Page 47 of Missile Strike

He’d been protecting his sister’s best friend.

She’d pretended at the time that it was more. That he’d been staking a claim.

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

Now she didn’t know what to think.

Danny pulled out his phone and made a quick call. Then he popped the hood and did a visual inspection before he crouched next to her front tire, his hand sweeping beneath the chassis.

What was he doing? Curious, she craned her neck, trying to see, but he’d already moved out of view.

After a few minutes, he returned to the Mustang. “Now we wait on the police.”

Police. She winced. “Please don’t tell my parents.”

“Bella—

“No, Danny. My dad will totally overreact.”

“Overreact?” His brow gave an arrogant lift. “To a threatening note? Left by someone who knows where you work, who knows the make, model, and license plate of your car? Why in the world would your father overreact?”

She wanted to argue. Except when he recited those facts, she couldn’t tamp down the fear clawing at her insides. Before she could muster a snappy reply, a white police car with blue markings appeared.

“Stay put.” Danny got out of the car and flagged the officer down. He directed the man to her car.

The two had a brief conversation, then the officer took the plastic bag with the note in it. He and Danny walked to the Mustang, where Isabella sat waiting.

She rolled down the window.

“Ma’am, I’d like to ask you some questions if I may.”

“Of course, Officer,” she glanced at his name tag, “Griffin.” She explained how she’d found the note on her windshield. “My father is running for re-election. The note was probably from someone who doesn’t like him and is bringing up his past.” If only she felt as nonchalant as she was projecting. “He’s in Washington, so whoever did this decided to voice their protest at me.”

A white van pulled up with the same markings as the police car, the words “Crime Scene Investigations” printed on the side panel.

“These technicians will dust your car for prints,” Officer Griffin told her. “Then you can go.” He handed her a business card. “We’ll let you know if we find anything that might lead us to the person who left that note.”

He glanced at Danny, then at her, the apology in his eyes clear. “I understand this was unsettling, but there’s no direct threat against you in this note.”

“There’s an implied threat,” Danny growled. “That’s good enough for me.”

The officer’s posture stiffened. “I understand, sir, but it’s not enough for us to make an arrest, even if we discover who did it.”

“Thank you, Officer Griffin.” The space between her ribs constricted as a familiar tide threatened to pull her back to when she was twelve and alone inside a storage container, wondering if her parents would find her before the scary man returned.

“Bella.” Danny’s voice broke through her internal panic, acting as an anchor to keep her from being swept away. “You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You’re safe, Isabella. I won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again. Her father’s words after the FBI found her. He’d smothered her in his arms as her mother wept beside him.

Some jerk thought he could scare her? He didn’t know the crucible she’d already walked through and come out alive.

“I’ll be fine.”

Danny kept silent.

Once the technicians had dusted her car for prints and the officer said they could leave, Danny handed her the fob to her Honda. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Too tired to argue, she got out of his car and into hers. On the way home, each time she glanced in her rearview mirror, the blue Mustang was there.