Page 49 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

He could admit to some surprise today when Knox and Kelsey had shown up at the Hyatt, where Glo and the campaign team had relocated after yesterday’s horror. Tate was still bunking on Ford’s sofa but had risen early to take Glo to breakfast.

To lay down the ground rules.

He would be her security detail on the campaign trail. No questions, no argument, and especially no firing.

Because he also planned on getting close and personal with her. The kind of close and personal that included a ring and vows and a permanent say-so in her life.

If that sounded okay with her.

And no, he hadn’t produced a ring—not yet. But he was a man who kept his promises.

Dixie and Elijah Blue had arrived early in the afternoon with most of the equipment, and Tate had sat in the sound check.

Apparently, it was time for the Yankee Belles to get back together. He’d never been prouder of Glo than when she stood up to her mother and told her that she wouldn’t give a speech tonight.

That instead, she’d sing.

Which, after all, was what she was good at.

And yes, she liked the limelight, but only if she could share it, thank you. Besides, she had the perfect song for tonight, if her mother would just trust her a little.

Meanwhile, future VP Reba Jackson was onstage before thousands—no, millions, if they counted the television audience—giving her acceptance speech.

He’d missed most of it—the background of her life, the callouts to various supporters, the stumping against the other candidates—but Glo took his hand and walked him to the edge of the wings.

Reba wore a red dress, striking and powerful on her slim frame. She held the podium with both hands, as if she might be driving, and she probably had her speech memorized, despite the teleprompters.

He wasn’t sure what she’d just said, but the audience—some in crazy hats, others with foam fingers—was alive, raising blue-and-white political signs.

It felt like a football game, and for a second, the old buzz of standing at the edge of his high school stadium and hearing the roar of the crowd sluiced under his skin.

As if he might be at the edge of the biggest game of his life.

Maybe he was. Loving Glo. Being the man she believed in.

“You know what is going to change this country?” Reba said now.

“People who won’t give up. People who are willing to sacrifice and commit and keep showing up, even when it gets hard.

People like my daughter’s boyfriend, Tate Marshall, a former US Ranger who didn’t give up when his unit was attacked, who fought his way out of an enemy village, towing a fellow soldier on his back, even though he was injured himself, and got both of them to safety.

A true American hero who just yesterday saved my life and the life of my daughter. ”

Tate couldn’t move.

“Tate, just step out here for a moment, and let America thank you.”

What—uh?—

Reba turned in his direction from the stage, and his chest hollowed. “No?—”

“Yes,” Glo said, looking up and grinning at him, her voice low. “Just…receive it, Tate. C’mon.” She tugged his hand. And then, when he didn’t move—still stunned—she pulled him out onto the stage.

“Try not to look like you’re going to throw up,” she said, and he swallowed, forcing a smile.

“Wave, Tate!”

A voice shouted from behind him, and he turned to look.

Knox stood on the side, next to Ford, Reuben, and Gilly, and even—his mother? What? Gerri was grinning, tears cutting down her face. Smiling.

Glo looked up at him. “Surprise.”

“What did you do?—?”

“I didn’t do anything. You did. You showed up.”

“I showed up because I love you. Not because I’m some great hero.”

“Aw, Tate, that’s what you don’t see. You don’t consider yourself a hero, because it’s what you do. It’s just who you are. But you are a hero and we all know it. It’s time the world did too. So just wave for Pete’s sake!”

He took a breath.

And lifted his hand to the world.

The applause thundered down over him, a wave of respect and acceptance, and he couldn’t breathe.

Reuben’s words in the kitchen the night before he got married pressed into his mind.

When you show up with nothing and discover that you’re loved because of who you are—that’s when you realize what it means to be a son of God… It’s pretty breathtaking…

The words washed through him, hot and bold.

A son of God.

That’s when you discover that you’ve inherited more than you could possibly imagine.

Yes. And as he stood there, put down his hand, he simply let the applause wash over him. Let it sink into his pores, his bones, his cells.

I’m proud of you, son.

Maybe his father’s voice, maybe something more, but his throat tightened.

Thank you, Father.

Glo tugged his hand and turned him back to the wings.

His brothers stood there. So much alike—tall, wide-shouldered, dark haired. Strong, brave, wise—true cowboys.

And he’d spent his entire life wanting to be like them. Proving that he fit into the family.

Out of all his boys, you were too much like him. Stubborn and tough and didn’t know when to quit.

So maybe he was more like his dad than he’d ever realized. Huh.

Tate entered the wings to the high fives and one-armed hugs of his brothers. His mother parted them and pulled him into a hug. “It’s about time. Your father would be so proud. He always told me that you’d blow my socks off, if we could just keep you alive.”

Tate swallowed the heat burning his throat. He leaned away from her, met her blue eyes. His blue eyes. But he had his father’s grit.

And his Father’s name. And that made all the difference.

“Thanks for putting up with me, Ma.”

“Oh, Tate. You were the most fun.” She winked and kissed his cheek.

Reba had returned to the mic, winding up her speech as Glo dragged him away into the shadows.

“Surprised?”

“Glo, I?—”

“Love me. I know. Me too. I just wish I had a medal to give you.”

Then she stood up on her toes and kissed him, her arms around his neck.

And he was the guy who got all the luck, got the girl of his dreams, got the happy ending.

In fact, maybe he was even the hero of the story.

Glo leaned back, her eyes shiny. “Now hang on to your hat, cowboy. Because it’s time to get this party started.”

Then, as her mother waved her arms to the crowd’s applause, Glo grabbed her band and headed to the stage.

And Tate stood on the sidelines, keeping his eye out for trouble.

Night hung over the skyline of San Diego, the breeze fragrant with ocean and the sultry smells of early summer.

He should be out riding his motorcycle, Scarlett’s arms wrapped around his waist.

Instead, Ford was stuck at the after-party of tonight’s big political performances, in the conference suite of the Jackson campaign, country music and conversation winding out onto the balcony.

He didn’t know why his gut tightened as Scarlett’s prerecorded voicemail message came over the line. Again. “Leave a message, I’ll get back to you.”

His message couldn’t be left over the phone.

I need you, Red.

That truth had never felt more solid, more compelling than when he’d held their lives in his hands and turned to her. Her voice in his ear, soft, sure—yeah, he needed her.

He should have told her last night as he’d stood on her front steps.

She still took his breath away in that black dress, and when she’d looked at him with such light in her eyes, laughing when he told her that she’d saved his life, again, he’d just wanted to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her to himself.

Taste that laughter.

You picked the right one , he’d said. But really he meant… Pick me. Right here, right now. And sure, tomorrow might be complicated, but she was worth it.

They could figure it out.

But maybe not until she passed her PRT. He knew what it felt like to need to focus on a mission, to not let anything distract him from the goal.

The breeze had swept her perfume his direction. He’d taken a breath, needing to put some space between them.

Good luck tomorrow, Red. I’m rooting for you . And yes, he was, but not without a sense of panic.

She could leave him.

Her gaze had followed him as he’d stepped off the porch and he nearly stopped, nearly tossed all his mission sense, closed the gap, and ran back up the steps.

Nearly lowered his mouth to hers, caution thrown to the night settling around them, nearly let go of his heart and kissed her.

The feeling could consume him, so he’d turned and fled to his truck.

But tonight…tonight was different.

I passed. He’d received her text this morning.

The words found his gut, settled there.

Maybe if she knew how much he needed her… Not that he wanted to hold her back, but she was a part of the team. His team. And sure, he could work with anyone, but knowing that she was watching his back, that she’d break protocol to save his hide…

Even stick around when he held a bomb in his hands…

Maybe she was just exhausted after all her training. Ford should probably ditch the soiree and head over to her house.

Ford came in off the balcony, hanging up before leaving a message.

He pocketed his phone into his suit pocket and headed over to the bar counter.

His mother and Jackson’s team had retired, but Glo and her band had hung around, inviting Ford and his SEAL team as well as the rest of the Marshall brothers in for some much-needed downtime.

Nez and Sonny were sitting at the stools, drinking Cokes. Over the bar, CNN news played, muted.

Levi, Trini, Cruz, and Kenny were in a knot talking to Tate, exchanging stories—apparently Trini and Tate had been in Afghanistan at the same time, knew the same people.

Ford walked over to Knox, who was in conversation with Reuben and Gilly, talking about their honeymoon in Hawaii.

“Gilly talked me into taking a discovery scuba class,” Reuben said, his arm around his petite wife. “I saw a sea turtle, a shark, even a stingray.”

“Going to exchange your wings for iron lungs?” Ford said, trying not to be bugged by Scarlett’s silence.

His day had been consumed with security meetings and prepping for tonight’s speech, and by the time he’d been able to sneak away to call her, his call flipped over to voicemail.

“I dunno, bro. Why should you have all the fun?” Reuben said.

“I don’t dive for fun,” Ford said and immediately regretted his tone. “Sorry.”

“You okay?” Knox asked.

Ford sighed. “Yeah. I just…I sort of thought Scarlett might like to be here.” Or maybe not here, but with him. Celebrating. “I called her, but she’s not answering.”

“That’s because she left town.”

Ford turned. Nez had come up behind him. The master chief stood as tall as his brother Reuben, and it struck Ford for a moment how much alike they were. Pensive, in control, capable. Born leaders, despite their quiet demeanors.

“What?” Ford asked, trying not to let panic bleed through his voice. “How do you know that?”

“I got a call from Peters today—he was at the PRTs. I asked him for a status report on Scarlett because she works so closely with our team, and it looks like we’re going to have to get used to someone else talking us through our ops. Peters hooked her up with an immediate placement in Pensacola.”

Ford tried to act casual, to nod, like no big deal, but he felt Nez’s gaze on him, as if the chief could see right through him. “She requested emergency leave sometime this morning, not long after. Maybe to give herself more transfer leave time.”

Emergency leave?

Ford picked up his phone again, now worried. “If you guys will excuse?—”

“Oh my—look.” Knox’s voice brought Ford’s gaze up, and he followed Knox, who’d started walking toward the bar, his eyes on the screen. “Unmute the television.”

Someone responded with the remote, and in a moment, commentary added to the visuals on the screen.

The shot was half screened—one side a grainy cell phone photo, the other an on-scene reporter, who stood in front of Saint Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square in Moscow.

“We don’t have all the details, but the apparent assassination occurred last night as General Stanislov was exiting a popular restaurant in the Arbat district of Moscow.

Stanislov is a member of the Troika, one of the top three leaders in the Russian government with the authority to release nuclear missiles.

He is unhurt, but one security officer was killed, and another is in critical condition. ”

“Oh my,” said Glo, who’d edged into their group.

“My mother knows him. He’s even been to our house.

A moderate, politically, she says he’s the reason that Russia hasn’t pulled the trigger on us, or any other country.

If he dies, there’s a hard-liner waiting in the wings to take his place.

It could mean the restarting of the Cold War, or worse. ”

The woman on the screen continued her report. “A cell phone caught this woman with a handgun, and she’s being hunted in connection with the shootings.”

“Is there any idea who this woman is, Cecily?” the host asked.

“No. But the police have put out a sketch, based on witnesses, and decided to release it, hoping someone might call in. We have a copy of it.”

The sketch flashed on the screen, and the air left Ford’s lungs.

Knox let out a “No way,” and behind him, Reuben added a “What the…”

“That can’t be right.” Tate had left his group and come up behind Ford. “Please tell me that’s not?—”

“It looks like it,” Ford said, and pocketed his phone. “I had a bad feeling last time I talked to her. Something didn’t feel right.”

The news flipped to the next story, and Sonny, the holder of the remote, muted it again.

“Do you guys know that woman?” Nez said, and Ford glanced at his brothers. Knox and Reuben were still shaking their heads, but Tate met his gaze with a dark, solemn look.

“I’m going to need my own emergency leave, Chief,” Ford said quietly.

Tate nodded, and his expression hearkened back to his Ranger days. Lethal. Determined.

Ford looked at his team, who’d gathered around. He needed them all, maybe. But especially Scarlett. His gaze landed back on his chief.

“The woman in that picture, the one they’re calling an assassin…she’s our sister, Ruby Jane.”