Page 71 of Missile Strike

Instead, he walked past it, heading south toward The Charlotte Times building.

His anger remained buried as he greeted the receptionist. “I need to see Olivia Flores. Tell her Danny Mayhew is here—head of security for Senator Strickland’s gala.”

A moment later, Olivia appeared. Her eyes lit with recognition, then wariness. “Mr. Mayhew. I’ll find a place for us to speak privately.”

He followed her into a space filled with natural light, thanks to the building’s floor-to-ceiling exterior windows, past a wall of TVs and beige cubicles to a small conference room.

“Have a seat.” She gestured at one of the chairs pushed into the rectangular table.

He sat, keeping his navy blazer buttoned to conceal the gun holstered beneath his left shoulder, and got right to the point. “You lied to Ms. Strickland about not crossing into personal territory.”

A look of discomfort flitted across the reporter’s face. “What happened to her is directly relevant to Graham Strickland’s career. He’s running for re-election to one of the highest elected offices in our country.”

Leaning forward, Danny lowered his voice. “Her childhood trauma has nothing to do with her father’s current campaign.”

“Someone didn’t agree with you.” She hesitated, focusing inward as if mulling something over before her gaze returned to his. “Wait here.”

Pushing to her feet, she shot him another wary look before leaving. When she returned, she was holding a manila file folder that she set on the table. “These were sent to me. Postmarked Los Angeles. No note, no return address. I checked to make sure they were authentic.”

Danny opened the folder. Newspaper clippings stared back at him—the San Diego Union-Tribune. Los Angeles Times. Dated eighteen years ago.

Bella’s kidnapping.

A pit formed in his stomach. Someone had gone to the trouble of unearthing the very information Bella’s family tried to bury. “You received this and thought to use it to what—tarnish Senator Strickland and his family?”

Lines bracketed Olivia’s mouth. “Actually, I thought it showed great strength on Isabella’s part. To survive trauma like that because of her father’s actions shows real courage—I never implied it was justified,” she added when Danny opened his mouth to argue.

“All you did was reopen old wounds.” He couldn’t control the sharp edges of his tone. “Don’t you find it interesting that someone sent you these articles anonymously?”

Olivia’s chin lifted. “It happens all the time. I authenticated the articles and decided the information was relevant to my story.” She tilted her head. “Did you know her kidnapper was recently released from prison? And that he died shortly after?”

Of course he knew. “I won’t be shedding any tears.”

A chill worked its way down Danny’s spine.

Nathan thought Miran Hassan’s son, Omar, was off the grid.

Danny was beginning to fear Nathan was right.

And if Omar Hassan was in Charlotte, Bella could already be in danger.

Chapter Seventeen

Isabella drifted toward the center of the lobby, keeping within sight of the security guards. The one Danny had flashed his credentials at—a tall Black man with a shaved head and muscular frame—kept a watchful eye on her.

She gave him a polite smile even as nerves spiked.

The wide-open spaces of the two-story marble and granite lobby shrank in on her. She’d spent years proving she could stand on her own two feet. One threatening note wasn’t going to change that.

Taking a seat on one of the nearby benches, she examined the enormous frescoes adorning the walls.

People milled about, the hum of conversation and the rap of heels background music as she admired the artwork. She sent a text to Danny that she’d be ready to leave in twenty minutes. That should give her and Talia enough time to enjoy their ice cream before Talia had to leave for her meeting.

The hair on the back of Isabella’s neck rose.

Someone was watching her.

She didn’t know how she knew, but she did.