Page 28 of Missile Strike

Danny set down his water with a careful precision that put Isabella on guard. “He followed up with Dìleas after Greece. Decided he needed to ramp up his security for the event.” He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “It’s what we do.”

“But why you?” she persisted. “Were you randomly assigned?” Her eyes narrowed as the suspicion she harbored solidified. “Or did Dad ask for you?”

This time, Danny met her gaze straight on. “He asked for me. Thought you’d be more comfortable working with someone you knew. I’m sorry. I figured you didn’t want me telling him why that might not be the case.”

There it was. Again.

Guilt for breaking her teenage heart, then leaving her behind.

He needn’t worry. She wouldn’t let herself be vulnerable to him again.

“It’s more than that.” Her voice stayed level—a fact she was proud of. She knew her father. He’d been trying to protect her since she was twelve. “He wants you to keep an eye on me, doesn’t he? He doesn’t think I know that Miran Hassan is getting out of prison.”

Talia Collins had been the one to warn her. Her best friend was the only person Isabella had confided in about her childhood. Talia had been in California for her job as Vice President for Corporate Relations at Providence Bank, scrolling through her phone one night when a local news site’s social media post popped up in her feed. The headline was short. The story forgettable. Except for the name.

Miran Hassan granted parole.

Danny sighed, sinking back into his chair as he rubbed his chest. By the look on his face, she’d guessed correctly.

“Do you think my father’s right? That I’m in danger?”

He hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I think your involvement in your father’s re-election fundraiser may raise your profile right when your kidnapper is being released from prison. And we don’t know who that might galvanize to make a political statement.”

Her muscles coiled as the helplessness she detested reared its ugly head. As her father’s career progressed and his national profile increased, he’d tried assigning security to her more than once. She’d refused every time.

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Bella—”

“No, you listen. My father wants heightened event security? Fine. But I won’t have my life controlled by someone else like I did when I was young. And furthermore—” she narrowed her eyes. “Why are you grinning?”

Instead of rolling his eyes at her speech, or waiting to tell her how naïve she was, he sat there, arms crossed, flashing pearly white teeth, humor twitching his kissable lips. “Look who grew up and got feisty.”

Feisty? Her spine straightened. “I am not feisty.” She’d been called a perfectionist. A control freak. Lacking in spontaneity. All by her best friend. But, feisty?

And dammit, she wasn’t feeling gooey inside because he was teasing her.

“It’s a compliment, Bella.” His gaze shifted to something over her shoulder, grin fading. “Heads up.”

Isabella glanced behind her. A woman with shoulder-length dark brown hair, wearing an orange ruffled top and white shorts, approached their table, her stare fixed on Isabella.

Danny tensed as the woman thrust out her hand.

“Ms. Strickland? My name is Olivia Flores, a political reporter with The Charlotte Times. I understand you’re in charge of organizing your father’s campaign fundraiser. I’ll be covering the gala for the Times and would like to sit down with you at your convenience to discuss the event.” Delving into her purse, she withdrew a business card, which she offered to Isabella.

“I’m sure my father’s campaign manager would be happy to speak with you.” Isabella accepted the card even though she had no intention of using it.

“I’m looking for a more local, human-interest angle,” Olivia said, “not sound bites from the campaign. As the senator’s daughter, you could provide a different perspective on how your father’s career has impacted your family.”

Isabella’s fingers tightened around her water glass.

“She has your card, Ms. Flores. Now if you don’t mind, we’d like to get back to our,” Danny’s gaze slid to Isabella, “date.”

The way Danny’s eyes heated when he looked at her. His acting skills were stellar. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe the interest in his expression.

Olivia gave a delicate cough, pulling Isabella’s attention back to her. “Of course. Ms. Strickland, I look forward to hearing from you.”

Isabella muttered something vaguely intelligible in response and waited until the reporter left before turning on Danny. “You deliberately gave her the wrong impression about us. And I was perfectly capable of handling her by myself without your interference,” she added, because hadn’t she just told him she didn’t like people trying to control her?