Page 77 of Missile Strike
All designed to instill fear. Make Bella feel unsafe.
And he wasn’t about to let that happen.
No one would touch his Bella.
His Bella.
He tried the words out in his head. They shouldn’t feel right.
But they did.
“I’ll inform the Senator,” Ryder said. “Caleb and Tavari arrive tomorrow afternoon.”
“Roger that.” He hung up.
Bella was still holed up in her bedroom.
He strode down the hall and rapped on her door. “Bella? Be ready to go to the range in the morning.”
Omar Hassan wasn’t turning her back into that helpless twelve-year-old.
Not without paying dearly for it.
The next morning, Isabella, dressed in a blue knit top, jean shorts, and sneakers, walked through the glass doors of Downrange Shooting Academy, tucked just off a highway bordering uptown Charlotte.
Danny followed, a desert camouflage backpack slung over one shoulder.
Yesterday, a stranger cornered her somewhere she thought was safe.
That would not happen again.
The shooting range wasn’t what she’d expected. The two-story lobby, filled with natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows, housed just about every type of gun and gun accessory imaginable. At the far end, tinted interior windows revealed the firing lanes beyond, where muted gunfire echoed.
Danny guided her to the counter, his hand a steady presence at her back, more comforting than she’d like to admit.
He greeted the man with the brown beard and black T-shirt standing behind it. “Danny Mayhew. We spoke yesterday afternoon.”
The man nodded, reaching for a clipboard. “I need to see your IDs. You’ll have to fill this out.”
Isabella squinted at the form. “What is this for?”
“Range waiver.” Danny picked up a pair of clear-framed glasses, a set of black headphones, and two paper silhouette targets.
He handed her the glasses. “Put these on before we go in.”
He unzipped his backpack, pulling out sleek, military-style glasses with amber lenses, then slipped on another set of headphones over his black ball cap.
The headphones he’d picked up at the counter, he placed over her head. “Ear protection.” His voice was muted but audible. “It can get pretty loud in there.”
Not headphones, then. Earmuffs.
When he turned back to his bag, she let herself admire this version of Danny.
He wore tan pants that hugged his trim waist and athletic build. His black T-shirt stretched across his chest and biceps. Beneath the ball cap, he’d pulled his shaggy blonde hair back into a short ponytail.
With the tinted eyewear and ear protection, he looked every inch the Navy SEAL.
Exactly the kind of man who didn’t hesitate when danger came calling.
