Page 130 of Missile Strike

For her.

Yet a part of her rebelled at exposing her feelings for him first.

Having him again, only to lose him?

She’d never recover.

“What’s the matter?” His eyes watched her, seeing too much.

“What makes you think anything’s the matter?”

He sighed. “Honey, I can practically hear the wheels turning in your head.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “And you tensed up.”

She took a breath, marshaling her courage. “I—”

Danny’s phone rang from somewhere on the carpet.

“Who the hell is calling at this time of night?” he growled. Before she could move, he’d somehow freed his wrists from the scarves and rolled her to her back, vaulting off the bed in one fluid motion.

He grabbed his trousers. Dug for his phone. Brought it to his ear while she admired the smooth muscles in his bare back and ass.

“Mayhew.”

He listened to whoever was on the other line.

His body locked. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me—how?”

Isabella sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts. A hollow pit formed in her stomach. “What is it?”

Danny ignored her. “He was breathing just fine when you guys arrested him.” He dragged a hand through his hair, sending strands to fall across his cheek. “What did the doctors say?” A pause. “Damn. Yeah. I’ll tell her. You know how to reach me.”

He hung up. Faced her.

She clutched the sheet tighter, pulling it higher across her chest. “Tell me.”

“It’s okay. It’s good news.” He paused, his mouth tightening. “However unexpected.”

“What is it?”

“Omar Hassan is dead.”

Chapter Thirty

Hassan was dead. According to Danny’s CMPD liaison, he’d barely made it to the detention center before he complained of chest pains and shortness of breath.

He was gone within the hour.

Sleep came easier than Danny expected after the phone call. When the sun’s rays first started slipping through the blinds in Bella’s bedroom, he got up, careful not to wake her.

Slipping quietly from her bedroom, he threw on a pair of shorts and one of his Hawaiian shirts, made a pot of coffee and sat outside with Trip. He propped his feet on the outdoor patio table, basking in the milder temperatures of early morning.

Tonight? Flowers, then dinner. Somewhere fancy.

And when they got home, he’d screw up his courage, tell Bella he loved her and wanted to stay. He’d have to go back to DC to get things from his apartment and empty the fridge, but if Caleb could live in northern Arizona and still work for Dìleas, there was no reason he couldn’t work from Charlotte. Maybe Bella could come to DC with him. They’d take a few days and play tourist.

Have some adventures.

He glanced at Trip. “We need to find you a doggy-sitter, my man.”