Page 95 of Missile Strike

Isabella froze.

“Oooh.” Talia leaned in, her gaze openly curious. “Spill the deets.”

“Last night, we…” Isabella’s gaze fell away. She took a bite of her bagel.

Talia gave a mock gasp. “You had sex? You little slut!”

Isabella nearly choked on her food, her cheeks burning. “Yes. But keep your voice down. His colleague downstairs doesn’t need to know that.”

“Yeah, I would imagine sleeping with the client is a big no-no.”

Isabella sobered at the reminder that she was Danny’s job. “He said he’d try to stay. For me.”

Talia took a sip of her coffee, studying the dark liquid. “Did he say that before or after he had sex with you?”

Ouch. That landed. “After.” Isabella set her plate aside.

Outside her bedroom windows, the soft, steady hush of rain deepened as the storm arrived in full force.

“Post-sex euphoria.” Talia’s fingers brushed over her bent knee. “I just don’t want you to be hurt when he gets restless and decides staying in Charlotte isn’t enough.”

“He won’t.” If Isabella said it with enough conviction, maybe she’d believe it.

“You’re probably right.” Talia bit into her bagel and chewed. Her smile turned wistful. “I’m just jealous because you have a love life and I don’t. People can make anything work if they love one another.”

The words started out small, then spread through Isabella like a slow poison. Danny said he’d try to stay—but he hadn’t said he loved her.

Talia’s eyes narrowed as if she’d read Isabella’s thoughts, but she said nothing. “So, you wanted my help with the seating chart for the gala?”

Isabella sent her friend a grateful look for the change of subject. “I’ll get my files.”

It was noon by the time Danny and Caleb left their meeting with The Waverly’s head of security and the Charlotte police liaison.

The sharp click of the Mustang’s doors unlocking echoed off the walls of the hotel’s underground parking garage. As Danny slid behind the wheel, a familiar prickle lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.

Years spent in special operations had taught him to listen to his instincts. Something hovered just out of reach, and the obvious complications posed by the protests planned for the night of Senator Strickland’s re-election gala weren’t it.

Consuela came to life with a smooth rumble.

“It’s not ideal, but we’ve dealt with this before,” Caleb said, voicing Danny’s concerns. “We’ve updated the threat assessment. Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police will ramp up the number of officers monitoring the protest and establish a buffer zone. Hotel security and our team will control all the access points and monitor check-in, and the senator’s security detail will keep an eye on the senator and his family.”

“I should be with Bella during the gala.” Danny shoved through the Mustang’s gears as he exited the garage onto the city streets. The sky was gray, blocking direct sunlight but not doing anything to alleviate the suffocating heat.

“You’re the lead coordinator. Once Isabella’s inside the security perimeter, the senator’s detail will keep an eye on her while we make sure no one gets in that doesn’t belong there.” Caleb’s tone softened. “But I get it. As much as I trusted you and my cousin, I wasn’t willing to leave Gia’s safety to anyone but me.”

“Omar Hassan is still out there.” Danny settled his Oakleys on his face as a persistent throb took up residence at his temple. “And we don’t know what his next move will be.”

The guy was covering his tracks well if Nathan couldn’t locate him.

And a smart enemy was a dangerous one.

The inner loop of I-77 was a congested maze of multiple entrance and exit ramps where cars performed a dangerous dance, weaving in and out as they crossed paths. The ramp for I-77 South loomed ahead on the left.

Danny shifted lanes, taking the exit that curved over the interstate in a loop. He tapped the brakes. The pedal was mushy beneath his boot, the Mustang barely slowing.

Strange.

When had he last had the brakes serviced?