Chapter Eighteen
“Omar Hassan is in Charlotte,” Danny told Ryder and Nathan in a conference call later, after Bella informed him she was going to take a nap. He relayed Hassan’s message—that neither Bella nor her family were safe.
“Caleb and Tavari will take over event security when they get here tomorrow. My job from now on needs to be protecting Bella.”
“Not getting personal, is it?” Nathan’s voice held a distinct note of humor. “You got two C-notes riding on staying single.”
Shit yeah, it was personal. But he wasn’t about to admit that, and not because of the damn bet he made with Nathan when he took this assignment. He wouldn’t risk them reassigning him and sending someone else to protect Bella.
Omar Hassan hadn’t targeted Graham Strickland. He’d gone after Bella. The mysterious break-in at her home, where nothing was taken. The note on the car. The information mailed to the Times, exposing her childhood trauma.
Hassan could be behind all of it.
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.
He ran toward it.
She’d thought that made him reckless.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
He glanced up and caught her staring. A slow grin spread across his face, the crinkling of his eyes just visible behind the lenses.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. Damn him. He was hot—and he knew it.
They passed through double doors into a room of gray concrete and acoustic panels.
Individual stalls lined a long, narrow lane that reminded Isabella of a bowling alley—except instead of pins, overhead tracks carried paper targets.
The rhythmic crack of multiple weapons firing tightened every muscle in her body.
Danny stopped at a middle lane and clipped a target in place, then pressed a button. The target fluttered as it glided halfway downrange until she could barely make out the scoring rings on the paper.
He unzipped his backpack again, pulling out a hard plastic case. Inside was a black handgun and two magazines. A box of ammunition followed.
“First thing.” He set the gun on the platform that separated the stall from the firing alley. “Always point the barrel of the gun downrange. Away from you and anyone around you. Even if it’s unloaded.”
He picked up a bullet and showed her how to insert it into the magazine, then handed the magazine to her. “Your turn.”
Once she’d finished loading the other nine bullets, he inserted the magazine into the gun and drew back the slide. “That chambers a round. Stand behind me and watch what I do.”
Isabella stepped back, angling herself to see.
Danny squared up to the lane—feet shoulder-width apart, right foot slightly back, arms extended. His hands wrapped around the grip.
He fired.
Five shots—one after the other with no hesitation. Each crack made her flinch despite the ear protection.
A sharp, metallic tang filled her nose.
This wasn’t a game.
The weapon in Danny’s hands—the one he was teaching her to use—could kill.
A wave of lightheadedness threatened. She breathed in deep and let the air escape in measured exhales until the dizziness passed.
More shots until the gun clicked.
Danny set it down and reeled in the paper target.
Isabella stepped closer, eyes widening. A ragged hole the size of a quarter tore through the center, carved out by multiple shots. Two more decorated the silhouette’s head.
“Dang.” She shot him a sideways grin. “You’d think you were a professional or something.”
His brows waggled, barely visible beneath his cap. “Your turn.”
He replaced the paper target with the fresh one, setting it much closer than his had been.
She reloaded the weapon under his guidance, then chambered a round.
“Never point a gun at anyone unless you intend to shoot.” His voice turned serious. “And, if you do, shoot to kill.”
The weight of the gun settled into her palms. Black and menacing. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can if your life depends on it, Bella. You have to.”
He stepped in behind her. “Face the target. Feet shoulder-width apart. Relax your hips. I’m going to show you how to hold the gun.” Arms came around her, caging her in as his hands guided hers into position.
His chest brushed her back.
Her brain short-circuited. Heat flooded her body, pooling low.
Danny was speaking, but all she could focus on was his ocean breeze scent. The flex of his forearms around her.
“Those two white dots on the rear of the slide and the one at the front are sights. Line them up. Front sight on center mass. When you breathe out, I want you to press the trigger—don’t jerk—just a nice, smooth motion.”
Breathing smoothly? That might be difficult, given the way her heart raced and her lungs were tight like fists. She forced in as deep a breath as she could manage and slowly squeezed the trigger.
The gun bucked in her hands with a loud crack.
“That’s it. Good job.” His breath brushed her cheek.
The praise made her giddy. She turned her head.
His mouth was right there.
For one suspended moment, they stared at each other. The sounds and smells of the range fell away, replaced by the loud thudding of Isabella’s heart in her ears.
The same need tearing through her showed in the flare of Danny’s eyes and the sudden tic in his jaw.
She almost rose on her toes to press her lips to his. To mold her softer curves into the hard planes and angles of his body.
“Bella.” His lips formed her name.
The air thickened between them.
Kiss me. The thought rose, reckless and insistent.
She remembered the feel of his body when he’d been teaching her self-defense—sculpted muscles. Tattoos. Strong arms that had made her feel protected rather than afraid when they’d wrapped around her.
Her fingers twitched, aching to touch. She lifted them away from the trigger.
Danny’s jaw flexed. Once. Twice.
Then he blinked, and the moment shattered.
A curtain dropped over his expression, smoothing it out. “Try again. This time without me.”
He dropped his arms. Stepped back.
Isabella stifled the frustrated scream trapped in her chest. If he wanted to pretend there wasn’t something powerful simmering between them, fine—she could play that game too. She was here to learn how to shoot a gun, even if the damn thing scared her.
Turning back to the target, she focused, breathed, and fired. Again. Then again, until the gun clicked empty.
She set it down carefully, barrel pointed downrange.
Danny brought the target in. “Not bad for your first time.”
Isabella counted the tattered holes. Six hits out of ten shots, but she was ridiculously pleased that two holes were dead center.
She wasn’t helpless.
Not today.
Not ever again.
Her cheeks split wide in a grin as she turned toward Danny.
And froze.
God, he was beautiful when he smiled. White teeth. Eyes bright with humor, the corners crinkling. Effortless, dangerous charm.
If only things were different.
She faced forward again, giddiness draining fast as truth settled heavy in her heart.
Talia was right. He would leave. Men like him weren’t built to stay.
She should run as far in the opposite direction from him as she could. It was the smart choice. The safe choice.
But right now? She’d never felt more alive. More capable.
And that was because of him.
Maybe she could take what she wanted while she had the chance, knowing it wouldn’t last—even if it hurt like hell later.
The memory surfaced of how he’d worshiped her body on the cold, sandy beach even as he’d been grieving. They both had.
No other man had come close to replacing him in her dreams.
She could make new memories with Danny. And when he moved onto his next adventure and left her behind, she’d figure out how to move on as well.
Without being told, she reached for the ammunition and reloaded the magazine.
Focus.
“Again,” Danny said.
Lifting the gun, she squared her shoulders and stared down the target.
Her father had always tried to shelter her. Danny was giving her the skills and the freedom to be in charge of her own destiny.