Chapter Seven
The next afternoon, Isabella found street parking in South End and paid through the parking app on her phone.
Across the street, Talia waved from the entrance of the vegetarian café where they’d agreed to meet.
She was dressed in her classic corporate banker uniform—tailored navy trousers paired with a cream blouse and modest closed-toe pumps.
Her stylish bob fell just below her chin and was an attractive shade of dark auburn, thanks to her favorite salon.
Dark brown eyes framed by plum shadow and black liner drew attention to her face, where a small crescent-shaped scar rested beneath her right eye.
Isabella smiled and waved back.
Talia had always been impossible to ignore.
They’d met at an economic development conference sponsored by Providence Bank shortly after Isabella got her job with AegisShield.
Isabella had been standing alone near the edge of the ballroom, feeling hopelessly out of place among Charlotte’s business elite, when a brunette about her age appeared at her side with a glass of wine and announced, “Thank God. I thought I was the only person here hiding from the professional networkers.”
Isabella had laughed.
Somewhere between lunches, happy hours, and Talia’s refusal to accept polite distance, she’d become the closest friend Isabella had in Charlotte.
She used to have a wider circle of friends, but careers, moves, marriages, and time had slowly narrowed it until only Talia remained.
Or maybe she’d gotten lazy, and it was easier to manage fewer relationships. Sharing the details of her life had never come easily, but Talia was the exception.
A smile tugged at the corner of Isabella’s lips at the memory. Best of all, Talia never treated her differently because of who her father was.
“Izzy, I’ve been counting down the hours,” Talia gushed as she hugged Isabella. “I checked your location three times on the way here.”
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.
A mistake.
Talia’s head lifted, her eyes narrowing. “Or did he?”
A sigh slipped out. “My father wants him to protect me, as well as the event.”
“Oh, Izzy.” Talia reached across the table and gave Isabella’s hand a squeeze. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re something more than a job. He’s being paid to stay close to you.”
Ouch.
But it was what she needed to hear. Talia always told her exactly what she thought and didn’t couch it in niceties.
“You’re right. I need to keep this strictly professional.”
So why did the words feel heavy on her tongue?
A change of subject was in order.
“While we were at the restaurant, a Charlotte Times reporter,” Isabella searched her brain for the woman’s name, “Olivia Flores, approached me about doing an interview—a behind-the-scenes look at organizing my dad’s re-election gala.”
Talia’s brows shot up. “I’ve read some of her stories. What did you say?”
“I told her Dad’s campaign manager would be a better option.” Another swallow of tea did little to ease the dryness in her throat. “You know I like to stay under the radar.”
“You don’t have to hide your light.” Talia shrugged. “And you can dictate what information you share with her. Think about it, at least.”
“I will.” She slipped back into her suit jacket and gathered up her purse. “We both need to get back to work.”
Talia glanced at her phone. “Yikes, we do. Do you want me to come over tonight to work on gala stuff with you?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Aren’t you lucky your best friend is willing to help out for free?”
“I am lucky.” Isabella hesitated. “Danny said he was coming to go over the guest list.”
Keep it professional.
“You know what?” She nodded. “I accept your offer. I’ll make dinner.”
“What about Danny?” Talia asked as they walked to Isabella’s car.
“I’ll email him the preliminary guest list. If he needs to discuss it with me, he can do it tomorrow.” She quickly locked away the twinge of disappointment at not seeing Danny tonight.
It was for the best.
“I’ll be over around six-thirty.” Talia smirked. “Bonus points if the hottie former SEAL shows up so I can inspect him.”
“I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually.” With a wave to her friend, Isabella got into her car. Before she lost her nerve, she shot off a text to Danny.
I’ve got plans with a friend tonight. I’ll email you the guest list, and if you have questions, we can discuss tomorrow.
As much as Talia wanted to meet Danny, keeping her past and present separate mattered. Isabella continued typing.
I’ll see you the day after tomorrow to do a final walkthrough of the venue.
Then she put her phone on silent, threw it into her purse, and drove back to work.
When the center screen on her dashboard lit up with an incoming phone call, then a text, she ignored them both.
Teeth clenched, Danny pumped out another set of arm curls in the hotel gym, using the burn to drown out the pounding in his temples, the acid churning beneath his ribs.
No response from Bella to his calls or texts.
Just a message telling him not to come over. That she had plans with a friend.
A man?
His biceps screamed, muscles quivering as he pushed through ten more reps before they finally gave out. The weights hit the floor with a thud. He straightened, dragging a hand through sweat-dampened hair.
Dammit. He thought they’d made progress over dinner last night. Instead, Bella was throwing up walls he couldn’t let her build if he was going to do his job.
He got her attitude. He really did. Especially because she hadn’t asked for him to come storming back into her life, upending her carefully structured existence. Honestly, he was impressed as hell that Greece hadn’t sent her retreating into a fetal position.
After what happened, Senator Strickland was right to want to keep his family protected. Danny had read the intelligence report. Despite the lack of credible threats from foreign actors on US soil, there was always the possibility of a lone wolf attack, inspired online.
Danny’s job was to plan for the unexpected and keep it from happening.
He returned the weights to their rack and grabbed his towel and water.
Would he be an ass if he dropped by Bella’s home later tonight?
He wanted a closer look at her home security.
Convincing her that accepting protection wasn’t the same thing as surrendering her independence might prove harder than securing the gala.
The attendee list would make a convenient excuse.
He, Nathan, and the new guy, Ryan, had gone over the background checks on the list of hotel employees and outside vendors working the gala.
So far, nobody flagged as suspicious. As soon as Isabella confirmed the guest list, they’d start vetting those individuals.
Maybe he’d even meet Bella’s friend. If she were home alone, maybe he’d ask why she’d named her dog Trip. Watch her tuck a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear when she got nervous. Lose himself in those caramel eyes that seemed to see through his unserious facade to the man beneath.
Shit.
His brain was veering full speed in an unprofessional direction. He’d been looking forward to seeing Bella tonight, and the workout was supposed to improve his mood.
He pushed through the gym door and took the stairs to the third floor.
After a quick shower, he tugged on a short-sleeved vintage blue, black, and white-paneled bowling shirt and a clean pair of khaki cargo shorts.
Then he perused the nearby restaurants, settling on takeout from the Indian place down the street.
His pocket vibrated. Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the screen.
Finally, she was returning his call. His mood lightened. Maybe things were looking up after all.
“Hey, Bella.”
“Danny.” The fear in her voice sent Danny racing to his car. “My front door is open. Trip’s gone.”