Page 29 of Missile Strike

“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.”

“That’s not the point. I’ve been handling my life just fine. I don’t need you trying to shield me—my father does that enough.”

Danny held her gaze for a few seconds and then gave a quick nod. “Fair enough.”

Their server reappeared, pushing a coffee cart. She lit a bowl of incense, then roasted green coffee beans until they darkened, ground the beans and boiled them in water in a brown clay pot called a jebena.

“Try it with sugar first,” Danny advised.

Isabella took a cautious sip. The coffee was strong and sweet, with notes of earth and spice. “This is really good, but I may be up all night.”

“It’s worth it.” Danny polished off his coffee and gave a firm shake of his head when she reached for her purse.

“I’m paying. I wanted to take you out, get to know Isabella Strickland,” the blue in his eyes deepened as he reached for his wallet, “the grown woman.” He signaled the server for the bill, then glanced at it, and gave it back to her with his credit card.

“Thank you.” The words sounded more formal than she’d intended.

This wasn’t a date.

Still, when his hand settled lightly on her lower back as he guided her out of the restaurant and to his car, awareness rippled through her.

She should have stepped away, but she didn’t.

Outside, Isabella slid onto the soft, black leather seat of the Mustang.

It was in excellent condition. Clean floor mats. Seats and dashboard glossy. It even smelled good, courtesy of the scented tree hanging from the rearview mirror. In high school, Danny had driven a dark green Toyota that he’d named Brooke after a TV character.

“Does this car have a name?”

His cheeks pinkened. “Consuela.”

An irrational surge of jealousy licked through her veins. “Former girlfriend?”

“Something like that.”

She let it drop. The last thing she wanted was to hear about a woman who’d shared Danny’s bed. One of many, for sure.

“Up for a little drive?” he asked. “Consuela needs to stretch her legs.”

“I’m not sure…”

The Mustang rumbled to life with a throaty purr. “You’re perfectly safe with me.”

Physically? Probably. Emotionally?

It had been too easy this evening to enjoy Danny’s company.

He was the same as she remembered, yet different. Older, more mature. A touch guarded and with a restraint he hadn’t had before. But the Danny Mayhew she’d idolized as a young girl—the laughing, flirtatious, popular boy—still lingered in his smile and the crinkles around his eyes.

His expression sobered. “If you want me to take you straight home, I will.”

A little more time in Danny’s company wouldn’t hurt. She shook her head. “A drive would be…nice.”

At this hour, the traffic was lighter on the beltway. Danny let the Mustang cruise in the left lane. He turned on music, and the soft, soulful sounds of a modern country artist washed over her.

“What do you like, Bella?”

She frowned at the question. “What do you mean?”