Chapter Thirteen
“I’m staying at Bella’s from now on,” Danny told Ryder on the phone the next morning. Her bedroom door was still closed when he came downstairs. No sign of Trip.
He took advantage of the solitude to catch his boss up on yesterday’s incident.
“There was no direct threat made to Isabella?” Ryder asked.
Danny rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension settling in as he sipped his coffee. He peered out the living room window at the neighborhood street. “Not directly, no, but it mentioned missile strikes. I think it’s from someone who isn’t a fan of the senator from his time as SecDef.”
Or earlier, from his time as a carrier pilot, flying bombing runs like Operation Nighthawk—the campaign in northern Syria that supposedly killed Miran Hassan’s relatives.
A knot pulled tight beneath his ribs.
Ryder continued, “What about the gala?”
“Bella and I are meeting with hotel staff today. I’ll send my final security recommendations by the end of the weekend.”
“Right. I’ll send Caleb and Tavari down early next week. Nathan is monitoring any online chatter directed toward the senator and his re-election campaign.” Ryder’s voice lowered. “He’s also keeping an eye on the situation in California.”
The coffee mug froze halfway to Danny’s lips. “Hassan is dead.”
“His death made the news. Strickland’s re-election campaign coinciding with this bloke’s release and sudden death might be enough to inspire a copycat.”
“No one’s touching Bella. Not now. Not ever.”
Silence.
“This isn’t getting personal, is it, mate?”
Danny chose his next words carefully. “It’s personal in that she was my little sister’s best friend. But my head is clear.”
A door opened upstairs. Trip’s collar jingled.
Bella was up.
“Gotta go.”
He ended the call and was immediately accosted by Trip.
“Whoa, buddy.” Danny tried to dodge the tail-wagging menace before he ended up covered in dog hair.
No such luck. Trip body-slammed his gray tailored slacks, leaving strands of himself behind.
Bella reached the bottom of the stairs. “Trip, come.” She gave Danny an apologetic look. “I should have warned you to wait until we were ready to leave before throwing on dress clothes.”
She let Trip out into the backyard, then handed Danny a lint roller.
He busied himself removing the hair from his pants so he wouldn’t stare.
Bella had on her college sweatshirt. Pink satin sleep shorts peeked below the hem. Smooth, bare legs ended in dainty toes polished in pink. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and her face clean of makeup.
His pulse stuttered.
“I think you’ve gotten all the hair off.” Bella’s voice held a note of laughter.
He straightened, an unaccustomed flush heating his face. “Gotta make space for the next time that dog sideswipes me.”
The domesticity of the whole situation caught him off guard.
Or maybe what caught him off guard was that he liked it. Making coffee for both of them. Taking care of Trip. Seeing Bella, sleep-rumpled and makeup-free.
Her gaze lingered on the front of his lavender dress shirt before skittering away to fix on the mug of coffee in her hands. “That’s why I’m not”—she cleared her throat—“dressed. I love Trip, but his hair is everywhere.”
Trip barked at the back door, sparing Danny from doing something colossally stupid, like grabbing the hem of Bella’s sweatshirt, peeling it over her head, and letting his hands and lips do the talking.
Instead, he kept himself on a tight leash through breakfast and waited for Bella to dress for their trip to The Waverly. When she came back downstairs, he nearly swallowed his tongue.
Instead of the conservative, neutral clothing he’d seen her wear for work, she’d opted for a sleeveless, mauve cotton dress with a crew neck that flowed over her body like water.
On her feet she wore strappy nude sandals with a short heel.
Her hair, normally confined in a ponytail or braid, was loose and hung about her shoulders, the ends grazing the swells of her breasts.
A deep pink, the exact shade as her toes, colored her lips.
His mouth went dry.
“What’s the matter?”
She’d caught him flat-footed, staring like a horny teenager.
Color rose from her throat to her cheeks as an answering flare of desire darkened the gold in her eyes to amber.
He cleared his throat. Less than twenty-four hours in, and they were already treading dangerous ground. “Nothing. You ready to go?”
She gave a nod, then collected her purse and tablet and followed him to his car.
When they entered the hotel lobby, Grant Marks, The Waverly Grand Hotel’s head of security, was waiting with Melody Santos. A little over six feet tall with dark hair gone silver, he still carried himself like the police lieutenant he’d been, although now one in a tailored suit.
His handshake was firm and direct. “Mr. Mayhew.”
Danny liked him immediately. “Call me Danny, please.”
Bella and Melody headed to the ballroom, while Danny followed Grant to his office on the third floor. They reviewed the emergency action plan for the night of the gala, the employees assigned to work the event, and the areas of responsibility for each organization providing security that evening.
“Our hotel staff and vendors have all undergone background checks,” Grant said. “But I know you plan on doing your own vetting.”
“We do. I’ll let you know if anything raises a concern. The rest of my team arrives next week. We’ll do another walkthrough then.”
Until then, security for both the gala and Bella fell on him.
Which reminded him. Nathan had sent him two texts during the meeting, asking him to call.
Danny shook Grant’s hand. “Dìleas will have an updated threat assessment early next week.”
“I’ll look for it.”
Grant escorted Danny to the second-floor ballroom level, then returned to his office.
Pulling out his phone to call Nathan, Danny paused when he spotted Bella and Melody Santos exiting the main ballroom.
His gaze connected with Bella’s as he strode toward them. She gave him a quick tilt of her head in acknowledgment before glancing at her tablet. “Menu and décor finalized, the placement of the stage, podium and A/V equipment confirmed, and we have our guest list and seating arrangements in place.”
“Before you go…” Melody gave a light touch to Bella’s arm, seeming to search for words. “I wanted to let you know that I admire your willingness to step up and help with your father’s re-election campaign after what you went through as a child.”
Bella paled—swaying just enough for Danny to notice.
His hand shot out to grip her elbow.
“What are you talking about?” His voice snapped with command.
Melody flushed, her gaze darting between Danny and Bella. “The article in today’s paper.”
His phone vibrated. He glanced at it. Another text from Nathan, this time with a link to The Charlotte Times.
Have you seen this yet?
Nathan had.
“Do you have a copy?” Danny struggled to keep his tone even as he spoke to Melody.
“I can get you one.”
“Please.”
Confusion and sympathy warred in Melody’s expression. “Why don’t you wait on the couch in the lobby? I’ll bring it to you.”
Danny tightened his grip on Bella’s arm as he guided her to the escalator. “Everything will be okay.” He didn’t know if that was true, but the pallor of her skin had his pulse tripping.
“I didn’t tell her anything about…” Bella trailed off.
They stepped off the escalator. He guided her to the gray couch in front of the check-in counter, then grabbed water from the drink dispenser nearby.
“Despite your father’s efforts, anyone who knew where to look could find the information.” He gentled his tone. “It was all over the media.”
A sheen of tears glistened in Bella’s eyes. “But why would she write about what happened? I told her my personal life wasn’t up for discussion.”
Icy rage had Danny’s fingers tightening into fists.
And the reporter had ignored it.
“Give me your phone.” He held out his hand. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”
A hard stare, then Bella shrank as if all the air had been sucked from her body. Without a word, she unlocked her cell and handed it over.
He scrolled through her recent calls until he found Olivia Flores’s number. His temper mounted with every unanswered ring. When the call went to voicemail, a growl scraped his throat.
“You’ve reached Olivia Flores at The Charlotte Times. I’m out of town and will return on Monday. If this is urgent and you need to reach a member of the Times staff, please contact the news desk.”
“Ms. Flores is conveniently indisposed.” He handed Bella her phone.
“Ms. Strickland?” Melody Santos approached, clutching a newspaper.
She handed it to Bella.
“Thank you.” Bella’s voice was too soft, her shoulders caved. This morning, she’d resembled a fresh summer flower in her pretty pink dress. Now, the bloom had faded, and the fog of anxiety surrounding her was so thick Danny could feel his own throat close in response.
Dammit. She didn’t need this right now.
Hassan’s death had loosened some of the fear about exposing herself to the public eye, and even though he hadn’t agreed with her about the interview, he never expected it to blow up in her face like this.
He took her hand. Squeezed.
“Let’s go home.”
Isabella clutched the newspaper as Danny, with a firm grasp on her other hand, pushed through the glass revolving door of The Waverly’s main entrance and into the oppressive wave of August heat.
She should object to being led around like a child. But the press of his fingers around hers, the way he placed himself in front, as if daring anyone to look her way, sent a frisson of warmth through her chilled veins.
A man passed them on his way into the hotel. His deep brown eyes locked onto hers.
A shiver skated across her neck.
Dark hair. Beard. Average height—shorter and not as athletic-looking as Danny.
Something tugged at her memory.
Her grip tightened on Danny’s hand.
She glanced over her shoulder, but the man had already disappeared inside.
You’re jumping at shadows.
The article had her rattled.
Danny held the Mustang’s passenger door while she got in, newspaper crinkled in her fist. Melody had folded it open to the page containing the article. She skimmed until she got to the words that stole the air from her lungs.
The first time Graham Strickland ran for office proved to be a deeply traumatic experience for then twelve-year-old Isabella Strickland.
Only two paragraphs, but it was enough to plunge her back into that storage unit.
The suffocating heat.
The terror.
Three days of hell reduced to a few lines of text in a newspaper.
“It’s hot. I need air.” Her fingers fumbled with the vents.
Danny tapped the temperature control on his console. Icy air blasted into the car. His hand covered hers briefly before returning to the gearshift. “You’re safe, Bella. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She latched onto the calm certainty in his voice, even as part of her grasped for control that seemed to slip further from her desperate fingers.
“Take Providence Road.”
Danny glanced at her but didn’t argue. He changed direction, heading away from the interstate.
Their speed slowed, and the scenery blossomed.
Large canopies of green shaded the sidewalks.
Churches made of stone and red brick—the architecture more Gothic Revival closer to the city center, the styles refining, then modernizing the further south they traveled.
New apartment buildings and infill townhomes grew in every available space like kudzu.
So much had changed in the thirteen years she’d lived here.
A reminder that nothing lasted forever.
The thought should have comforted her.
Instead, it left her unsettled.
Her phone chirped with the text tone she’d assigned to Talia.
Finally.
She dove into her purse. Opened her messages.
I saw the article in the Times. Work’s been crazy. Are you okay? I’m flying back this weekend. Meet me for lunch on Monday. XOXO—T.
Thanks. I can’t wait to see you.
No sooner had she sent her reply when her phone rang. Her father’s number flashed on the screen.
She glanced at Danny. Her fingers tightened around the phone. “It’s my dad.”
“Send him a text and tell him you’ll call him later.”
“You want me to ignore my father?”
The ringing stopped.
Then Danny’s phone rang.
He grimaced, then pressed a button on his steering wheel. “Senator Strickland.”
“Have you seen this morning’s Charlotte Times?” Graham Strickland’s voice boomed through the car’s speakers. “Where’s Isabella? How did this happen?”
“Yessir, we’ve seen it. Bella’s with me, and we’re dealing with it. I’m sure you’ll hear from her later. Gotta go.” Danny disconnected the call.
Isabella gasped. “You hung up on my dad.”
“Yep. And I’ll probably get an earful from my boss.” If Danny’s expression was anything to go by, he didn’t care.
She couldn’t remember the last time someone had defied her father. Especially not on her behalf.
A part of her admired his attitude. She was tempted to use him as a buffer between her and the world right now—hide behind him like a human shield.
But this was her mess, and she needed to face it head-on.
Danny turned into her neighborhood. When he reached her townhome, he parked, then motioned with his fingers. “Let me see.”
Silently, she handed him the paper.
He skimmed it, then handed it back. “What’s done is done. We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow after you’ve had some sleep. But tonight, we’re having movie night.” A mischievous twinkle brightened his eyes. “Or maybe we play truth or dare?”
She blinked. “Truth or dare?” He was changing directions so fast she couldn’t keep up.
Danny leaned in, close enough that his face was all she could see.
His scent all she could breathe in. “Tonight, we chill. Have some fun.” All trace of humor fled his expression.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to start teaching you how to defend yourself, so I never have to watch you make yourself small again. ”