Page 113 of Missile Strike

Caleb’s tone turned grim. “You think she’s a threat?”

Danny stared at the back door, his gaze unfocused. “I think she’s another unknown. And there are too many of those already.”

“Roger that.”

“I want backup on Bella—at least two sets of eyes on her at all times.”

“We’re going to be stretched for coverage if—”

“I don’t care,” Danny snapped. He stopped. Sucked in a lungful of air.

“I get it.” Caleb’s voice went quiet. “We’ll make it happen.”

Danny ended the call and glanced up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

His thoughts weren’t nearly as clear.

Inside, Bella still sat on the couch, tapping away on her laptop. She looked up, her gaze softening when she saw him.

He drank in the sight of her—soft gray leggings, a blue T-shirt with CAROLINA in white letters across her chest, and a messy ponytail fanning from the top of her head. No makeup, but she didn’t need it.

An unfamiliar longing caught him off guard.

She seemed more settled.

Confident.

And he had to drag the real world back to her doorstep.

What if he told her to pack a bag? They could jump into Consuela and head west.

Drive until the sun went down.

No threats. No danger. Just them.

Her brows furrowed. “Danny?”

He shook off the fantasy and dropped onto the couch beside her. “Nathan uncovered information about Olivia Flores. Her interest in you wasn’t—”

He paused, searching for the right word. “—benign.”

Her fingers stilled on the keyboard. “What does that mean?”

“She was part of an activist group in college protesting US military actions in the Middle East when your father was secretary of defense.” He hesitated. “She made a verbal threat against a former head of US Central Command.”

Bella shifted, pulling her legs tighter beneath her. She set the laptop aside. “Lots of people do stupid stuff in college. I can’t believe Olivia’s a physical threat. She’s a journalist—her weapon is a pen.”

He wasn’t so sure. “Maybe, but I don’t want her anywhere near you. I can’t keep her out of the gala because of her press credentials, but that doesn’t mean she gets access to you. Or your father.”

His gut twisted as her shoulders curved inward.

“I need you to think back to the day she interviewed you,” he said. “Did any of her questions feel off? Or how she asked them?”

She went quiet, thinking. Then her eyes widened. “She asked if I felt unsafe because of my father’s past. If I felt…exposed.”

His fingers curled. “I’d take that as an implied threat.”

Hassan. Now Olivia Flores. And a protest by a group known to attract outside agitators.