Page 27 of Missile Strike

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?”