Page 116 of Missile Strike

Do you ever feel exposed?

Isabella’s fingers flexed, eager to dig into her own flesh. Anchor herself in pain. She stilled the impulse, focusing on the feel of Danny’s thigh beneath her palm.

Three black SUVs sat parked in the circular entryway, along with two Charlotte-Mecklenburg police cruisers.

Caleb stood at the entrance of the parking garage, dressed in a suit, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, the vehicles, and every person approaching the hotel.

Danny brought down his window.

Caleb leaned in. “We’ve had the hotel clear level two of the garage for gala attendees. Valet has set up in front of the elevators that have direct access to the ballroom level. Security will check names against our verified list, then escort the guests from the elevators to the check-in desk.”

“What’s the ETA on Senator Strickland and his wife?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

Isabella twisted in her seat, looking back at the gathering crowd. The media would show up soon. They’d want to capture the scene—black SUVs and limousines carrying politicians and high-profile business leaders against the backdrop of protesting citizens.

She’d throw herself into final preparations and be too busy to worry.

Danny parked the Mustang. When they stepped off the elevator and into the hallway where the check-in and reception would take place, Tavari was waiting.

He handed Danny what looked like a black walkie-talkie. “The Waverly’s head of security wants to see you.”

Isabella leaned in and kissed Danny on the cheek. “Go. We both have things to do.”

His hand snaked around the back of her neck. He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Remember. Don’t leave this area.”

“I won’t.” She admired him one last time before turning away. A clear wire protruded from his ear, disappearing beneath his suit coat. Before they’d exited the car, he’d placed his weapon in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

Stepping into the ballroom, Isabella caught sight of Melody Santos conversing with a member of the wait staff while others put the finishing touches on the tables. The honor guard practiced by the stage, carrying the Stars and Stripes, the North Carolina state flag, and the dark blue Navy flag with its eagle-and-anchor insignia in honor of her father’s service.

She paused, taking in her hard work and meticulous planning. A podium with the North Carolina state seal stood center stage, with deep blue velvet curtains as a backdrop. The floral centerpieces at each round table seating eight had been her design—white dahlias, pink carnations, and sprigs of blue limonium. The event program, printed on crisp white cardstock, topped each place setting. She’d enlarged photos of her father at various stages of his career, and had them displayed on pedestals around the ballroom.

Melody glanced up and made eye contact. She lifted her hand in a wave. “What do you think?”

A slow smile spread across Isabella’s face. “Looks fantastic. We’re ready.”

Danny scanned the reception space outside the ballroom while Grant Marks, the hotel’s head of security, updated him on final security preparations.

“The police are handling the protest outside. We have a guard stationed at the elevators in the parking garage checking names off a verified list. Vetted campaign staff members will meet guests when they get off the elevators and escort them to the check-in tables. The escalator’s deactivated, and I’ve got hotel security stationed on the first floor to prevent anyone from accessing it.”

“Make sure both sets of exit stairs are covered.” Danny did a comm check of his earpiece and listened in as agents took their positions.

Everything was in place.

So why did his scalp still prickle?

“Senator Strickland, his wife, son, daughter-in-law, and their security detail have arrived,” Caleb’s voice came through his earpiece.

“I’ll meet them at the elevator.” Danny strolled down the carpeted promenade, taking a peek inside the ballroom to catch a glimpse of Bella.

He’d nearly swallowed his damn tongue when he first saw her all dressed up tonight. Her gown wasn’t revealing, but it didn’t need to be. He’d memorized the curve of her hips, the shape of her breasts, the gentle swell of her abdomen beneath the black fabric. When this night was over, he’d take great pleasure in peeling that gown off her body, kissing every inch of soft skin he exposed.

Right now, however, he needed to corral his thoughts so he didn’t meet the Stricklands sporting a hard-on for their daughter.

The elevator doors slid open. Graham Strickland, his wife Janet, his son Rory, Rory’s wife Annalise, and two members of the senator’s security detail stepped onto the floor.

“Trip.” Janet Strickland looked elegant in a royal blue gown, her blond hair in a refined updo. Bella would age as gracefully as her mother had.