Page 54 of Missile Strike

“Right. I’ll send Caleb and Tavari down early next week. Nathan is monitoring any online chatter directed toward the senator and his re-election campaign.” Ryder’s voice lowered. “He’s also keeping an eye on the situation in California.”

The coffee mug froze halfway to Danny’s lips. “Hassan is dead.”

“His death made the news. Strickland’s re-election campaign coinciding with this bloke’s release and sudden death might be enough to inspire a copycat.”

“No one’s touching Bella. Not now. Not ever.”

Silence.

“This isn’t getting personal, is it, mate?”

Danny chose his next words carefully. “It’s personal in that she was my little sister’s best friend. But my head is clear.”

A door opened upstairs. Trip’s collar jingled.

Bella was up.

“Gotta go.”

He ended the call and was immediately accosted by Trip.

“Whoa, buddy.” Danny tried to dodge the tail-wagging menace before he ended up covered in dog hair.

No such luck. Trip body-slammed his gray tailored slacks, leaving strands of himself behind.

Bella reached the bottom of the stairs. “Trip, come.” She gave Danny an apologetic look. “I should have warned you to wait until we were ready to leave before throwing on dress clothes.”

She let Trip out into the backyard, then handed Danny a lint roller.

He busied himself removing the hair from his pants so he wouldn’t stare.

Bella had on her college sweatshirt. Pink satin sleep shorts peeked below the hem. Smooth, bare legs ended in dainty toes polished in pink. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and her face clean of makeup.

His pulse stuttered.

“I think you’ve gotten all the hair off.” Bella’s voice held a note of laughter.

He straightened, an unaccustomed flush heating his face. “Gotta make space for the next time that dog sideswipes me.”

The domesticity of the whole situation caught him off guard.

Or maybe what caught him off guard was that he liked it. Making coffee for both of them. Taking care of Trip. Seeing Bella, sleep-rumpled and makeup-free.

Her gaze lingered on the front of his lavender dress shirt before skittering away to fix on the mug of coffee in her hands. “That’s why I’m not”—she cleared her throat—“dressed. I love Trip, but his hair is everywhere.”

Trip barked at the back door, sparing Danny from doing something colossally stupid, like grabbing the hem of Bella’s sweatshirt, peeling it over her head, and letting his hands and lips do the talking.

Instead, he kept himself on a tight leash through breakfast and waited for Bella to dress for their trip to The Waverly. When she came back downstairs, he nearly swallowed his tongue.

Instead of the conservative, neutral clothing he’d seen her wear for work, she’d opted for a sleeveless, mauve cotton dress with a crew neck that flowed over her body like water. On her feet she wore strappy nude sandals with a short heel. Her hair, normally confined in a ponytail or braid, was loose and hung about her shoulders, the ends grazing the swells of her breasts. A deep pink, the exact shade as her toes, colored her lips.

His mouth went dry.

“What’s the matter?”

She’d caught him flat-footed, staring like a horny teenager.

Color rose from her throat to her cheeks as an answering flare of desire darkened the gold in her eyes to amber.