Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

LILY

T wo hours later I’m in the back of a taxi, heading back to New Orleans, my jaw is clenched and I’m watching the scenery pass with total disinterest. I refuse to think about Tate or what I’m going to say to him. I’ve taken refuge in focusing on the job. I’ve spoken to Winston and Tierney, filling them in on what has happened. Both are suitably shocked, and Tierney’s team is on standby waiting for Tate to turn up at the hotel– which we’ve all agreed is the most likely scenario. I’ve filed a police report and signed a statement with the local sheriff’s department, who are en route to the bayou to bring the car up. All I need to do when I get back is to resign from the assignment for my serious error of judgement in leaving Tate on his own.

I have no alternative, I fucked-up big time, even though Pennington assured me that I did a proper risk assessment. He’s wrong. I should have known that Tate would run first chance he got. I let myself be blindsided by sexual chemistry… again. Leaving Tate on his own had gone against all my training. I messed up.

All that matters to Tate is football. And, like my dad taught me, relying on someone else for your happiness is a fool’s game.

Caring about someone can get you killed.

I thought the pain had lessened over the years, but it’s come roaring back and I can still hear Tate’s voice in my head. ‘ Surely, I’m allowed to have a little fun between now and then. It’s not like it’s serious or anything .’

Is that what these last few days have been– a little fun before the big game?

Football was always going to be the winner.

I lift my chin and look out of the window, grateful that the driver is not predisposed to be chatty. When my phone rings two minutes out from the hotel, I snatch it up.

‘It’s Tierney. Tate’s just walked into the foyer.’

‘Is he okay?’ I ask.

‘Sure, cocky bastard looks fine, although no thanks to you. You screwed up there.’

I breathe easily for the first time in hours. He’s safe. I don’t even care how fucking smug Tierney sounds that I messed up on my watch.

I walk into the foyer and pause in the doorway. Tate is surrounded by a bevy of people including Winston, Shane, Tierney and a beaming elderly couple.

A flood of adrenaline races through my system. Relief wars with fury. He’s alive. I drink in the sight of him. Tall, powerful, strong and gentle, so gentle when he wants to be, and also relentless when he wants to be. I have to block out the image of him parting my knees and tugging my hips closer. My body betrays me, though, and I feel heat between my legs.

Furious, as much at myself as him, I stare at him, at the crinkly-eyed smile he bestows on the elderly couple, and I remember the way he smiled down at me in the shower.

I curse his easy manner as he chats away to everyone like he’s some returning hero and hasn’t just ripped my heart out. As I move closer, it’s quickly apparent that the elderly couple gave Tate his second ride back to the city. Apparently, he hitched a couple of lifts which would explain how I managed to catch up with him so quickly.

Over the heads of everyone, Tate spots me. For a moment, there’s a guilty expression on his face, as if he’s been well and truly caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But it’s soon replaced with a bland smile as he gives me a cool nod.

I’m not prepared for the punch of pain that fills my chest. I’m embarrassed to find that tears are stinging my eyes. I concentrate on the sensation of my nails digging into my palms as I clench my fists hard. Fuck you, Tate. In that moment, I realise that he isn’t sorry at all. He ran because he could. Because I didn’t matter to him. I’m the fool here.

I glare at him and watch as his lips purse and he turns away. Inside, I feel that awful falling-just-before-sleep sensation.

‘Meeting, my suite,’ says Winston, his sympathetic gaze sweeping from me to Tate. ‘Ten minutes.’ His tone almost floors me. I don’t want anyone to be nice to me.

Backing away from Tate and the cluster or people around him, I know I need some respite. I don’t want to ride up in the lift with everyone. I need some space. With Tate’s back to me now, I slip into a conveniently placed alcove behind a little tree. Numbness has settled in, it’s the only way I’m going to be able to function. I’ve blown it. Falling in love with Tate, all over again.

I pull on all my reserves, my training, my ability to compartmentalise. I don’t need Tate Donaghue. I have a job to do. From here on in, it’s strictly professional. I’m not even going to speak to him about the last forty-eight hours. What happened in the cabin, stays in the cabin. I’m going to be so glacially cool and indifferent to him, he might just find his balls have frozen off.

I straighten and peer through the tree as the entourage bears Tate towards the lift.

I catch sight of Winston’s wife, Pammie, entering the hotel foyer with several large designer shopping bags, an abundance of ribbon handles hanging over her wrists. She stops dead, right beside the tree, although no one around her seems to notice. Intrigued, I watch as her eyes zoom in on Tate and widen. She stares at him, her mouth open until the lift doors open and he disappears from view with the others.

Pammie puts down her bags and I see the shock on her face, before she puts one hand over her mouth, as if she’s holding back an exclamation of some sort.

She stays like that for several, long, seconds before she takes her hand away, and I hear her murmur, ‘Oh my god, he’s alive . He’s alive.’

I’m trying to decipher her tone– is she relieved or amazed?– when she bursts into tears and hurries away to my left towards the ladies’ restrooms.

I’m about to step out from behind the tree and follow her when I notice the grim-faced Scandinavian guy– name of Sven, according to Tate– stalk after her. It’s the first time I’ve been able to take a proper look at him and then it clicks. I know him. I’ve not met him, but the face is one I recognise from a data bank. I dig the cheap phone I picked up earlier out of my pocket and take a quick picture of him through the foliage. He’s still moving, so the shot I take is not the best quality, but it might be enough. Then he disappears through to the bar.

I move down towards the restrooms, planning to catch up with Pammie. I need to talk to her. But as I start down the corridor, Tierney steps out of the men’s restroom. Damn, I thought he’d gone upstairs with the others.

‘Miss Heath. You’re headed in the wrong direction.’

‘I’m going to the ladies.’

He blocks my path, rounding me up like a sheep dog, and while I could easily take him out, at the moment it’s probably not politic. He’s never liked me.

‘For some reason, despite your very obvious fuck-up, Winston wants you present to discuss strategy and we’re short on time. The team is headed out to practice in half an hour. You can use the restroom in his suite. But be assured, I’ve recommended you be fired.’

But over the last few minutes, I’ve changed my mind. I might be down, but I’m not out. Tate needs me, whether he knows it or not. I’m the best chance he’s got because the stakes are much higher than any of us had realised. I will see the job through, even if right now he’s stomped all over my heart.

‘Why?’ I respond to Tierney. ‘Because you feel threatened by me?’ I toss him a patronising smile and stride ahead of him.

* * *

Winston’s suite resembles a Cabinet war room. There are various security people gathered around, leaning their butts against everything but chairs. I walk in and take a seat, refusing to take part in the dog-pissing contest around me. I also refuse to engage with Tate, even though I can feel his eyes on me.

Tierney stands behind me like a guard dog, he’s so bloody close I can almost feel him breathing down my neck. I suspect he’s been waiting for a moment like this, where he can tell Winston that outsourcing protection was a mistake. Much as I’d love to say that I don’t care, that I’ll happily walk away– I can’t. Tierney isn’t up to the job. More than ever, Tate needs close protection. My gut instincts are almost climbing the walls. Seeing Sven has triggered all my Spidey senses and then some.

I don’t trust anyone else to protect Tate properly. I swallow. If anything happens to him, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, but he doesn’t need to know that.

‘Lily, perhaps you can give us an update on the current situation.’

I give Winston a level look, refusing to be cowed by the tense situation in the room.

‘Sure,’ I say, in a matter-of-fact, clipped tone. Laying the facts out. ‘The county sheriff reported back in the last half hour. They’ve located the car and are bringing it up. Unfortunately, they’ve not been able to locate any bullets for ballistic analysis. Divers are returning for a second search later this afternoon. It’s an attempted-murder investigation and they are liaising with the police department in New York.’

Tate’s mouth tightens as I talk, but I refuse to look his way.

‘We need to discuss security going forward,’ says Tierney. ‘Clearly Miss Heath is not up to the job. Our security team can manage protection now that the team is all here in one place. Practice, the schedule, media appearances will be under tight security and we’re liaising with the stadium, event organisers and the media.’

Tate sits there and I notice that his eyebrow flickers at the ‘not up to the job’.

‘Sorry, John, I disagree,’ Winston interjects. ‘Without Miss Heath’s astute action, and the fact that she got him out of that car and stopped him being shot, Tate would almost certainly have died. If he was stupid enough to scoot off the minute her back was turned, then he’s the fool.’ Winston turns to Tate.

‘Tate, you might be my number-one ball player, but you, my friend, are a horse’s ass.’

I allow myself a very tiny twitch of the lips. I really like Winston.

He turns to me, and I see the corporate spine that earned him the fortune to buy a football club.

‘Lily, I want you to stay on the job. John, you will manage the security when Tate is on the field, that’s your area of expertise. But Lily stays on close protection. There’s a shindig tomorrow night. Lily, you’ll be with him and at every other public event. And while I appreciate your dedication to the team, Tate, I will not appreciate it if you get yourself killed doing so. Today’s stunt will not be repeated. You will stay close to Lily. You will do as she tells you. Is that understood?’

Again, my lips twitch but this time I glance at Tate.

‘An apology is due to Lily for you hightailing it out of there. She has a job to do. You might not like it, but her job is keeping you safe. How in hell’s name can she be expected to do that if you take off by yourself whenever you feel like it?’

Tate looks a little chagrined. To my amazement, he looks me in the eye and holds my gaze.

‘I’m sorry, Lily,’ he says. ‘Really, I am.’

I regard him coolly. Maybe he’s just sorry because Winston called him out. Whatever, I’m determined not to let those sad eyes melt my dumb heart. I can’t afford to fall for it, or him. Not again.

I give him a cool nod, then look away. Football can keep Tate Donaghue warm at night for the rest of his life as far as I’m concerned.

Tierney tries to make a token objection, but it’s obvious to all that Winston has made his mind up, and the meeting continues as we discuss the schedule and security logistics between now and the final. I deliberately avert my gaze from Tate, though I feel his eyes on me.

Half an hour later, Shane’s phone rings.

‘The team bus is leaving in five minutes,’ he tells us, and everyone stands up to leave, though I really need to talk to Winston about something so I hover.

‘Stand down, Lily,’ he says. ‘John’s men can escort Tate down to the bus. They’ll be going with the team to practice.’

I nod. Winston is the boss, and I’m glad of the enforced distance between me and Tate. Even though there’s so much I want to say… no… yell at him, I’m going to keep it inside. He will never know the terror I felt when I returned to the cabin to find him gone. We’re done. From now on, it is purely professional with a side helping of frost.

Tate walks out of the room with three security guys and Tierney. At the door, he stops and turns around giving me another solemn stare. It’s obvious he’s still trying to say sorry but we both know he would do the same thing all over again if he had the choice.