Protecting His Beautiful Lover (Southern Soldiers of Fortune 3)

“This job ain’t easy,” Noah said. “Believe me, I know. We’re not trying to pry, but we can see you’re struggling, and we want to help.”

To help calm his inner turmoil and distract himself, he took out his gun from the drawer and began disassembling it for cleaning. For some weird reason, he liked cleaning guns. It relaxed him. Almost as much as his daily yoga practice. But

since he couldn’t really go full downward dog in here, he went for the alternative.

“I’m fine,” he said, turning away from the guys and pulling out a cloth to start polishing. “Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re not fine,” Noah said, pushing off the desk to stand shoulder to shoulder beside Levon, both their expressions uncharacteristically stern and serious. “And we are worried, whether you want us to be or not. That’s why we decided to put you on leave for a while.”

“Excuse me?” Clint wheeled around, blinking in disbelief at his friends and nearly dropping the gun barrel he was working on in the process. “You what?”

“Don’t take it personal, dude,” Levon said, raising his square jaw defiantly, his gaze daring Clint to come at him. He almost did, too; only shock and clenching his fists tight kept him standing where he was. “Most people enjoy taking a vacation.”

Fuck. Except this wasn’t a vacation. This felt more like a punishment than party time. Dammit.

“You can’t do that,” he protested, shooting Noah a death glare as he set his cloth and gun parts aside. “The business contract says so.” The contract was a relic from back when he and Noah first started the business. A lot had changed since then, and they’d never bothered to update it. But it was still official.

“No. The contract says I can’t vote you out. You’re part of the team and you always will be. But I can vote to put you on leave when necessary.” Noah stepped forward. “It’s for your own good. Get out of here. Spend time with your kid. Relax. Get your head back in order, then come back ready to kick ass again, dude.”

Clint opened his mouth to argue, but Noah didn’t give him a chance. “The chairman of the board for Go Green Energy wants you fired.”

All the air evaporated from Clint’s lungs, leaving him breathless and lightheaded. “He what?”

Noah cursed and shook his head, looking away. “I didn’t want to tell you, man, but that’s why I made the decision I did. The chairman’s making a stink about what happened at that rally, and smoothing things over means we need you to lie low for a little while.” He stepped up beside Levon. “Listen. You’re indispensable around here. Always will be. Hell, you handle most of the administrative stuff, so I’m not even sure how we’ll find half the stuff we need around here without you, but we need to make it look like the business is taking the complaint seriously, yeah?”

“So, go and take this time off, dude,” Levon said, giving him a half-hearted smile. “I know it’s not what you want, but maybe it’s for the best.”

Right. Well, then. The last thing Clint wanted was to put SSoF in jeopardy. So yeah. It wasn’t what he’d planned or what he’d wanted, but it looked like he had some unexpected R&R coming his way. With a curt nod, he shoved away from his desk and stood, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair then calling over to Ashley, “Pack it up, kiddo. We’re going home.”

3

Tara Crumb fixed herself a mug of coffee at the kitchenette in her office at Go Green Energy, then took a seat back at her desk. Turning on her computer to check her emails, she tried to distract herself from the infernal itching in her left arm. She knew that meant that the week-old bullet wound was healing, but it didn’t make it any more fun.

She snorted and kept scrolling on her screen. Bullet wound? More like a glorified cut, really. That sounded better in her head. Far more accurate, far less terrifying—which would make it far easier to come in to her workplace and do her job every day. It was distracting trying to concentrate on work when she kept thinking of a sniper lining up another shot. Not that violence at peaceful rallies was anything new. Hell, since the beginning of time, wherever there were activists, there were people who were deeply committed to shutting them up. But this was a whole different level.

Of course, it didn’t help that since the attack at the rally, she’d kept replaying those moments in her head. The loud bang of the gunfire, the high-pitched whiz of the bullets passing her. The weird thump against her arm when she’d been struck. Funny, but she’d always imagined this huge rush of pain after getting shot, but it hadn’t been like that. Not at first, anyway. She’d honestly thought she’d just hit her arm on a rock or something when she’d fallen. The EMTs had told her later that it was probably the shock kicking in. It had felt like a scrape, a pinch, nothing more. They said that her brain had blocked out the pain to focus on the fight or flight syndrome. It hadn’t been until she’d gotten to the ER that the throbbing and real pain had started. And that had just been a flesh wound. She couldn’t imagine what getting seriously shot would be like.

Tara shivered and tried to focus on other things. Like how strange it was that she couldn’t remember any initial agony from her wound, but she sure as heck remembered other things just fine. Things like the brush of the grass against her cheek once Clint had pushed her to the ground and covered her body with his. Things like the warmth of his muscled chest pressed to her back, the soft tickle of his breath against the nape of her neck, the firm, comforting press of his hand as he’d held her in place. Things like the clean, fresh scent of soap and sandalwood from his skin or the faint hint of dark stubble beneath the skin of his jaw, or how soft his lips had looked and how close they had been to hers. Close enough that if she’d turned her head a little more and risen up, she could have touched her mouth to his and found out for herself just how much…

“How are you doing today, Tara?” her assistant, Judy, asked, sticking her head in through the open office door. “Feeling better?”

“Fine, thanks,” Tara said automatically, flashing the woman her brightest polite smile and shoving her inappropriate thoughts about kissing Clint aside. She had no business thinking about his lips. Not now, not ever. She had way too much else on her plate at the moment. Hands clasped on her desk, she raised her chin for Judy to enter. “And you?”

“Good,” Judy said, walking in and plopping down in the empty chair in front of Tara’s desk. Tara liked the woman. She was funny and smart, if a bit of a gossip. Good old Judy always had the scoop on everyone in the place. The last thing Tara wanted was for her situation to become watercooler fodder, but Judy seemed to have other ideas as she narrowed her gaze on Tara. She’d hired the woman on as her administrative assistant after letting the old one go shortly after taking over the position. It wasn’t that John Berger hadn’t been good at his job. Tara had just wanted to start fresh, that was all. She’d heard he'd moved on to another position with a different environmentalist group, so it had all worked out in the end for everyone. “I wondered if the legal situation was getting to you.”

Tara frowned, blinking. “You mean the legislation we’re trying to get passed? No. It’s fine. We’re getting a lot of public support, and the legislators seem to be getting on board. I’m hoping we’ll get it taken care of soon—maybe even before the board finishes its search for a permanent E.D. Onward and upward, right?”

“Hmm. Right, I suppose. Sometimes I forget that you’re just E.D. on a temporary basis.” Judy leaned forward a bit and dropped her tone to a near-whisper. “Between you and me, the things I’ve heard about the last director’s murder sound shady as hell. No leads and no suspects, according to the cops? C’mon. Someone had to have seen something, right? Steinman was shot in broad daylight on a busy street.” Judy shrugged and sat back again, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. Maybe it was another activist group, wanting to take him out so their group could get credit for pushing through the bill. I mean, everyone knows the environmental leagues are rampant with competition.” She chuckled. “Everyone calls us tree huggers, but this shit gets ruthless sometimes.”

Ruthless, yes, but murderous? Tara knew that Judy liked her conspiracy theories, but this seemed to go a little too far. “Hmm,” she said noncommittally, then clasped her mug with both hands, taking a moment to really ponder the idea. She didn’t like to think about someone purposely trying to do her in just because she wanted to make the world a better place, but she knew it happened. Gr

owing up with a mother in politics, Tara knew better than most what kind of crazies were out there. She’d never let it stop her, but the awareness was always there in the background, same as the lingering feeling that no matter what she accomplished in her life, she’d never be as important as the cause she worked for. That was another lesson she’d learned, courtesy of her mother. People were secondary to ideals. She shrugged and sipped her coffee. “Honestly, I haven’t had too much time to pay attention to the news. I’ve been too busy trying to push this legislation through.”

“Well, I’m not an expert, of course.” Of course. Judy gave her a conspiratorial smile. Yeah, right. “But everyone says that the old E.D. was the face of this company when he was here. Always doing rallies and photo ops. When he was killed, the board needed someone to fill the position quickly and boom. You were promoted. Maybe whoever attacked the rally didn’t want you to become the new face of our cause.”

“Maybe, but I’m only temporary,” Tara added, resisting the urge to scratch her stupid arm again. It was just the stress, that was all, making her feel like her skin was two sizes too small. Or maybe that was the niggling fear that Judy was right. “No one cares about me. I’m just here until the board settles on a permanent replacement. The legislation is what’s important.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Judy stood and smoothed a hand down the front of her gray skirt, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “Well, anyway. You’ve inherited a nice, cushy position with this one. Wouldn’t mind having it myself, someday,” she said, heading for the door. “Good talking to you.”