Protecting His Beautiful Lover (Southern Soldiers of Fortune 3)

“It would cut into our profits, that’s true,” Bartlet said, giving a small shrug. “As it would for all of our competitors.”

“Hmm. And what about your donations to the conservative candidate for Congress last year?” Clint asked, hoping to knock Bartlet off-balance. “Seems odd that you’d back the guy who’s pledged to destroy the very bill that GGE is pushing so hard to get passed.”

Bartlet met Clint’s gaze, his expression unreadable. The guy was good. No question about it. But Clint’s SEAL-trained instincts were going haywire inside and he put more stock in those than in any excuse coming out of Bartlet. The other man took a deep breath, then smiled. “Is that where we’re at now? My politics make me guilty? If you must know, I backed the conservative candidate because of his fiscal policies, not because of his stance on the bill. I’d planned to talk with him, get him to change his mind about the legislation when it came down to it. I’m not without influence in political circles too.”

I bet. Clint bit back that response and inhaled deeply. Bartlet struck him as the kind of wily guy who’d be completely comfortable in a room full of politicians that most would see as a snake pit—Clint included.

“Trust me, Mr. Buckman,” Bartlet said after a moment. “Talk to Berger.”

Clint trusted this guy about as far as he could throw him. Which was farther than most people, but still. He dug his nails into the arms of the leather wing chair he was sitting in to keep from reaching across the desk to grab Bartlet by the throat and throttle him. He was getting lost in the weeds and needed to keep cool, no matter how much angry heat was raging inside him. Which was so not like him. Up until now, Clint had always been the cool one, the guy who pulled Levon and Noah back when they were going too far. But the minute he’d gotten involved with Tara, all his icy barriers seemed to have melted away. It wasn’t a good feeling. In fact, he felt damned prickly and uncomfortable about it. Still, he forced himself to continue questioning Bartlet, to try and get some info here that SSoF wouldn’t have access to otherwise.

“You mentioned Ms. Crumb earlier. How would you describe her professionally?”

“Frosty,” Bartlet said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “Focused, but frosty. That’s my take on Tara. I tried to get more friendly with her after she took over as interim director, in a board member capacity, of course. I like to get to know all the directors. Makes it easier to get things done with the organization if we’re all on the same page.”

Clint snorted, biting back a nasty response. This douchebag was lucky Tara hadn’t filed a harassment complaint against him. “Go on.”

Bartlet shrugged. “Really, that’s it. Tara gave me the cold shoulder. And not just me, either. She has a bit of a reputation, you know. That’s why I’m telling you, there’s more to the story of her firing John Berger than she’s letting on. He’s quite an ambitious young man, but in the environmental lobby, it can be hard to rise to the top, you know. Maybe he resents the lovely Ms. Crumb for getting the interim director position. Maybe he thinks he can make his own star rise if his organization gets the credit for the legislation passing—but of course, for that to happen, he’d need it to pass without Go Green Energy’s support. Something to look into, wouldn’t you agree? Makes sense to me.”

The phone on the desk rang again, cutting off Clint’s next question.

“I’m sorry,” Bartlet said, checking the caller ID. “This is my next conference call. I have to take this. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Buckman. You can show yourself out, right?”

Yeah, he could. Clint got up and walked out of the office and headed back to his car. On the way, he pulled out his phone to call the guys.

“Bartlet thinks we should look deeper into John Berger,” he said, then explained about Bartlet’s insinuations as he pushed out of the front entrance and back into the sunny parking lot.

“On it,” Levon said through the phone line, his voice echoing a bit since the guys had the call on speaker. “Find out anything else?”

Just that Bartlet is a slimy creep. Clint swallowed that response and said instead, “No.”

“Right. Well, keep going,” Noah said. “You investigating this on the down-low seems to be helping. You’re getting in with people like Bartlet that the cops can’t get to take a meeting. We’ll look into John Berger further and let you know what we find.”

“Thanks.” He ended the call and climbed back into his truck to head home. Funny how it didn’t bother him to call her house that now. A week or so earlier and that word would’ve had him running for the hills, but now…

Well, now he was just overthinking things. Using the word home didn’t mean anything. He knew this thing with Tara was just a fling, just a way for them both to ease some stress during a crazy time. It didn’t mean anything. It sure as hell didn’t mean his feelings went any deeper than liking her. She was smart and funny and easy to talk to. He enjoyed being around her. That was all.

And sure, the sex was good. Great, in fact. Maybe the best sex he’d ever had with anyone. They seemed in tune with each other in a way he’d never experienced before. That didn’t mean he needed to go and get all tangled up emotionally about it. On the contrary. He needed to keep his head clear so he could get the job done, same as always. Forget possessiveness. Forget the way his chest ached whenever he thought about when all this was over and they’d go back to their separate lives.

That didn’t mean a damned thing. And the sooner he remembered that, the better.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a parking spot at the curb near Tara’s place and got out. He went inside to find her and Ashley sitting at the kitchen table working on a puzzle together.

“Hey,” Tara said, smiling over at him and making his pulse stumble like an old drunk. “How’d the meeting with Bartlet go?”

“Good,” Clint said, closing the door behind him and tossing his keys on the side table, avoiding her gaze. “Fine. He told us to look into John Berger some more.”

“Okay. I suppose that’s not a bad idea,” Tara said. “You want some lemonade? Ashley and I just made a fresh pitcher.”

“No.” He frowned down at his phone as he scrolled through his emails. The last thing he needed now was to get wrapped up in what his daughter and Tara were doing and forget about his work. He’d been doing too much of that already lately. Not to mention, he wanted to put some space between Tara and the investigation. If the culprit was Bartlet or this other guy, John Berger, then it seemed like whoever was after her had personal motives that went beyond her position with GGE. Whether it was Berger’s resentment at Tara’s rise in the movement or Bartlet’s disturbing interest in Tara’s charms, Clint couldn’t say. But either way, he wanted it all way the hell away from her. “I’m going to do some research on my computer in the guest room.”

Tara got up from the table and walked over to where he was standing, her expression concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He looked up at her, doing his best to ignore the flash of hurt in her eyes at his brusque tone and failing miserably. He wasn’t trying to be an ass, but damn. If he didn’t put a stop to his runaway emotions where she was concerned now, who knew where they would lead? Clint walked over and kissed the top of his daughter’s head in greeting, then sidestepped around Tara on his way down the hall. He hated hurting her, but he hated how vulnerable he felt even more. “I’ll be done in a little while. Then we can talk about dinner.”

16

Dinner was…odd.