Chapter Sixteen
“I’ll be fine.”
Isabella resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Danny as they stood in Providence Bank’s cavernous marble lobby late Monday morning.
The sixty-story tower of glass and steel dominated the Charlotte skyline, but inside, polished stone, soaring ceilings, and museum-quality frescoes projected quiet wealth and power.
“Talia agreed to have lunch in the executive dining room on the top floor of the corporate center. It’s restricted from the public. She pulled strings just to get us in there.”
She gestured toward the security desk, manned by two guards who monitored the badge-wielding employees moving through the lobby.
“Visitors have to check in and be escorted by an employee, and the elevators are badge-access only. I’m perfectly safe.”
Danny stared down at her, his gaze cool, jawline hard. He’d agreed readily enough to her lunch date until she’d informed him he wasn’t invited.
That hadn’t gone over so well. But she wasn’t backing down. She’d compromised—with Talia’s help. Danny couldn’t be part of the girl talk she desperately needed.
Especially since he’d be the topic of conversation.
“You call me when you’re done.” He caught her hand, his grip firm but gentle. “I’ve got to check on something at The Waverly. I’ll only be ten minutes away. Don’t step past security until I’m back.”
“Yessir.” She threw up a snappy salute, earning a scowl.
Before Danny could respond, the elevator opened, and Talia stepped out in a burgundy cap-sleeve sheath dress and sensible black pumps, her dark auburn bob tucked behind her ears.
Isabella lifted a hand, waving her friend over.
Talia swept her into a hug. “Geez, I leave town for a couple of days and all you-know-what breaks loose.”
She stepped back to peer at Isabella, concern lingering in her dark brown eyes before her attention shifted to Danny. “I thought your job was to protect her?”
Danny went rigid. “It is. No one will touch her.”
“Let’s have lunch.” Isabella urged Talia toward the elevator bank before the conversation went any further south.
Turning her head, she gave Danny a tentative smile. Her chest squeezed at the grim lines of his mouth and the shadow of guilt dimming his eyes.
“Go do what you need to do at The Waverly, and I promise to call you when we’re done.”
Talia signed her in at the security desk, and the guard handed her a visitor badge to clip to her blouse.
As they stepped into an elevator, Isabella glanced back to find Danny speaking with the security guard, likely getting his ticket validated for the visitor parking Talia had secured for him.
The doors closed. Isabella stared at the electronic panel above the buttons as the floors cycled by.
“That was a bit harsh, don’t you think?” she said.
“I’m sure your father is paying his company big money to keep you safe. He needs to do better.” Talia’s lips twisted into a grimace. “Sorry. Too blunt?”
The elevator arrived at their floor. Talia led the way down a corridor with rich blue carpet, dark wood moldings, and framed oil paintings.
The country club décor carried over into the corporate dining room—soft jazz, white linen-covered tables, men and women in power suits, and attentive waitstaff.
“How did you get us in here?” Isabella whispered, because anything louder felt out of place in the posh environment.
“I called in a favor with our division VP.” Talia smiled at the attendant who checked their names off a list and led them to a window table with a bird’s-eye view of the city.
A server arrived with two glasses of ice water.
Talia’s eyes held a note of apology. “I may have also mentioned your political connections.”
Isabella took a sip from her glass to mask her sigh. “At least we’re still able to have lunch.”
The dining room was chilly enough to make Isabella question why she’d chosen to wear a sleeveless silk blouse and no sweater. She and Talia made small talk until their server delivered their meals.
Two bites into her salad, Talia gave her a pointed stare. “You look exhausted. Tell me what happened while I was gone.”
“What didn’t happen?” Isabella huffed. “I gave The Charlotte Times reporter the interview she wanted. Then I left work to find a threatening note on my car.”
Another sip of water to moisten her suddenly dry throat. “It mentioned missile strikes.”
Talia stilled, her hand pausing halfway to her glass. “Missile strikes?”
“I know, right?” Isabella’s fork stabbed the air. “Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, the article came out the next morning.”
Her childhood, exposed to the world. She caught the eye of an older man in a gray business suit seated at one of the other tables, staring as if he might know her.
Or was trying to place her.
Her gaze darted away. Had he recognized her from the newspaper story?
Or was it something else? Something related to her father?
“Everything I’ve worked so hard to put behind me…”
“Oh, Izzy. I’m so sorry.” Talia set her iced tea down carefully.
“It’s not fair that some of us spend our lives cleaning up messes we didn’t make.
” She blinked and gave a small, self-conscious shrug.
“That came out heavier than I meant it to. I hate that you’re paying for decisions your father made. ”
A soft smile curved Isabella’s lips. “I know. You’re a good friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Talia’s hand crept over hers. Squeezed. “Are you scared?”
“I don’t know.” Her salad no longer held any appeal. “Not when Danny’s around—he’s staying at my place.”
She lowered her voice so only Talia could hear. “We almost had sex.”
The disapproval in Talia’s eyes stung.
“I still want him,” Isabella admitted. “And I’m pretty sure he wants me. But he keeps pulling back because his job is to protect me.”
Talia cocked her head. “I can tell he cares about you.” She leaned in, concern shadowing her expression. “That doesn’t mean he’ll stay.”
Isabella’s gaze fell to her hands, an instinctive denial dying in her throat.
“Don’t make the mistake of falling for him again,” Talia said. “Yeah, he’s hot, but—and I’m going to be blunt again because I love you—you are an old memory for him to revisit. But when this job is over, he’ll be gone and you’ll be brokenhearted. Again.”
Ouch.
“I won’t. I know he’s leaving.”
Talia motioned for the check. “I sense a change of subject is in order. Let’s grab some ice cream in the atrium before my two o’clock meeting.”
“I’m sorry.” Isabella gathered her purse and offered her friend a guilty smile. “You’re probably slammed after being out of town.”
Talia waved away her apology. “Please. You said you needed to talk. I’m here.”
Danny had been very clear that she wasn’t to go past the security desk in the main lobby until he arrived. But the atrium was attached to the Providence Bank corporate center. She wouldn’t be going outside.
Still, she hesitated. “Danny wanted me to wait.”
Talia’s posture stiffened, then relaxed. “So you wait.”
She pushed the button in the elevator for the ground floor. “I’ll run and get the ice cream while you hang in the lobby.” The car sped downwards, slowed, then stopped with a bounce before the doors swished open. “Chocolate peanut butter cup, right? Be back in a few.”
Danny didn’t go to The Waverly.
Instead, he walked past it, heading south toward The Charlotte Times building.
His anger remained buried as he greeted the receptionist. “I need to see Olivia Flores. Tell her Danny Mayhew is here—head of security for Senator Strickland’s gala.”
A moment later, Olivia appeared. Her eyes lit with recognition, then wariness. “Mr. Mayhew. I’ll find a place for us to speak privately.”
He followed her into a space filled with natural light, thanks to the building’s floor-to-ceiling exterior windows, past a wall of TVs and beige cubicles to a small conference room.
“Have a seat.” She gestured at one of the chairs pushed into the rectangular table.
He sat, keeping his navy blazer buttoned to conceal the gun holstered beneath his left shoulder, and got right to the point. “You lied to Ms. Strickland about not crossing into personal territory.”
A look of discomfort flitted across the reporter’s face. “What happened to her is directly relevant to Graham Strickland’s career. He’s running for re-election to one of the highest elected offices in our country.”
Leaning forward, Danny lowered his voice. “Her childhood trauma has nothing to do with her father’s current campaign.”
“Someone didn’t agree with you.” She hesitated, focusing inward as if mulling something over before her gaze returned to his. “Wait here.”
Pushing to her feet, she shot him another wary look before leaving. When she returned, she was holding a manila file folder that she set on the table. “These were sent to me. Postmarked Los Angeles. No note, no return address. I checked to make sure they were authentic.”
Danny opened the folder. Newspaper clippings stared back at him—the San Diego Union-Tribune. Los Angeles Times. Dated eighteen years ago.
Bella’s kidnapping.
A pit formed in his stomach. Someone had gone to the trouble of unearthing the very information Bella’s family tried to bury. “You received this and thought to use it to what—tarnish Senator Strickland and his family?”
Lines bracketed Olivia’s mouth. “Actually, I thought it showed great strength on Isabella’s part. To survive trauma like that because of her father’s actions shows real courage—I never implied it was justified,” she added when Danny opened his mouth to argue.
“All you did was reopen old wounds.” He couldn’t control the sharp edges of his tone. “Don’t you find it interesting that someone sent you these articles anonymously?”
Olivia’s chin lifted. “It happens all the time. I authenticated the articles and decided the information was relevant to my story.” She tilted her head. “Did you know her kidnapper was recently released from prison? And that he died shortly after?”
Of course he knew. “I won’t be shedding any tears.”
A chill worked its way down Danny’s spine.
Nathan thought Miran Hassan’s son, Omar, was off the grid.
Danny was beginning to fear Nathan was right.
And if Omar Hassan was in Charlotte, Bella could already be in danger.