Текст книги "Trust"

– Logan

Part One

Self-Reliance

The belief in one’s own instincts, choices, and opinions.

Chapter One

The bright city lights of downtown Chicago reflected in Logan’s rearview mirror as he checked the lane behind him and merged to the left. With his window down and the breeze ruffling his hair, he floored it up an empty street, thankful it wasn’t yet the coldest time of the year.

It was, however, four fifteen a.m.

Fuck. Tate was not going to be happy when he banged on his front door. But that was too damn bad. He’d made a deal with Mr. Morrison not so long ago, and if he recalled correctly—and I know I fucking do—he’d stipulated no dead silences.

Granted, at the time, he’d meant more of the days and weeks variety, but after the night they’d had—and the fact that he’d missed the opportunity to peel Tate out of his tux—the past three hours and fifteen minutes had felt like an eternity.

Earlier in the evening, it had made sense to drop Tate at home, especially since they both had separate places to be today. But when Logan had walked into his condo and crawled between his sheets, he’d discovered that his bed minus Tate no longer offered a comfortable place to rest. Instead, it had made him antsy and hyperaware of how much he desired the company of the sexy, pigheaded man.

God, I miss him.

In only months, he had gone from a man who ran from commitments to one who was in his car, speeding headfirst toward a bigger one. He’d thought of that and nothing else while he’d tried to exhaust himself on the treadmill, and while his feet had pounded out a steady pace, he’d had time to think about exactly what he wanted—and now, he knew.

His motto of “try, take, and top” had changed.

Oh, he’d tried Tate all right, and they’d both done a helluva lot of taking, but for once in his life, Logan didn’t feel the desire to win. He didn’t need to come out on top.

What he wanted was Tate’s trust—his absolute trust.

Tate lay in bed and willed himself to go to sleep. Tonight had not gone according to plan—lying there alone was proof enough of that, but it was also damn depressing.

He’d had high hopes for the night. Ones that involved being introduced as Logan’s partner, and he’d been looking forward to that. What he hadn’t anticipated was Christopher Walker being as much of a problem as he’d turned out to be.

Tate had been almost positive that Chris wouldn’t have the balls to walk up to Logan and confront him. So he’d figured they wouldn’t really have to deal with him at all. How wrong was I? No, Chris hadn’t confronted Logan exactly, but he sure as hell had found an effective way to get his attention…

“Mr. Walker, you’re new to Mitchell & Madison and a guest here tonight, so maybe you didn’t know, but please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Logan Mitchell, and this is Tate Morrison, and he is my partner.”

Tate noticed the way Logan kept his eyes focused solely on the man in front of them.

“Mr. Mitchell, you say. Aren’t you one of the owners?” Chris asked, very much aware of that particular answer.

“Enough with the bullshit, Walker,” Logan said, while Tate continued to silently observe the other man.

Chris’s eyebrows rose as he ran his eyes over Logan in a way that made Tate want to punch him in the face—hard. “There he is. The mouthy Logan I know.”

The tension rolling off Logan’s body was palpable as he grit out in a low voice, “You don’t know me at all.”

“Actually, I know you very well.”

That was the moment when Tate’s patience snapped. As the taunt lingered in the air, he muscled forward, snarling the words, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Chris chuckled, and his eyes shifted to where Tate had stepped in between him and Logan. “Sexy and protective. Down, boy. I’m not after your man. I’ve already had him.”

Tate pulled his fingers free of Logan’s and balled them into fists. “Listen to me, you piece of shit. I'm not the least bit concerned about what you want.”

A couple of people by the bar turned to face them, and Logan walked up alongside him and once again took his hand. Tate caught Chris observing the gesture before his eyes reconnected with Logan’s.

“Please,” Logan managed to say in a calm voice Tate barely recognized. “Enjoy your dinner and tonight’s entertainment, Mr. Walker.”

Tate’s head snapped around, and he was glaring so hard that he practically drilled a hole in the side of Logan’s. But it was clear that Logan was done talking and telling him, in no uncertain terms, to shut it also.

“Oh, it’s been very entertaining so far,” Chris replied, his tone slithering down Tate’s spine. “I imagine it will only improve from here…”

What a nightmare. Chris’s appearance at the function had been exactly that—a damn nightmare. Not only because of who he was, but also because he seemed to like stirring shit up.

Tate knew full well that Chris wasn’t one to advertise his sexual preferences, yet he’d shown absolutely no compunction while hitting on him and wearing his wedding band. That meant that, even with Mrs. Walker milling about somewhere, he’d been determined to get Logan’s attention—at any cost. Arrogant or stupid? Tate had no idea, but he didn’t like it one little bit. Add in the smug expression that had crossed Chris’s face at Logan’s interference and, yeah, it was clear that Chris had known full well what he was doing.

Tate had to give Logan credit though. He’d blown him away by how easily he’d recovered. Pity the same couldn’t be said for his own reaction.

“Logan?” Tate asked as he was ushered away from Chris and directed toward their table.

“What?” Logan didn’t spare him a glance as they continued through the throng of patrons, but when Tate yanked his arm free from his grasp, he soon came to a standstill.

“Would you hang on a minute?” he asked.

Logan’s feet shuffled to a stop as he pivoted to face him. “What’s the problem?”

“The… Are you serious?”

Logan’s jaw hardened, still tightly wound after he’d dealt with Chris, and then he leaned in so they were only inches from one another. “Not now, Tate. It’s neither the time nor the place.” Logan’s voice was carefully restrained as to not include any bystanders.

He could tell that Logan was trying to pacify him, so when he reached his hand out in a gesture of unity, Tate automatically took it. “Although I do love how you wanted to defend me. That’s hot.”

“Just…not now, right?” Tate asked, his voice low as he tried to temper his own annoyance.

“Yeah. Now isn’t the time.”

Tate gave a nod. “You’re the boss. You want me to shut my mouth. Consider it shut.”

“It’s not that—”

“Yes, it is,” Tate interrupted. But he was quick to add, “It’s okay. I get it.”

Logan’s eyes moved past him, and Tate knew he was looking at Chris again. He wondered what was going through his mind and hated that he wanted to ask. Feeling insecure was not an emotion he was comfortable with.

Then Logan glanced back at him and gave a tight smile. “Why don’t you go and sit down? Dinner’s about to be served. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Tate sat up in bed and looked at the clock on the wall, groaning at the early hour. He had work later this evening, and he could never sleep during the day, so the fact that he was up at the ass crack of dawn was just fucking great.

After pushing the covers aside, he then walked out into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to fall back asleep for a couple of hours before the sun decided to rise.

When he was halfway to the kitchen, a quick rap of knuckles on his front door brought him to a halt. Thinking he must’ve been mistaken, he continued across the hall until, again, there was a firm knocking more urgent than the last.

What the—

“Okay, okay,” he called and ran a hand through his hair.

Once he’d reached the door, he switched the light on and winced at the bright glow that reflected off the cream paint. With one eye closed, he pressed the other to the peephole and was shocked to see Logan standing on the other side.

He’d been expecting a neighbor who’d locked himself out, not the broody man who’d dropped him home and kissed him on the cheek. Actually, now that he thought about that…

He pulled the door open, and Logan’s eyes widened in stunned surprise.

“The cheek? You kissed me on the fucking cheek when you said goodnight to me earlier. What was that about?”

Logan studied the road ahead, anywhere but at his passenger, as he weaved through the traffic. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tate shifted in the seat beside him, and Logan knew he’d turned to look at him. That was one thing he loved about Tate. If he was coming at you with the truth, especially the hard stuff you didn’t want to hear, he never backed down. He always did it with his eyes on the target.

“I don’t understand how you managed to just sit there for the rest of the night and act as if everything was okay. It was as if it didn’t even bother you, seeing him or talking to him. I guess I’m just…confused by how easy you made it seem. That’s all,” Tate said into the dark confines of the car.

“It wasn’t easy. Acting like that,” Logan said, thinking back to the way he’d forced himself to smile and greet everyone who’d stopped by their table. It was a miracle he’d even managed that much considering he’d wanted to find Chris and tell him to take his business and shove it up his ass.

“It sure seemed that way.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” he reiterated. “Tonight was supposed to be about you and me. I was simply choosing not to play his games.”

“By letting him have the last word?” Tate asked, his tone rising with his incredulity.

“Yes. If the choice was between a brawl or a public retelling of my past, then yes, he got the last word tonight. Not me.”

“Fuck that,” Tate spat out, disgusted all over again at the entire situation.

“What would you have had me do? I was one of the hosts. The people in that room conduct their business though my office. Tell me, Tate. Do you think they want to see me or my boyfriend in a fight with my ex?” Logan demanded, turning to see Tate’s pissed-off expression before returning his eyes to the road. “They want to trust the person they pay thousands—sometimes hundreds of thousands of dollars, too—to protect them. What kind of message am I sending if I can’t conduct myself like an adult for five fucking hours? Now, drop it, would you?”

The silence in the car was heavy, remaining that way for several minutes until Tate said, “Consider it dropped.”

“Good.” Christ, this is so not the night I had in mind.

“By the way,” Tate added, his voice cutting through the tense space. “Your brother knows about you and Chris. Rachel told me earlier, and I thought you might appreciate the heads-up.”

Logan pulled to a stop at a red light and turned his head on the headrest. “Tate?”

Tate’s brown eyes found his, and as always, they made Logan’s heartbeat pick up pace.

“What?”

“I’m sorry about tonight.”

Tate didn’t smile. Instead, he kept a steady gaze on him as he replied, “I’m not the one you need to apologize to. I knew what I was walking into. Cole didn’t.”

“Logan?”

Logan was pulled from his thoughts and brought back to the present as Tate crossed his arms over his chest.

He looked good. Hell, he looked better than that. He looked fucking amazing in his grey sweatpants and white T-shirt.

“I asked you why you kissed me on the cheek tonight. Is that some kind of punishment for losing my temper?”

Logan was positive that that wasn’t supposed to make him happy, but he was rather pleased that Tate thought a kiss on the cheek from him was a bad thing.

“I don’t remember you losing your temper. I actually think you held yourself together pretty well, considering. When I dropped you off, I had a lot going through my head. It was just an absentminded gesture. That’s all. Not punishment. Do you really think I would do that?”

Tate let out an irritated sigh. “I don’t know what to think. It’s four thirty in the morning. I’m surprised I can think at all.” He paused and then finally took in his appearance. “What are you wearing? You look like you ran a mile.”

Logan glanced down to his black hoodie, grey running shorts, and navy-blue Northwestern University T-shirt. “Seven actually, but who’s counting?”

Tate scoffed. “You, apparently.”

“Well, I can’t have you thinking I lack stamina.”

Tate rolled his eyes and stepped aside. “That thought has never once crossed my mind. Are you coming in this time? I assume you’re not here to stand in my doorway?”

“And I see that you’re still a little—”

“Irritable?” Tate supplied.

Logan took a step forward and ran his gaze over the tangle of brown curls falling by Tate’s face. “Yeah. Irritable seems about right.”

Tate didn’t move, but he did hold his ground. “Well, do you blame me? Tonight was—”

“A total fucking mess?” Logan finished, hazarding a guess.

“Something like that.”

He walked inside and scanned Tate’s apartment as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted. When no response came from Tate, he continued. “I kept thinking back to when Chris put his hand on you and all I wanted to do was kick his ass. But then…” He watched Tate close the door and lean his back up against it—silent and focused on him. “But then I remembered the last time I’d seen him. I’d been doing exactly that. Kicking his ass.” He came over to where Tate was standing and—quite unexpectedly—confessed, “I have trouble sleeping without you.”

Tate’s mouth opened as if he were about to say something, and then he shut it and, instead, smiled.

“Does that sound like I’m punishing you?” Logan asked. He loved the way Tate’s eyes darkened as they lowered to his mouth.

“No.”

“No? Then how does it sound?” he asked, continuing forward until he was between Tate’s legs.

“It sounds—”

“Yes?”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, trying to appear contrite. “You were saying?”

“It sounds as if you like me,” Tate said. Then he added with an arrogant smirk, “A lot.”

Logan’s heart thumped in his chest as he concentrated on what he’d come there to do. But when Tate reached for his hips and pulled him flush against his body, all of Logan’s thoughts took a flying leap.

“Mhmm, I do,” Logan said. “It’s a little more than like though.”

One of Tate’s hands stroked its way down to his ass, and when he pushed off the door and placed his lips to Logan’s throat, Logan wondered if he’d remember his own name in the next ten seconds.

Then Tate’s voice echoed through the silent apartment. “But you sent me away with a kiss on the cheek.”

Logan jerked his head back. “That’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. I understand that it was tense in there—”

“Fuck yes, it was tense,” Logan stressed, trying to make Tate understand where he was coming from. “After seeing Chris and then dealing with Cole, it was unbelievably tense.”

Tate’s fingers left him, and he started to walk away, farther into the apartment. “But when we were in the car and heading home, you should’ve talked to me. Communicated.”

Lightning fast, Logan snagged Tate’s arm and halted him in his tracks. “Say that again.”

Tate narrowed his eyes and began to repeat himself. “You should’ve communicated with me. How am I going to know—”

Logan shook his head. “Not that. Back up a little further.”

Tate’s confusion was obvious as he told him, “I don’t understand.”

Logan took his chin between his fingers and pressed a kiss to Tate’s lips. “We were heading home. I like that. Us, heading home, together. That’s why I’m here.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure that bird has flown the coop, Logan. You already dumped me at the curb—”

“With a kiss on the cheek. Yes,” Logan groaned. “I noted that down, and I solemnly swear to never do it again. Which, by the way, I have kissed you on the cheek before, and you have never complained quite so emphatically. But that’s not what I mean.”

Tate frowned at him. “Then what do you mean?”

“I mean—no. I want…” Logan paused, his stomach knotting as Tate’s eyes widened and his hands rose as if pleading with him to fucking speak.

“What? What do you want, Logan? Because, personally, I’d really like a couple of extra hours to sleep—”

Logan swallowed, and before he lost his nerve, he heard himself say, “I want you to move in with me.”

Chapter Two

Tate was sure he’d misunderstood what Logan had just said.

It was early and he was still half asleep. That had to be it, because for one crazy minute, he was sure he’d heard—

“Tate? Did you hear what I said? I want you to move in with me.”

Tate brought a hand to his face and rubbed his forehead. Then, without a word, he spun on his toes and walked back to his kitchen. He could hear Logan following behind, but he didn’t trust himself to speak just yet.

He stopped in front of the fridge, opened it, and scanned the contents. Milk, water, and orange juice. Nothing that was going to help with this. After shutting the door, he remembered where something that would help was. Upon opening the cabinet above the fridge, he found a bottle of tequila.

Yeah, fuck it. This calls for a shot.

He poured a small amount of liquid into a glass before he picked it up and downed it.

“Wow,” Logan said as he stopped on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. “I didn’t think my invitation would drive you to drink.”

Tate placed the glass down with an unsteady hand and gripped the cool marble. “Quit joking around.”

Logan raised his hands, palms out, and asked, “Who’s joking? I was serious. Never more so.”

“Then you’re out of your mind,” Tate muttered, pushing the glass aside as he made his way around to where Logan was standing. “This is how you ask me? This is when you choose to ask me?”

Logan’s eyes scanned his face, and Tate could tell by the way his jaw bunched that he was getting annoyed. “What’s wrong with now?”

Tate let out a sound of disbelief and walked to his bedroom. “Other than we had a terrible night, we were just arguing, and it’s almost five in the morning?”

“Oh, come on. This wasn’t really an argument,” Logan pointed out. “Tate? Hold up, would you?”

Tate took a deep breath and turned back to lock eyes with the blue ones trying to gauge his mood. “I can’t move in with you.”

Logan gave a slow nod before he asked, “Can’t or won’t?”

He wondered what the difference meant to Logan, but he repeated, “Can’t.”

Logan’s mouth split into a wide grin as he strolled over to where he was standing—tense as a fucking trip wire.

“What are you smiling about?” Tate knew that his tone was surly, but this was just like Logan. Impulsive, brash, and always picking the worst possible time to say shit. He hadn’t once stopped to think about how his request might make him feel. He’d just figured that, since he thought it was a great idea, so would everyone around him.

The problem was that it had instantly made Tate feel…inadequate. Although he was sure Logan would kick his ass if he ever told him so.

“I can work with can’t,” Logan said as he pushed past him into the bedroom. “Now, would you stop arguing with me so we can get a couple of hours’ sleep?”

Logan took his hoodie and shirt off before he walked over to the left side of the bed to toe his shoes off. He then pulled the quilt back, removed the rest of his clothing, and climbed inside as if it were his own bed. Once he was comfortable, he placed his hands behind his head and aimed his eyes toward Tate.

“Don’t act as if you get any more sleep than I do when you’re alone. I won’t believe you.”

Tate pushed off the doorjamb and moved to his side of the bed. “You’re a cocky bastard. You know that?” He removed his shirt and sweatpants and slid back under the covers; the warmth of Logan’s skin lured him in, and Tate automatically fit himself to his side.

“I may have been told that once or twice before. Hmm,” Logan sighed, but the sound was one of satisfaction, not frustration. “You will say yes. It’s only a matter of time. Now, shh so I can sleep.”

Tate felt a small smile cross his lips as he pressed them to Logan’s chest in a light kiss. He wasn’t sure he could say yes to what Logan wanted any time in the near future, but for the moment, he was content to shut his eyes and finally get some rest.

It was three hours later when Logan cracked an eye open and saw Tate’s face pressed into the pillow beside his. His dark lashes were full where they lay against his cheek, his lips were slightly parted, and the stubble lining his jaw had thickened overnight. Logan had a hard time keeping his hands—and his mouth—to himself as he lay there.

“Stop staring. You’re giving me a complex.”

The gravelly voice made him smile as Tate rolled away. Never one to miss an opportunity, Logan shifted in behind him and nuzzled his nose into Tate’s hair.

“Liar,” he whispered before he kissed Tate’s neck.

“God, what time is it? Your enjoyment of early mornings is truly disturbing.”

Logan aligned the entire length of his body along Tate’s and wrapped an arm around his waist to circle his navel. “It’s not that early, but it is time to get up.”

One of Tate’s hands flattened over Logan’s and held it in place as he shifted to his back and stared up at him. “You’re already up.”

Logan bent his elbow and put his head against his palm, all the while drawing a line up the center of Tate’s chest. “I’m glad you noticed.”

“Hard not to when something that big is digging into my back.”

When his finger reached the base of Tate’s throat, Logan took his hand away and rested it on his own hip. “That may be so, but don’t try to distract me with compliments.”

Tate laughed. “Is that what I was doing?”

Logan nodded, and when his hair fell in his eyes, Tate pushed it back from his face.

“I need a haircut,” he commented.

“I kind of like it like this, longer on the top.”

Logan touched his lips to Tate’s, his hair flopping down around them. “Well, since you like it…”

“Yeah?” Tate asked, his mouth curving under his.

“I just might keep it. But don’t think I’m growing it as long as yours.”

“What’s wrong with my hair? Are you saying I need to cut it?”

“No, I’m fucking not,” Logan said as he fingered the hair by Tate’s ear. “And you know it.”

“What would you do if I did shave my head?”

“Kill you? And likely get away with it since I have connections to a very reputable law firm.”

Tate chuckled and shoved Logan until he was on his back beside him. “Be serious.”

Logan turned his head on the pillow and ran his eyes over Tate’s full head of hair. Then he returned his gaze to the eyes watching him. “I would quite possibly cry. For days.”

“Over my hair? It does grow back, you know.”

“Yeah, but not for months,” he grumbled. “Can you please stop talking so calmly about this? You’re making me nervous.”

Tate shifted until his long, lean body was stretched out above him, and Logan widened his legs to allow him to settle in between.

“Don’t worry,” Tate assured him as he lowered his head to kiss the corner of his mouth. He then moved those teasing lips to Logan’s ear and whispered, “I like your hands in it too much to cut it off.”

Logan threaded his fingers through the thick waves and asked, “Like this?”

With a groan, Tate rocked his hips against him, and Logan twisted his fingers tighter.

“Exactly like that.”

“Good,” he said as he wound his legs around Tate’s. “Because this way, I can have a tight hold on you when you’re trying to distract me. I’m onto you, Mr. Morrison. Don’t try to use your body against me.”

He almost lost his willpower when Tate, the cocky fucker, placed his hands on either side of his head and rubbed their erections together.

“You don’t want me to use my body on you?”

“Fuck you,” Logan said, knowing full well that, if he didn’t change the subject or get Tate the hell off him, he was going to roll him over and cease talking altogether.

Usually he’d love nothing more, but right now, he wanted to know why Tate had reacted so strongly to his question from last night—well, early morning.

“We need to talk.”

“Then you should have gotten up, gotten dressed, and then woke me.”

He had a point—not that Logan would ever admit it.

“Why are you so skittish about moving in together?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And sooner or later, you’re going to tell me why.”

As Tate was about to respond, Logan’s phone began to vibrate on the nightstand and they both looked over at it. When Tate said that it was Cole, Logan immediately lost any desire he had to continue fooling around as he remembered his brother’s words from the night before…

“Your ex-boyfriend is a chatty asshole.”

Logan winced at Cole, who was holding a frozen, pink drink with a bright-blue umbrella. He was about to ask what he meant, but before the words could slip free, Cole continued.

“We can’t spend the evening dealing with your shit, got it? There are too many important people in this room for a spectacle. Deal with it, Logan. I want you to walk away. If you’re calm, then Tate will be calm. Do whatever the hell needs to be done. Or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Logan eyed Chris where he was watching the two of them beside a tall, willowy woman.

“Logan?”

His attention was drawn back to Cole. He hated the thought of walking away but knew it had to be done.

“Fix it.”

Logan was convinced that, after his and Tate’s conversation on the drive home and his impromptu visit, he seemed to be relatively fine concerning the events from last night—Cole sure as fuck would be a different story altogether.

He reluctantly let Tate go, and when he rolled off him, Logan made sure to say, “We aren’t done with this.”

Tate pushed the covers away without responding and got out of bed. Then he walked into his bathroom and shut the door. Okay, so that was a subject he needed to approach with more caution.

How the hell was I suppose to know that?

Logan snatched the phone up, brought it to his ear, and barked, “What?”

The silence that met him at the other end was exactly what he’d expected. He’d known that this was coming.

Then Cole spoke. “Get up, and get your ass to my place. Now.”

Closing his eyes, Logan counted back from ten, trying to curb the instinct to tell Cole to fuck off. “Good morning to you too, Cole.”

He’d barely finished talking when Cole snapped back, “I’m not in the mood, Logan. Get over here, and make yourself useful—pick up some donuts on the way. Rachel’s hungry.”

“Rachel hates store-bought donuts.”

“Not this morning, she doesn’t.”

He was about to ask if there was any flavor in particular, but Cole had already hung up. Yeah, this is going to be ugly.

Somehow, Cole had found out about his little—okay, not so little—secret, and Logan knew there was absolutely no way to avoid talking to him about it.

Unless leaving the country was an option.

Tate heard Logan through the closed door as he snapped at his brother. He didn’t envy Logan’s position in that moment. He knew how it felt to have been keeping something from those you loved, and when they found out—well, you better be ready for the fallout, whether it was good or bad.

In Logan’s particular case, Tate wasn’t sure how Cole would react. But judging by the cool reception they’d been subjected to for the majority of last night, he assumed that it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

He walked over to the sink and turned the hot water on, letting the basin fill for his morning shave as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. There, looking back at him, was someone he was finally beginning to understand again. But it was also someone who had a long way to go.

For so long, he’d lived his life for those around him. Always doing what was expected of him. From a marriage that had been a young, dumb reaction to lust to staying in it because he’d thought it was the right thing for those involved—something he would never do again. He was determined not to make those same mistakes, especially with Logan.

The fact of the matter was that Logan Mitchell was an influential figure in the city of Chicago. As one of the partners in a prestigious law firm, he was wealthy, respected, and smart as hell, and when Tate thought about the things he could offer in return, he was realistic enough to realize that it wasn’t a whole fucking lot. So when Logan had suggested he move into his condo with him… Yeah, I freaked the hell out.

After he shut the water off and drew the razor down his cheek, there was a knock on the door, and Logan pushed it open. Tate’s eyes found his in the mirror, and he straightened, surprised to see Logan fully dressed in his clothes from the night before.

“No, don’t stop,” Logan said, running his eyes over Tate in a way that suggested he liked what he saw. “I just came to tell you I have to head out. Cole is on the warpath, and if I’m not there soon, he just might send someone to hand-deliver me.”