Page 42 of Missile Strike

“My duties haven’t changed. Based on the current threat assessment, the gala is the most likely target for a bad actor, and once it’s over, any credible threat to you is unlikely.” He should have felt relieved. Instead, he had the nagging sense that he was missing something small but important.

“And you’ll be gone.”

A dull ache wove around his upper ribs. “I have another assignment waiting, so, yeah.”

Which is what he should do now. Leave.

He stood. “I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.” He pasted on his patented, careless grin. “See you Friday for the security walkthrough at The Waverly. I can pick you up.”

“Don’t do that.” Temper sharpened her words.

His grin faded. “Do what?”

“Give me that fake, cheesy grin.”

Arms crossed, she glared at him. “I know what your real one looks like—I know you, remember? Just because we haven’t seen each other for over a decade doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what your real smile looks like versus the one you give when you want everyone to think you’re fine.”

Damn.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts to stay his feet. Bolting would not be a good look.

“Sorry.” With a weary sigh, she waved a hand through the air as if to brush the words away. “Forget I said that.”

Her phone rang before he could think of a single thing to say other than goodbye.

Bella walked over to where it sat on the couch. She frowned. “It’s The Charlotte Times.”

“Is it that reporter? Don’t answer.”

She gave him an eye-roll. “I’m going to answer.”

“Then put it on speakerphone.”

She huffed but did as he requested. “Hello?”

“Ms. Strickland? It’s Olivia Flores, I’m calling to see if you’ve thought about my request for an interview.”

Danny shook his head.

“I’ve been busy,” Bella hedged.

“I’m hoping you’ll make time. This is a Charlotte story. An inside look at what it takes to organize an event of this stature, and the woman few people know who’s making it all happen behind the scenes.”

“Ms. Strickland’s personal life isn’t up for public consumption.”

An annoyed look flashed his way before Bella pressed a finger to her lips.

“I didn’t realize I was pitching to an audience of more than one.” A hint of frustration filtered through the reporter’s voice. “But I understand your concern. I’m not interested in writing an exposé on your personal life, Ms. Strickland. I’m interested in the work. Readers see your father onstage, but they never see the people making an event like this happen. You’re coordinating a major political fundraiser while balancing a career of your own. That’s a story people can relate to.”

Bella sucked in her lips. She put the phone on mute. “Hassan is dead.”

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t risks.”

One brow arched. “Aren’t you the one telling me I’m not adventurous enough?”

Shit. She was throwing his own words back at him. “Not this way.”

“It’s a local story for a local paper.” She took the phone off mute.