Knox

by Susan May Warren

  Could believe that she could love again.

  One true heart.

  “Tate—” she whispered.

  He looked over at her, his heart in his eyes.

  And then he must have read her because he leaned over her, his gaze roaming hers, his fingers caressing her face. His mouth opened just slightly, and she grabbed his shirt with one finger to tug him closer. The smell of the night—smoke and fear and raw desperation—hung on his skin, and his beautiful eyes held hers.

  “Glo,” he said softly, “I—”

  The door opened behind him.

  “And then I want to have a press conference— Gloria. Sweetheart—there you are.”

  Tate jerked away from her.

  She froze. “Mother?”

  Senator Reba Jackson strode into the room like the presidential contender she was and stood at the end of her bed. She was sporting a fresh wash of amber-red in her shoulder-length hair and wore a pair of black dress pants, a white blouse, and gray blazer, and she looked like she’d already hit the gym, had her first cup of coffee, and was snapping her fingers at her assistant to deliver her a kale-orange-banana smoothie along with the freshest foreign affairs briefing. Only the slightest smudge in her mascara hinted that she’d probably taken a red-eye from DC to land in Glo’s hospital room in the first blush of morning.

  She hadn’t changed a bit in the eighteen months since Glo had last seen her, at least in person. Her mother had made a point of FaceTime-ing her regularly in case Glo forgot she wasn’t really a country music sensation. Heaven help her if her hobby overtook her true calling as spokeswoman for the Elect Reba campaign.

  “Mother, what are doing here?”

  Tate stepped back from the bed, and a glance in her periphery said he didn’t know what to do, his arms folded across his chest.

  Kelsey, however had risen, and who knew if she’d been witness to the almost kiss between Glo and Tate.

  Glo’s entire body still tingled.

  “Senator Jackson,” Kelsey said and walked over to her.

  “Kelsey, honey. How are you?” She gave Kelsey a hug, something with a shade of warmth. Oh, look who was trying. She’d never been a fan of the Yankee Belles, although admittedly, she did like Kelsey.

  The warmth stopped when she turned to Tate, however, and she gave her best shot of sending him to his knees with a look.

  Oh. So they hadn’t been quite quick enough…

  Clearly, Tate would pay for that.

  “And, who is this?” Glo’s mother said, no smile.

  And right then, Glo had a choice. She could end the game between them and yank Tate into her world with a simple He’s a friend. Or she could keep him at a stiff-armed distance—

  “He’s our bodyguard,” Kelsey said, answering for her.

  Her mother raised an eyebrow, glanced at Glo, then back to Tate. “Keeping my little girl safe, are you?”

  Tate’s mouth thinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I think you might need to work a little harder at it.”

  “I agree.” He glanced at Glo, a fierce resignation in his eyes.

  Her mother slid up to her bed and sat in the chair Tate had just vacated. Sighed. “This is all my fault.”

  Glo stared at her. “What—?”

  Reba took her hand. “I’m so sorry to get you mixed up in this mess, honey, but when I heard about the bombing, I had my people look into it, and then last night’s shooting—”

  “How on earth did you find out?”

  Reba frowned. “Honey. I’m your mother. I know things.”

  Maybe Glo didn’t want to know.

  “But the fact is…and probably I should have told you…I have recently received some death threats.”

  “Oh, Mother, you are always receiving death threats. You’re on the Senate Armed Services Committee.”

  “Yes, but these relate to the campaign. The fact that I’m rising in the polls.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but what death threats?”

  Tate, behind her, sidled up. He wore an expression that scared Glo a little. “How serious are they?”

  Reba leaned back and looked over. “I’m sorry, Mr.—”

  “Marshall. Tate Marshall.”

  “You haven’t been cleared by my security yet to know—”

  “I’m her security. Your daughter’s and the rest of the Yankee Belles, and if their lives have been in danger because of something you did, or know or—”

  “That’s enough.” Reba got up. “I think your services are no longer needed here, Mr. Marshall.”

  His mouth opened, closed, and he shook his head. Then very quietly, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not in charge here. Glo is.”

  Tate looked at her, something of possession in his eyes. As if he wanted to belong to her.

  Yes. But not like this.

  However, if she let him go, then…

  Then her mother would have her under lock and key so fast Glo’s world would close off at the top, strangle her. At least with Tate by her side, she could pretend she had some control over her life.

  And if she had to spend twenty-four seven with personal protection…hello, Tate.

  “Gloria,” her mother corrected.

  He took a breath, seem poised to argue—

  “He works for me, Mother. And he’s good at his job.”

  “You were shot.”

  “But he got me to the hospital and hasn’t left my side, and if we had known we were in real danger—”

  “This won’t happen again, Senator. I give you my word. And my life, for Glo—Gloria’s.”

  It was so sweet, resolute, she wanted to weep. Instead she met her mother’s eyes and swallowed. Nodded. “Vet him, Mother. We did. You’ll find that he knows what he’s doing.”

  A flicker of a muscle moved in Tate’s jaw.

  Carter had vetted him, right?

  Then Tate was nodding. “I’ll keep her safe. All the Belles safe—”

  “Oh no, she’s done touring. Enough of this—”

  “Mother. I have commitments, and my own life.”

  “And you may resume them as soon as we neutralize this current threat.”

  Glo glanced at Kelsey, who met Glo’s eyes.

  “No, Mother. We just accepted a six-month gig with the NBR-X. I can’t let Kelsey and Dix down.”

  Kelsey sighed, nodded.

  “I’ll keep her safe, ma’am. It’s my job,” Tate said. No flinch, no glance in her direction. His job.

  Yes.

  “If you’ll have your security people brief me on this threat, I can start working with my team to prepare for our next event.”

  His team? But good save, Tate.

  Her mother’s mouth tightened. But she took a breath and nodded.

  She turned back to Glo. “You just rest, sweetheart. We’ll get this sorted out. Everything is going to be okay.”

  Then she turned and motioned for Tate to follow her outside.

  Kelsey took Glo’s hand, met her eyes, and gave her a small, pained smile. “So, the adventure continues.”

  Apparently, no one was getting a happy ending.

  12

  Tate wasn’t going to let it happen again.

  Nearly kissing her. No, nearly losing her twice.

  And it wasn’t just losing her by some terrorist shooter, but by Glo’s very large and in-charge mother who came with a security team to rival a Gambino mob boss.

  He was used to mob boss security personnel types—dark, beefy, and focused. Had been one, once upon a time.

  What had him on edge was the very serious, very lethal threats on Reba’s—and Glo’s—lives. The fist in his gut had only tightened reading the emails from the Bryant League, a group of social revolutionists.

  Tate prowled the hallway outside Glo’s room, his Bluetooth to his ear, on the phone to Knox.

  Inside, Glo was getting ready to check out of the hospital after her twelve-hour stay. She’d move to a nearby hotel, then tomorrow they’d fl
y to…and his chest tightened.

  Vegas.

  He blew out a breath. He’d just have to keep his head down, hope that Malovich’s men had dispersed, forgotten him.

  Not hardly, but he couldn’t think about that now.

  Now, he had to figure out how to keep the Belles safe. Which meant his own team, buddies he’d put a callout to under the radar, but the kind who would have his back.

  And then there was his family.

  “So, you’re telling me none of this had to do with Vince Russell?” Knox said through the line. He had the phone on speakerphone, and from Tate’s understanding, the entire remaining Marshall clan, with the exclusion of their mother, crowded into Knox’s office to get the update on Glo and Kelsey.

  Today, the town of Geraldine would congregate in the Marshall yard. Apparently, when Knox and the rest of the family had sat her down to cancel the party, she responded with, “We’re not going to let evil win. As long as Glo and Kelsey are okay, I’m going to celebrate my family and my friends—and the fact that no one died, again.”

  A small part of him still died every time he closed his eyes and saw Glo lying in a pool of her own blood. He blew out a breath and continued the debriefing with his family.

  “According to Senator Jackson, the threats started coming in weeks before the bombing in Texas, very specific about her stepping back from her run for office, or her—and her family members—getting hurt. Specifically, Glo.”

  “Who is this group?” Reuben’s voice came over the line, and Tate imagined his big brother leaning over the desk, one strong hand bracing him.

  “They’re called the Bryant League, an offshoot of a group called the World Can’t Wait, or WCW.”

  “Aren’t they an affiliate of the Revolutionary Communist Party?” Ruby Jane asked. And of course, she would have heard of the radical left-wing group. “The RCP is an isolationist group—anti-war—but they’re also for isolation and socialist reform, calling for individual groups to fight back against government crimes, everything from the torture of military detainees to wiretapping. Which has led to a number of wildcat terrorist strikes that have been attributed to them.”

  “Wildcat?” Wyatt asked.

  “Unsanctioned attacks meant to put pressure on governments—or even the organization—to act,” Ruby Jane said. Her voice got closer. “Want me to do some checking into recent activity, Tate?”

  “Yeah. And especially Arnie Gibbs, the so-called bomber from Texas. See if he has any affiliations. So far, Jackson’s people haven’t dug up much, but I think they’re just trying to get in front of it. She has a number of events coming up, including a huge fundraiser in Nashville in a few weeks that is drawing a lot of media attention.”

  Silence, and he looked around to see if his voice bounced down the hallway. But he’d stalked down to a far corner of the waiting room and stood next to a wall and window, his voice low.

  He didn’t need Jackson’s people hunting him down and accusing him of leaking something to the press.

  Still, they all needed to prepare for the worst, so, “Knox, now is the time to show Ruby Jane your closet.”

  “He already did,” RJ said. “Scary, but…now we have something to start connecting the dots.”

  “And what about you…and, um, the Belles?” Knox asked, and Tate knew he was fighting the urge to ask about Kelsey.

  Tate wasn’t sure what went down between them last night, but from the dark, pained looked on Knox’s face as Kelsey had followed him and Glo from the house, it didn’t look good. Add that to the fact that Knox wasn’t here, prowling the hallways with him, told him that Kelsey had put the kibosh on the romance between them.

  Sorry, Knox. Because frankly, given the hollowed-out, whitened look Kelsey wore today after Senator Jackson’s news, she could probably use Knox’s solid presence.

  In truth, Tate would appreciate Knox’s solid presence. He wasn’t thrilled about stepping his foot back on the soil of Sin City. But he wasn’t going to leave Glo—or the rest of the Belles—unprotected, or worse, protected by grunts who didn’t know them.

  Didn’t know the demons that chased Kelsey, that she needed extra time in her dressing room to get out of her head and onto the stage. Or how Dixie’s neck got so tight that she needed an ice pack after her set. Or that Glo had to figure out how to slough off her stress. She’d spent the few minutes before she went onstage during their last gig waging a thumb war with him. Of course, he’d let her win.

  C’mon, McClane, don’t let me take you down.

  No, he wasn’t going to let anyone else be the recipient of Glo’s nicknames.

  Which meant he’d have to tame the flame she’d stirred up inside him, the one that nearly flashed over when she’d tucked her finger into the neck of his shirt, tugging him toward her lips.

  His mouth had gone a little dry, the look in her eyes rising to thump him in the chest.

  Finally.

  Except, no. Not now.

  Maybe not ever.

  And maybe he’d been reading her wrong anyway, because she sure went quiet when Kelsey assured her mother that he was just her employee.

  That was enough. It had to be.

  “I’m heading to Vegas. The NBR-X has an event at the end of the week, and the band is flying in, meeting there for rehearsal, then the gig.”

  Silence, and yes, they’d heard him right.

  “They’re going to perform? After…how’s Glo?”

  “She says she’ll be fine.” Tate leaned against the wall, glancing down the hall. “She’s tough. No broken bones, but she’s pretty bruised and hurting. Honestly,”—he ran a hand through his hair—“I think she’s just trying to stay out of her mother’s clutches. Senator Jackson is…she’s a real piece of work.”

  “Why would this group be after the senator?” Reuben asked.

  “She’s progressive. She wants peace and global connections and alliances…all which the Bryant League translates into America’s illicit activity in foreign countries. Add to that she’s a member of the Armed Services Committee and is probably solely responsible for deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan, if you ask them.”

  “And Glo and Kelsey are involved, how?”

  “Proxy. Pressure. In other words, collateral damage.”

  “I’ll do my homework,” Ruby Jane said. “And ask around.”

  “I should be there,” Knox said darkly. His sigh of frustration blew through the phone line. “I knew there was more to the bombing than just Arnie Gibbs.”

  “Any trace of the shooter?” Tate asked.

  “Nothing,” Reuben said. “We searched the yard, found some tracks that led to the lower pasture. We figure he parked there and approached from the southeast. Fired the barn to get our attention, then went after the girls—no, Glo.”

  “How’s Kelsey?” Gilly asked.

  Tate hadn’t known she was in the room. “Seems okay. Quiet.”

  He heard the muffled sounds of the phone going off speaker, then Knox’s voice, closer. “Are you sure about this, Tate? It’s Vegas and…should we be worried for you?”

  Huh. Tate hadn’t figured that Knox knew anything about his past, of what went down in Vegas, of the Malovich takedown.

  Of Tate’s own collection of death threats.

  “No. I’ll keep my head down. Besides, what was it that you said—I have the skills of a mafia thug?”

  He got a slight chuckle.

  “Listen. We’ll be okay. Nothing is going to happen to Glo, Dixie, or Kelsey on my watch. I promise, bro. How are things going with Ma’s party?”

  “You’re missing some serious barbecue. And the barn isn’t as bad as we thought—mostly surface damage.”

  “Tell Ma I’m sorry.”

  “She gets it, Tate. And…”

  He trailed off, and Tate wasn’t sure if he wanted to give Kelsey a message or maybe offer to help or…

  “Stay safe, Tate.”

  Oh. He shrugged away the tightness in his throat. “Of course.
It’s me. I make trouble, not the other way around.”

  Knox harrumphed but hung up.

  Tate slipped the phone into his pocket and was just turning when he spotted Glo and Kelsey emerging from the room. A nurse pushed Glo in a wheelchair.

  He headed down the hallway. “I got this,” he said to the nurse and took the handles as the nurse walked with them to the elevator.

  “No wheelies, Andretti,” Glo said, glancing up at him, offering a tentative smile.

  Not Tate. That was probably for the best.

  “I got this, boss,” he said and winked at her.

  “Is that the insurance adjuster prowling around outside?”

  Knox looked up from where he stood at his window, watching the portly, bald man from Helena traipsing around his barn, taking pictures.

  He turned to Reuben’s voice, spotted him standing in the doorway to his office.

  “I’m staying out of his way.”

  “Or feeling like you want to hit somebody, so you’ve decided to brood in your office.” Reuben came in and shut the door behind him.

  “I’m not brooding.” Knox turned away from the window. But even from his countenance, flashing so quickly in the reflection in the window, he had miserable written in his furrowed brow and gritty, bloodshot eyes.

  Five days had passed since a terrorist showed up at the ranch, but Knox kept reliving seeing Kelsey crouched over Glo, kept feeling his heart jerk out of his body. Most of the time he woke in a cold sweat, biting back a shout.

  It can’t work. Translation. He wasn’t enough to keep her here. To build a life with.

  Then, unable to sleep, he’d sit in the darkness, the moon waxing through his room, listening to her words, fighting them.

  Except, maybe she was right. What was he going to do, give up his ranch, his life to be her—what—groupie?

  And no, he couldn’t ask her to give up her career, her dreams, everything she’d worked for.

  Which meant he spent another hour staring at the ceiling, thinking about her sweet voice, the woman he’d seen onstage, and the cruel words he’d thrown at her. It’s easier to be the performer onstage than the person who is scared and vulnerable and…who just wants to be loved.