Tara and his daughter emerged a short while later and he watched as they stopped at the slushie booth before Tara dropped Ashley off with the guys in the VIP tent. When she returned to his side, Clint did his best not to notice that flowery perfume of Tara’s swirling around him or the sudden tingle of heat when her arm brushed his in the crowd. “Your daughter is a delight.”
“Thanks,” he said, all too aware of her. “The nanny that just quit had other ideas.”
“Is that who that was?” Tara laughed again, the sound heading straight to Clint’s groin. God. What was it about this woman that got under his skin so bad? He shifted his weight and clasped his hands tighter behind his back. “From the way she flounced out of here earlier, I figured she was a debutante or something.”
Clint gave a low snort and squared his shoulders. He liked to keep his private and his professional life separate. It was rare for him to even talk about his private life while he was on the job, but something about her made it all too easy. He shouldn’t be enjoying this woman’s company or her jokes, and yet, he was. Way more than he should. “Thank you for taking Ashley to the bathroom for me. And getting her a slushie.”
“You’re welcome. And she seemed happy as a clam with your friends, but what girl wouldn’t be, with a blue Slush Puppy and two men fawning over her.” Tara grinned up at him, making his heart do a weird little dip. “Plus, she’ll have the best seat in the house for all the performances later.”
In a way, this rally reminded him more of a carnival than a protest. There were food vendors and speakers and later, a couple of folk rock, granola-fed bands were going to play. Not really his style. He preferred rock and metal type music—but considering his kid was here, he supposed he should be glad the offerings were family-friendly.
“Hmm,” Clint grunted. “I appreciate you stepping in like that. I don’t usually let my personal life interfere with my jobs.”
“Yeah. Me neither,” Tara said, staring at the stage, same as him. “Of course, I have no personal life to speak of, so that solves that problem.”
He found that hard to believe. A woman as gorgeous as her must have people lined up to date her. Clint wasn’t much into flirting at all, but she made it easy. “C’mon. I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true.” She raised her chin. “Work takes up all of my time these days. I’m determined to get this state-wide climate change bill enacted while I’m still interim executive director of GGE.”
Right. Clint had studied up on her dossier before this job, same as he had with the other potential targets SSoF were being paid to protect. She was temporary head of Go Green Energy, a regional non-profit that was fighting for legislation to combat climate change. Considering she was only twenty-seven, the fact that she’d been put in charge—even just as an interim director—was pretty damned impressive. She’d taken over the position after the last guy, Howard Steinman, had been killed the previous year. From what Clint read, that investigation was still pending, thus the reason he’d been hired for added security around Tara and the other people most visibly and vocally involved in trying to get this legislation passed. There was a group of opposing forces who, rumor had it, weren’t afraid to get violent to get their point across.
So, here Clint stood on a fine summer day, next to the most beautiful woman in the place, and he refused to give in to the attraction fizzing between them like shaken soda pop. Story of his life.
The guys at SSoF joked with him sometimes that he wasn’t happy unless he was miserable. That wasn’t exactly true. The truth was, Clint didn’t trust happiness. After all, when he was a kid, he’d been happy as could be right up until the day his mother had packed her bags and walked out of his life forever, saying she couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t been prepared at all—and when it happened, it had hit him all the harder as a result. Once that had happened, he never thought he’d be happy again. Or maybe that he never should be happy again. Disappointment didn’t hurt as much if you were braced for it from the start.
“Good turnout today,” Tara said, scanning the crowd. “Bigger than I expected.”
“That’s good, right?” Clint said, glad to be out of his head. He needed to focus on the here and now, not the past. There was no changing the past. No matter how he might wish he could. He cleared his throat and checked his phone. Noah had sent him a picture of him and Ashley sticking out their blue coated tongues from those slushies. He shook his head an
d stuck the thing back in his pocket. “More tree huggers to vote for your bill.”
Tara gave him some side-eye. “We prefer the term social justice warriors, thanks. But yes. It’s good.”
A high pitched whistle sailed past Clint’s ear and he swatted at the sound, thinking it was a bothersome mosquito. It was hot as Hades out here now and his all-black attire didn’t help matters. But then the whistling grew louder and…nope. That was no bug.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He turned to push Tara to the ground, but realized he’d acted too late when he saw the bright red splotch of crimson blossoming on the arm of Tara’s jean jacket and…
“Oh shit! You’re hit. Get down!” he yelled, using his body to cover hers. “Gun!” he shouted out, so everyone would know to take cover. “There’s a gun!”
All hell broke loose as an incoming call came to his phone. He pulled it out to hear the guys yelling on the other end of the line. He managed to break through the noise to ask, “Is Ashley okay?”
“Yes!” Levon yelled back through the line. “Noah’s got her covered. The cops are moving in, they’ve got the gunman cornered and are taking him down. You okay?”
Clint stared at the people scattering around him, their signs and banners strewn across the grass like so much trash, the woman beneath him shivering and shaken and bleeding, and answered truthfully. “No. I need EMTs out here stat! Tara Crumb’s been hit.”
Sirens wailed from the squad cars now circling the area and the crowd was yelling and screaming, but all Clint could focus on was the fact that this was all his fault. He’d allowed himself to get distracted by Tara and their conversation and he’d failed to spot the shooter in time.
My fault. My failure.
Again.
2
“Jesus, what a mess,” Levon said. It was two days after the rally and they were still going through the initial damage reports—though this time from the comfort of their office. “That all went downhill fast.”
“No shit,” Noah confirmed, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen. “They were lucky no one was seriously hurt.”
Lucky was right. Clint sat at his desk in the Southern Soldiers of Fortune offices and stared down at his empty desktop, doing his best not to cringe. Mess was right too, even if he felt bad enough as it was without having his buddies and coworkers rub his face in it. His world was spinning out of control after the chaos of the shooting and injury of his target.