Page 26 of Knox

“Where’s Kelsey?”

“She took off.”

“She was in anexplosion!”

He set down the iPad. “And she refused medical services. Left a few minutes ago.” He nodded to the open driver’s door.

“Perfect,” the blonde said. She turned to Tate. Sighed. “Thanks a lot.”

He blinked at her, stymied. “What did I do?”

She narrowed her eyes, gave him another once-over, and now he stood there, letting her take a good look because really, this was silly.

“You’re really in security.”

“Really.”

“Do any personal protection?”

“Some.” He didn’t particularly want to dig out that résumé, however.

“Hmm,” she said, as if she were trying to decide on an order off a menu. “Okay. I guess you’ll do. For now.” She held out her hand. “Glo. Jackson. Come with me, tough guy.”

Huh? But when she stalked away, he followed her.

And not just for Knox.

He’d do?Oh, he’d see about that.

Yeah, okay, Glomayhave been a smidgen of a jerk to the tall, tattooed, half-naked so-called bodyguard following her through the jammed cars and roped off security of the arena toward the RV parking area.

But Glo knew Kelsey better than almost anyone, except Dixie, and no one from the press was going to get a good look at what might be going down in that ambulance. Kelsey had lived through enough trauma in her life not to have her grimy, traumatized face hit the front pages. Again.

And sure, it was a gigantic, Texas-sized leap to think that—what was his name? Tate—might be working for TMZ or some Nashville-based rag, but she had personal experience with what the media would do to get a story. Reporters camping out on the front lawn of her house, sleeping in their cars, posing as pizza delivery, bike messengers, even once as a security guard. So yeah, a man sniffing around with concern in his eyes, wanting to find Kelsey, had ignited her radar.

Although, she’d never seen the shirtless approach. For a second, it wiped a response from her brain, distracted by the script that wound up his thick bicep and over that sculpted shoulder. It made her want to linger, try to read the words. Which would only give Mr. I-Think-I’m-a-Charmer the exact wrong idea.

Even if he wasn’t a reporter, she wasn’t going to fall for his white smile, those blue eyes, or even the hint of raw vulnerability that flashed on his face when she’d accused him of running Kelsey off.

What did I do?

Maybe nothing. But it was very possible that Kelsey took one look at Tough Guy through the window and every tucked-away nightmare had woken and chased her out into the night.

Please, no.

Which meant that making Tate help her find Kelsey might be a wretchedly bad idea, but frankly, the flip side was that Kelsey and, honestly, the rest of them were rattled.

Might do them good to have someone with her as she searched for Kelsey.

Maybe even put a tough guy on payroll who could assure their safety if they were to keep touring.

First things first— “Kelsey probably ran back to the bus.” She glanced over at Tate, who had pulled out his phone, texting as he walked.

“Who are you texting?”

“Knox. I told him to go to the hospital, that Kelsey was all right.” He shoved the phone into the pocket of his dark suit pants. The ensemble of his bared, tattooed chest with his dirty dress pants and scuffed shoes made for an interesting combination. Part trouble, part Mr. Safe and Sound. She didn’t know which one to believe.

Glo ignored the stir of something forbidden inside her and headed toward the RV section. The beer tent was quiet, the flaps closed. Down the path, the carnival had also shut down. The tall Ferris wheel glowed, unmoving against the night sky.