Page 32 of Missile Strike

They stepped into the restaurant, another open and airy place with lots of windows, industrial ceiling vibes and white-painted exposed brick, and placed their orders at the counter—a Cobb salad for Isabella and a black bean falafel wrap for Talia.

Isabella had barely taken her seat before Talia pounced. “Okay, spill the tea. Tell me everything.”

Removing her gray blazer, Isabella smoothed her pleated skirt beneath her as she settled into the chair. She stabbed her fork into her salad and took a bite before launching into her story.

“My dad beefed up security for the gala, given what happened in Greece.”

This sucked. Having to repeat a heavily redacted version of what had happened on their overseas trip—especially to her best friend—gnawed at her conscience.

But her father had insisted that keeping the truth buried would keep them safer in the long run.

So the official story became unidentified gunmen threatening her family on their vacation. The Greek government handled the situation. End of story.

No mention of terrorist groups or the state sponsors behind them. No mention of Danny and his teammate emerging from the sea like angels of death seconds before her father and brother were going to be murdered.

“Danny works for the company Dad hired, and apparently, Dad recognized him as Jaynie’s older brother.”

Talia sobered. “Jaynie? Your friend who died?”

A familiar lump rose in Isabella’s throat. Another bite of salad bought her a moment while she forced it back down.

“He knew Danny had been a SEAL and asked the company to assign him as head of event security.” She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt. “Dad thought I’d be more comfortable with Danny because we used to know each other.”

“And your father doesn’t know about…” Talia trailed off, a look of sympathy in her eyes that made Isabella cringe.

“Nope.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin and took a sip of her iced tea. “He does not, and I’m not about to tell him, even if working with Danny is awkward.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Talia leaned forward, forearms on the table. “Is he as hot as you remember?”

Heat rushed into Isabella’s face.

Hotter.

At nineteen, Danny had been attractive, but he didn’t hold a candle to thirty-two-year-old Danny, his body honed by years of elite military service.

She kept that to herself.

“He took me to this Ethiopian restaurant—”

“Wait.” Talia set down her drink and leaned forward. “He took you on a date?”

Danny had called it a date. It had felt like one.

But that had been for show.

“No. It was us getting reacquainted so we could work together.”

“Did…you know…your past come up?”

Isabella’s mouth tightened. “He apologized for taking advantage of me when we were both grieving.” Beneath the table, her fingers pinched the skin above her knee hard enough to sting.

Like Danny’s apology.

“Well, he kind of did.” Talia threw up her hand when Isabella opened her mouth to argue. “I know you don’t see it that way, and I wasn’t there.”

She ate the last bite of her wrap, then crumpled the paper, dropping it onto her plate. “It could be worse. At least your father didn’t make him your bodyguard or something.”

Isabella kept silent.