Chapter Six
The Ethiopian restaurant Danny found was in east Charlotte, an area known for its diversity of cultures.
Isabella stared at the white-painted, one-story brick building. “It’s a house.”
Danny’s hand hovered at her back. He didn’t touch her, but it didn’t matter. The space between his palm and her lower back felt like a charged wire, keeping her slightly off balance as they climbed the wooden steps.
He’d changed out of his pink button-down into another pink shirt, this one a short-sleeved Hawaiian print that exposed tattoos he hadn’t had as a teenager.
She’d never been a fan of tattoos.
On Danny?
They worked.
Inside, most of the interior walls had been removed to create a cozy yet open atmosphere. The rest were painted a pumpkin-color and displayed African artwork. Square tables that seated four were evenly spaced, and sheer curtains draped the windows.
A young woman dressed in black approached with a friendly smile. “Dining in?” she asked in a soft, lilting accent that Isabella presumed was Ethiopian. The woman’s light brown skin, high cheekbones, and expressive, deep-set eyes gave her an elegant beauty.
“Yes, ma’am,” Danny replied.
The server led them to a table and handed them two laminated menus. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
Isabella skimmed the menu, and her stomach sank.
Not a single item looked familiar.
“Trust me enough to let me order for both of us?” A small smile played at the corners of Danny’s mouth. Firm, masculine lips that somehow still looked soft. Utterly kissable.
She tried to picture the lips of the last few men she’d dated and drew a blank.
The server set down two glasses of ice water.
Grabbing hers, Isabella took a healthy sip before answering his question.
Did she trust him?
With her heart, absolutely not. But with food?
He’d mocked her for not having a sense of adventure. But she hadn’t been lying when she told him she liked her life exactly as it was.
At least, she’d repeated those words to herself so many times they were almost true.
“Go ahead,” she told him.
Danny ordered several dishes, his knowledge of the cuisine meeting the server’s approval.
After she left, Isabella settled into her chair and focused on the man sitting across from her. A man who, in many ways, was a stranger.
“Are you still in the Navy?” She’d thought of him often over the years. Every time there had been news of military personnel killed in combat, she’d scoured the internet for the names of the fallen, heart in her throat.
Afraid she’d find his name, but unable to stop herself from looking.
“Got out a year ago when my former platoon leader offered me a job with Dìleas.” Danny shifted in his seat, and she could have sworn he looked uncomfortable for a moment. “We specialize in corporate security and executive protection.”
So, he was no longer in the military but still doing incredibly dangerous things, like rescuing people from terrorists. “You’re an adrenaline junkie.”
He shrugged, giving her a half-smile. “Maybe.”
What would that be like? Having the freedom, the courage to live life without obsessing about the consequences?
She looked away, out the gauze-clad window.
Foolish. That’s what it would be.
Just then, the server arrived and placed several dishes between them.
Isabella stared at the first dish. “It looks like cottage cheese and spinach.”
“Close. It’s like a spiced cottage cheese and collard greens.” Danny tore off a piece of flat, pancake-like bread the server had called injera and scooped up some of the cheese. “Try it.” Ripping off another section of bread, he handed it to her.
She scooped some of the dip onto the spongy bread and popped it into her mouth. Creamy, buttery, with a bit of tang. Unfamiliar—but good.
Danny picked up one of the triangle-shaped pastries called sambusas and dipped it in the spicy sauce that came with it. “Tell me about yourself, Bella. What have you been up to for the last thirteen years?”
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “After we left California, I finished up my last year of high school here in Charlotte, then went to Chapel Hill for college and came back for work.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Not at the moment.” She shoved another bite of the cheese and collard green mixture into her mouth. Men were either more interested in her father or were looking for a good time and not much else.
“What about you?” The question dropped casually, even as her body tensed, waiting for an answer that shouldn’t matter. Danny was here for a job, and he’d be gone when it was over.
“Happily single. Although the guys I work with are falling like flies.” He pushed the plate of sambusas toward her. “Try one of these.”
Picking up a crispy triangle with her fingers, she dipped a corner into the awaze sauce, pretending interest in her food even as her shoulders loosened. There was one other question she needed to ask, one that had been hovering in the back of her mind since Danny showed up at The Waverly.
“Why did my father pick you to head up security for the gala?”
Danny set down his water with a careful precision that put Isabella on guard. “He followed up with Dìleas after Greece. Decided he needed to ramp up his security for the event.” He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “It’s what we do.”
“But why you?” she persisted. “Were you randomly assigned?” Her eyes narrowed as the suspicion she harbored solidified. “Or did Dad ask for you?”
This time, Danny met her gaze straight on. “He asked for me. Thought you’d be more comfortable working with someone you knew. I’m sorry. I figured you didn’t want me telling him why that might not be the case.”
There it was. Again.
Guilt for breaking her teenage heart, then leaving her behind.
He needn’t worry. She wouldn’t let herself be vulnerable to him again.
“It’s more than that.” Her voice stayed level—a fact she was proud of. She knew her father. He’d been trying to protect her since she was twelve. “He wants you to keep an eye on me, doesn’t he? He doesn’t think I know that Miran Hassan is getting out of prison.”
Talia Collins had been the one to warn her.
Her best friend was the only person Isabella had confided in about her childhood.
Talia had been in California for her job as Vice President for Corporate Relations at Providence Bank, scrolling through her phone one night when a local news site’s social media post popped up in her feed.
The headline was short. The story forgettable. Except for the name.
Miran Hassan granted parole.
Danny sighed, sinking back into his chair as he rubbed his chest. By the look on his face, she’d guessed correctly.
“Do you think my father’s right? That I’m in danger?”
He hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I think your involvement in your father’s re-election fundraiser may raise your profile right when your kidnapper is being released from prison. And we don’t know who that might galvanize to make a political statement.”
Her muscles coiled as the helplessness she detested reared its ugly head. As her father’s career progressed and his national profile increased, he’d tried assigning security to her more than once. She’d refused every time.
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Bella—”
“No, you listen. My father wants heightened event security? Fine. But I won’t have my life controlled by someone else like I did when I was young. And furthermore—” she narrowed her eyes. “Why are you grinning?”
Instead of rolling his eyes at her speech, or waiting to tell her how na?ve she was, he sat there, arms crossed, flashing pearly white teeth, humor twitching his kissable lips. “Look who grew up and got feisty.”
Feisty? Her spine straightened. “I am not feisty.” She’d been called a perfectionist. A control freak. Lacking in spontaneity. All by her best friend. But, feisty?
And dammit, she wasn’t feeling gooey inside because he was teasing her.
“It’s a compliment, Bella.” His gaze shifted to something over her shoulder, grin fading. “Heads up.”
Isabella glanced behind her. A woman with shoulder-length dark brown hair, wearing an orange ruffled top and white shorts, approached their table, her stare fixed on Isabella.
Danny tensed as the woman thrust out her hand.
“Ms. Strickland? My name is Olivia Flores, a political reporter with The Charlotte Times. I understand you’re in charge of organizing your father’s campaign fundraiser.
I’ll be covering the gala for the Times and would like to sit down with you at your convenience to discuss the event.
” Delving into her purse, she withdrew a business card, which she offered to Isabella.
“I’m sure my father’s campaign manager would be happy to speak with you.” Isabella accepted the card even though she had no intention of using it.
“I’m looking for a more local, human-interest angle,” Olivia said, “not sound bites from the campaign. As the senator’s daughter, you could provide a different perspective on how your father’s career has impacted your family.”
Isabella’s fingers tightened around her water glass.
“She has your card, Ms. Flores. Now if you don’t mind, we’d like to get back to our,” Danny’s gaze slid to Isabella, “date.”
The way Danny’s eyes heated when he looked at her. His acting skills were stellar. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe the interest in his expression.
Olivia gave a delicate cough, pulling Isabella’s attention back to her. “Of course. Ms. Strickland, I look forward to hearing from you.”
Isabella muttered something vaguely intelligible in response and waited until the reporter left before turning on Danny.
“You deliberately gave her the wrong impression about us. And I was perfectly capable of handling her by myself without your interference,” she added, because hadn’t she just told him she didn’t like people trying to control her?
“I saw your expression when she introduced herself.” There was not a hint of contrition on his handsome face, just arrogance. “She’s after information you don’t want to give. Let your father’s campaign staff deal with her.”