Page 34 of Missile Strike

Just a message telling him not to come over. That she had plans with a friend.

A man?

His biceps screamed, muscles quivering as he pushed through ten more reps before they finally gave out. The weights hit the floor with a thud. He straightened, dragging a hand through sweat-dampened hair.

Dammit. He thought they’d made progress over dinner last night. Instead, Bella was throwing up walls he couldn’t let her build if he was going to do his job.

He got her attitude. He really did. Especially because she hadn’t asked for him to come storming back into her life, upending her carefully structured existence. Honestly, he was impressed as hell that Greece hadn’t sent her retreating into a fetal position.

After what happened, Senator Strickland was right to want to keep his family protected. Danny had read the intelligence report. Despite the lack of credible threats from foreign actors on US soil, there was always the possibility of a lone wolf attack, inspired online.

Danny’s job was to plan for the unexpected and keep it from happening.

He returned the weights to their rack and grabbed his towel and water. Would he be an ass if he dropped by Bella’s home later tonight? He wanted a closer look at her home security. Convincing her that accepting protection wasn’t the same thing as surrendering her independence might prove harder than securing the gala.

The attendee list would make a convenient excuse. He, Nathan, and the new guy, Ryan, had gone over the background checks on the list of hotel employees and outside vendors working the gala. So far, nobody flagged as suspicious. As soon as Isabella confirmed the guest list, they’d start vetting those individuals.

Maybe he’d even meet Bella’s friend. If she were home alone, maybe he’d ask why she’d named her dog Trip. Watch her tuck a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear when she got nervous. Lose himself in those caramel eyes that seemed to see through his unserious façade to the man beneath.

Shit.

His brain was veering full speed in an unprofessional direction. He’d been looking forward to seeing Bella tonight, and the workout was supposed to improve his mood.

He pushed through the gym door and took the stairs to the third floor. After a quick shower, he tugged on a short-sleeved vintage blue, black, and white-paneled bowling shirt and a clean pair of khaki cargo shorts. Then he perused the nearby restaurants, settling on takeout from the Indian place down the street.

His pocket vibrated. Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the screen.

Finally, she was returning his call. His mood lightened. Maybe things were looking up after all.

“Hey, Bella.”

“Danny.” The fear in her voice sent Danny racing to his car. “My front door is open. Trip’s gone.”

Chapter Eight

“Trip! Here, Trip!”

Isabella’s pulse thumped frantically in her ears as she called for the dog.

Lawn mowers droned somewhere in the distance. The leaves on the Bradford pears lining the street barely moved in the humid air. It was dinnertime. Most of her neighbors had retreated indoors after work, leaving the normally active townhome community unnervingly quiet.

No children riding bikes. No dog walkers. No parents pushing strollers.

And no sign of Trip.

She’d already walked the length of her block and was about to turn onto the busier road leading out of the neighborhood when the throaty rumble of a muscle car came from behind her.

Danny pulled into her driveway.

For a split second, her steps faltered, then she broke into a run as he got out of his car. He’d been the person she’d called as soon as she’d found her door open and Trip not in the house.

She’d think about why later.

“Danny!”

He looked up.

Isabella froze as she took in his expression. Even the shirt he wore, which looked to be straight out of a vintage shop, didn’t soften his cold, controlled features. She couldn’t see his eyes clearly from the distance, but she felt their chill.