Page 74 of Missile Strike

A cluster of teens blocked the sidewalk.

Danny veered around them, then sprinted across the next intersection as the light turned green. Sweat pooled beneath his arms and at the small of his back.

Nathan’s voice sharpened. “What’s going on? You sound like you’re on the move.”

“Someone approached Bella—I’ll send details as soon as I have them. Just get the request in.”

His phone rang just as he reached the entrance to Providence Bank.

He ignored it and pushed through the glass doors, his gaze a heat-seeking missile that homed in on its target—Bella—huddled near the security desk with Talia, her phone pressed to her ear.

Alive. Safe.

Air rushed back into his lungs, easing the tight band around his ribs. His eyes met Lamar’s, and he tipped his head in silent acknowledgment.

“Bella.”

Her head jerked up, the relief washing over her expression causing a strange flutter in his chest. “Danny.”

He didn’t care if it was unprofessional, or that they had an audience. He hauled her to her feet and pulled her into him.

Jesus—she felt too damn small in his arms. Easily broken if someone wanted to hurt her.

His gaze met Talia’s over Bella’s head. Something cold flickered in her eyes, then it was gone.

The best friend didn’t care much for him.

Right now, he couldn’t blame her.

“Danny—I need to breathe.” Bella’s voice was muffled against his chest.

He released her instantly, letting his palms slide down the soft skin of her exposed arms because he wasn’t ready to stop touching her.

She flinched.

Barely, but he caught it.

Faint finger-shaped bruises marred her upper arm.

Fury reduced his voice to a guttural rasp. “He touched you.”

Her eyes flared. “I’m okay.” Hesitant, as if she knew how close to the edge he was.

Stepping back, he flipped the mental switch he’d relied on as a SEAL—locking away any emotion that could get him or his teammates killed.

Mission mode.

“You don’t leave a secure space without me again.”

Bella’s posture stiffened, eyes narrowing, but she kept silent.

Good.

If she wanted to argue, they’d do it at home.

Not that she’d win.

“What did he look like?”