand into his jaw. “Stop. It’s over.”

Below, a few people spotted them, and screams lifted.

“It’s just started,” Plunkett snarled, burying his fist into Tate’s side, but Tate grabbed his hand, trapping it to the wall.

“You think I’m the only one?” Plunkett spit out.

“We know about your brother. He’s next, big man.”

Plunkett brought his knee up. Tate dodged it, but the movement unbalanced him.

Plunkett roared to the advantage, rolled, and in a second had Tate pressed against the wall, pushing him over.

Tate’s feet lifted off the ground.

No way, pal. Because he’d made promises to Glo.

He sent his palm into Plunkett’s jaw, and the man’s head jerked back. Then Tate jerked his knee into Plunkett’s abdomen and dropped.

Plunkett rebounded. Lunged, and his own momentum sent him over the edge.

But not before he hooked Tate around the shoulder.

Tate followed Plunkett over the edge.

Ford made it to the roof just in time to see Tate go over.

“Tate!”

He plowed over a chair, ran across an outdoor sofa, and reached the edge of the terrace.

Tate dangled by one arm.

Ford wanted to weep.

He leaned over the edge and grabbed Tate’s belt. Hauled him up and over the edge. Instead, “You okay?”

Tate dropped in a heap, breathing hard, and Ford slid down beside him. “Now I am.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if he wanted to jump or not, but—” Tate lifted a hand as if to say, Survey the handiwork . He leaned his head back against the edge. “I can’t look. Is he?—?”

“He missed the pool and landed on the concrete. There’s some screaming going on.”

Tate ran his hand—shaking, Ford noticed—across his head and pushed to his feet.

“Sorry, bro. I should have been here sooner. They locked all the stairwell doors when Scarlett alerted security to the threat. I had to get them to open one. Did he say anything? Is there a threat?”

Tate headed toward the door. “I don’t know. Said something crazy about Jackson’s involvement in Russia, but I’m guessing it’s part of their conspiracy agenda?—”

“And the bomb?” Ford ran after him.

“He said it was too late. The lies already starting?—”

“The microphone. He changed out the mic!”

Tate wore horror in his eyes.

Ford directed him toward the other stairwell.

Music spooled out from the ballroom, something country. Scarlett spotted them from where she stood outside the doors, her heels off, and ran over. “Did you get him?”

“Tate did. Sorta.” Ford liked how she was grabbing his jacket, like she might be worried for him. “He’s dead.”

Tate was charging toward the door. Ford grabbed his arm. “Stop. Listen. We need to evacuate everyone without a panic. And we don’t even know that there is anything wrong with the mic?—”

“What’s with the mic?” Scarlett said.

Tate rounded on her. “What did she say?” He looked at Ford. “Did Sloan propose?”

Scarlett nodded.

“Did she say yes?”

Ford blinked at him, then understanding dawned. “She said…she didn’t say anything.”

“No yes?”

“And no, well, no.”

“No yes is a no,” Tate said and turned back to the door. Took a breath.

“She got Sloan offstage, then returned to the mic and said something about how this country needs to have a little faith. To take a risk on a team of people who were ready to put their pasts behind them. Then she announced that her mother was going to be Isaac White’s VP.”

But Tate didn’t seem to be listening. He pressed his hand on the door.

Ford frowned at Scarlett, who shrugged. “The senator said a few words, and then Glo got back up and she said she was going to sing a song.”

“It’s our song,” Tate said quietly, his voice a little broken. “She hasn’t sung it since Vegas.”

She was singing a cappella.

She…don’t wanna cry,

But she ain’t gonna fall for another guy.

It’s too hard to be apart

Not after she’s waited for…one true heart…one true heart…

He turned to Ford and pressed his hand on his shoulder, his eyes shining. “One true heart.”

Ford had nothing, watching his brother unravel. Then Tate opened the door, stepped inside, and the rest of the song wound out into the hallway.

He said I’m leaving, baby don’t cry.

No, Stay with me, please don’t die.

The door closed behind his brother.

Always, forever, together, with me

She lay in his grass, clutching eternity.

“It’s sort of romantic,” Scarlett said. She offered a tiny smile.

Ford wanted to reach up and trace his finger down the groove in her face, run it over her lips.

Wanted to curl his hand around her neck and pull her to himself.

Always, forever, together, with me.

He didn’t know what the words meant, but he liked them.

After this was over, they were going to have a serious talk about complications and happy endings. “We need to evacuate the ballroom. And if there’s a bomb, we need EOD here.”

“I’ll call Commander Hawkins.”

He couldn’t stop himself from squeezing her hand before he stepped into the room behind Tate.

Who was standing next to Sly, Tate’s old boss. Ford had met the big man yesterday, found him to be the kind of guy Ford could take orders from.

Sly fielded Tate’s words and nodded.

And now all eyes turned to Tate as suddenly Glo—onstage—smiled, her gaze on her former bodyguard.

She…don’t wanna try,

It’s too hard to fall for another guy.

But you don’t know if you don’t start

So wait…for one true heart…one true heart…

Tate had managed to work his way toward the front and stood at the side of the stage as Glo’s last tones died.

Wow, the woman had a voice. But more, she had heart. The kind that Tate deserved—brave, strong, and even a little feisty. Ford remembered how she’d deflected the other man’s proposal with both grace and wit.

Ford caught up to Tate as he stepped onto the stage.

The look on Glo’s face suggested she might kiss his brother in front of the entire audience.

Instead, Tate covered the microphone with his hand, leaned down, and spoke into her ear.

She drew in a breath and looked past him to Ford.

“Right now?”

Tate nodded, and she turned to the crowd, took a breath. Smiled.

Tate removed his hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen. We’ll now adjourn to the courtyard outside where dessert is being served,” Glo said, clearly wanting to keep panic from ensuing.

Ford raised an eyebrow and glanced offstage, behind him to where Sly had cornered Senator Jackson. Senator White had vanished, but he wasn’t Ford’s responsibility.

Getting everyone else out alive—yeah, that was on him. And Scarlett.

The guests began to leave.

“You there, Red?” Ford said into his mic.

“I called Nez and the team. They’re calling in the EOD guys. Nez is on his way.”

“Stay out in the lobby until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Silence, and he knew she wasn’t happy with his words. But he needed her safe. And yes, in his ear, helping him sort this out.

Tate had reached for the mic, but Glo was already inspecting it. She turned it over and flicked the Off switch.

The sound died, but the light remained on.

“That’s weird.” She started unscrewing it.

“Glo—” Tate said.

She edged him away with her shoulder. “I know how mics work. This one is too lightweight to have a bomb in it?—”

“What do you know about bombs?” Tate reached over her shoulder and pulled it away from her.

“Hey!”

He handed the mic to Ford, who examined it while Tate rounded on Glo. “You need to leave too.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Sloan came onto the stage then, and Ford stepped back, watching out of his periphery in case this turned ugly.

“Glo, you’re leaving with the rest of us.” Sloan reached out and took her arm.

Ford had the bottom open and examined the contents. “She’s right. There’s no explosive in here.”

“What kind of game is this, Marshall?” Senator Jackson strode onto the stage. “You ruin my event?—”

“Get out.” Tate rounded on her. “Get out of here right now.”

Oh. Ford knew that voice. Tate had used it a few times on him in his youth when he’d found Ford in his room.

Ford raised an eyebrow as the senator recoiled. “Fine. C’mon, Gloria.”

“I’m not going, Mother.” She slipped her hand into Tate’s. Ford noticed Tate didn’t close his hand around hers.

“Glo—” Tate started.

“No. Listen, bossy pants, I should have never let you walk away, and I’m not leaving you now. Or ever.”

Tate blinked at her, and Ford sort of wanted to high-five her.

Except, well, Tate was right.

Ford walked up to Glo. “Sweetheart. I know you’re crazy about my brother. And it’s about time, but the fact is, you need to leave. For his sake. Because he won’t be able to think with you here. Trust me on this.”

She stared at him, then Tate, who nodded.

“Fine.” But then she reached up and pulled Tate’s head down.

And gave Sloan his definitive answer to his proposal, right there on the stage. Hel- lo. Ford averted his eyes and headed over to a table with the microphone. But kept an eye on Sloan just in case the man didn’t take No way, I love another man for an answer.