Page 43 of Missile Strike

A flicker of unease tightened the back of Danny’s neck.

“Ms. Flores?” Bella’s voice firmed. “When do you want to meet?”

Chapter Ten

The phone on Isabella’s office desk buzzed. “Ms. Strickland, Olivia Flores with The Charlotte Times is here to see you.”

“Thanks, Jimmy. I’m on my way.” She hung up with the security guard stationed at AegisShield’s entrance lobby and headed for the seventh-floor elevators, passing navy-paneled cubicles arranged in a semi-open floor plan. Posters of AegisShield booths at international defense expos decorated the hall—Riyadh, Taipei, Seoul, Paris.

Places she’d been but never explored outside the hotels and convention halls.

The company’s logo dominated the wall opposite the elevators—an angular shield reminiscent of the Star Trek insignia, superimposed over a radar grid etched into brushed steel, above the tagline Precision, Protection, Partnership.

Miran Hassan was dead. That part of her life was now truly in the past.

The other part had stood in her driveway two nights ago, absorbing her anger, then shredding her equilibrium with a single sentence.

Whatever you think of me, know this—that night meant something to me, too.

If the night of Jaynie’s funeral meant something to him, why had he never reached out?

Men. She jabbed the button for the ground floor. Her Wi-Fi enabled refrigerator had better communication skills.

Then there was the kiss Talia had interrupted. Sure, they’d both pretended it didn’t happen, but she replayed it in her dreams. Only her imagination had taken it further—deeper—into frantic touches, discarded clothes, and Danny taking her against the brick exterior of her townhouse…

A warm flush spread across her skin. She needed a good romance read.

Book boyfriends never let you down.

In the lobby, the reporter waited, the security badge labeling her as a guest clipped to the tan linen blazer she wore over an apricot dress.

“Ms. Flores.” Isabella held out her hand, which the reporter accepted with a polite shake.

“Thank you for agreeing to this interview.”

“So long as we’re clear on the parameters.” Isabella swiped her badge over the elevator’s card reader, and when it blinked green, she pressed seven. The elevator ascended with a silent hum.

“Right. Nothing personal. Although, I’m curious why.” Olivia adjusted her purse strap, her gaze searching Isabella’s—and lingering a beat too long.

“Because my life isn’t relevant to my father’s re-election campaign.” She met Olivia’s stare head-on. “Or this event you’re profiling.”

“Fair enough.”

When the doors opened on seven, she led the reporter to her office—spacious enough for a white desk and three-drawer filing cabinet set between two gray interior walls, with a window at her back and a glass front facing the cubicles. More trade show posters lined the walls, and a four-foot silk palm filled the back corner. A small arrangement of pale pink flowers sat on her credenza beneath the window. She gestured to the chair across from her desk before taking her own seat.

Olivia’s gaze swept the space before she placed a voice recorder on the desk and pressed play. “How long have you been planning Senator Strickland’s re-election gala?”

“Months. We had to determine the scope of the event and find a venue that would accommodate the scale, the status of the attendees, and the security requirements.”

“Are you planning all of this on your own?”

A half-smile played on Isabella’s lips. She shook her head. “I’m coordinating, but there’s an army of people helping me—the event staff at The Waverly, members of my father’s campaign and the local district office. A security team. Friends.”

“How do you juggle the demands of the gala with your full-time job here at AegisShield?”

“My employer has been very generous about allowing me flex time.”

“AegisShield stands to benefit if the senator is re-elected given his position on the Senate Armed Services Committee.”