Page 23 of Missile Strike
Danny’s assigned ringtone was “Crazy Train.”
He’d own it.
A grin tugged at his mouth as he hit the button on his steering wheel to accept the call. “L-T, what you got for me?”
“I’m monitoring the dark web for any chatter about Senator Strickland and his family,” Nathan replied. “And I asked Ryan to do a check on Miran Hassan. He gets released from California State Prison tomorrow. According to the conditions of his parole, he can’t leave Los Angeles County without permission from his parole officer.”
Danny’s fingers tightened on the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Guy should have never been let out of prison.”
“It’s been eighteen years, amigo. He served his full sentence, which is unusual and, I suspect, due to pressure from the senator.”
“Bella should know,” Danny said. “She’s the one who spent three days trapped inside a storage unit with no air conditioning or heat.”
“Trust me, after my experience with Emily and her father, both Lachlan and I made our opinions known to the senator. He doesn’t want her afraid, although I doubt Hassan poses much of a threat. The man is in his sixties now and in poor health, with no ties we could find to known terror networks or sympathizers. His wife divorced him after he went to jail and she and their son and daughter moved to northern California and went no contact.”
Nathan’s voice lowered, his disgust clear. “Still deserved jail time, though. No one knows who shot the missile that supposedly killed his family members and even if they did, kidnapping a young girl? That’s fucked up. You made contact yet?”
“I just left her. We’re having dinner tonight.”
“You work fast. Don’t do anything to get your ‘nads cut off by the senator.” The humor in Nathan’s voice was hard to miss.
Too late.
Cold sand. The glimmer of the moon behind clouds.
He already had.
“I won’t, but if I’m not allowed to tell her that part of my assignment involves her personal protection—which I still object to—I need reasons to see her outside of being head of security for this event.”
“Your objections are noted, for the record. If shit hits the fan, we’re pointing the finger in the senator’s direction. Let’s hope Hassan sticks to his parole and the senator’s enemies all behave so this gala goes off without a hitch.”
Amen to that. “The hotel events manager is sending me a list of all staff assigned to the event. I’ll forward it to Ryan as soon as I receive it.”
By the time Danny hung up with Nathan, he’d reached his temporary home away from home—an extended-stay hotel. The suite held a living room with basic kitchen amenities, a bedroom with two queens, and a bathroom. The décor was hotel chic—neutrals of white, beige, and brown with artwork highlighting the Queen City, Charlotte’s official moniker, after the city’s namesake, Britain’s Queen Charlotte of Mecklenburg.
Removing a glass from the cabinet over the fridge, he filled it with cold tap water, letting the liquid wash away the ache that had formed in the back of his throat.
Bella hadn’t been happy to see him. He had some work to do if he was going to earn her trust.
A weary sigh slipped free.
Outside the window, a canopy of trees bordered the parking lot, their pale green underbellies exposed in a sudden uptick of wind from gathering storm clouds.
He stared at them, unseeing, as his mind hurtled back to that day.
Jaynie’s funeral.
Cold rain misted the air—the gray clouds drooping low as if even the sky bowed beneath the weight of sorrow. He sat rigid between his parents in the front pew of the church.
No grief.
No anger.
Just a numbness in his chest that emotion couldn’t breach, even as he listened to his mother weep.
His sister’s mahogany coffin gleamed beneath the altar lights while the priest prattled on about eternal life.
Bella was there.
