Page 44 of Tate
Tate’s head shot up. “Werea thing. Sort of. I don’t know, now. Maybe…at any rate, it’s over.”
But Sly’s mouth tipped up one side. “For now. But Gloria is a peacemaker, always looking out for others. You must have gotten under her skin.”
He walked over to Tate. “And clearly, she got under yours or you wouldn’t have rushed back to work, injured.”
“I’m not?—”
“Let me see it.”
Tate frowned, but the big man stood in front of him, and he seemed to have no choice but to shake off his jacket and unbutton his shirt. Sly reached inside it and felt the bones, the muscles of his shoulder.
Tate gritted his teeth, but a small moan emerged.
“It’s not dislocated, but it’s definitely still swollen. You need ice on it and immobilization. Go back to the estate, get rested?—”
“No.” He jerked away from Sly. “I have a job to do.”
“Someone else can do your job.”
He met Sly’s eyes as he buttoned his shirt. “And let’s, for one moment, say it wasn’t me standing there. Wasn’t me who spent months training in every kind of terrain, learning how to spot threats. What if it was one of your rent-a-cops with guns who you’d assigned to protect Glo?” His jaw went hard. “You have some good guys on this team—I got that part already. But no one knows Glo like I do. No one can protect her like I can.”
Sly’s mouth tightened. He stepped back to sit against the desk. “I did my homework on you. I know about what happened in Afghanistan, to you and your unit.”
Tate’s fingers stopped buttoning his shirt.
“That’s tough—to lose everyone like you did.”
Tate didn’t move. Took a breath. Resumed buttoning.
“The report didn’t say how you survived.”
Tate reached for his jacket. Held it for a moment. “I hid under the bodies of my buddies as the Taliban went house to house looking for me.” For three long, horrifying days. “Then I sneaked out under cover of darkness.”
“And escaped to the wilderness with a busted knee, contacted help, and survived.”
The short story, yes. And the entire time, hearing shame in his ears.
He’d left his men behind. After walking them right into an ambush.
“I’ve met your type before. Heroes?—”
“I’m no hero, sir.”
“Well, you clearly don’t have anything to prove to anyone, so are you sure you want to stay?”
He did have something to prove. If not to Glo, then himself.
Maybe especially to himself.
“You may or may not have noticed the black eye Glo was sprouting when she returned from Vegas,” Tate said quietly. “Oreven thegunshot woundthat’s still healing on her shoulder?” He took a step toward Sly. “That was on me. I failed her. Twice. It’s not going to happen a third time.”
Sly folded his arms over his chest. Considered Tate. “‘Never shall I fail my comrades.’”
Tate’s mouth tightened. He nodded. “I remember the Ranger creed, thanks.”
“‘Surrender is not a Ranger word.’”
“No, sir, it’s not.”
