Reclaiming Izabel (Special Forces: Operation Alpha)

by Victoria Paige

  Chapter 2

  Four months later

  Izabel stared at the ceiling.

  The sun peeked through the blinds promising another glorious fall morning, but she knew her world was painted in shades of joyless gray. Every day, it was a chore to get out of bed, to shower, to get to work, and keep her mind busy, because the alternative was to shrink into herself and disappear into a desolate landscape. That wouldn’t do.

  Movement in her belly gave her a reason to stay strong. She put her palm reflexively on her stomach.

  “Thanks for reminding me, baby girl,” she murmured.

  With that only spark of happiness in a stretch of bleak days, Izabel forced her body to leave the bed. She ached, deep in her heart, to the bottom of her soul, she ached, because she missed him desperately. “Why can’t you be here, Drake?”

  Pain formed a lump in her throat and hot tears pooled in her eyes. A scene replayed every morning since the day her husband died.

  Her phone rang.

  Cindy calling.

  Izabel sighed. Cindy Lake was her best friend and co-worker. She was also the personal assistant of her project manager at Stockman and Bose.

  “You’re coming in late?” her friend asked when she answered the phone.

  “I think I can make it on time.”

  There was a slight pause and then, “I know it’s hard, Izzy, and you do phenomenal work when you manage to show up, but I heard the boss griping yesterday about your tardiness.”

  “I’ll try harder,” Izabel whispered. Though Drake’s insurance covered most of her expenses, her job kept her sane, and she couldn’t afford to lose it.

  “Did you go to your session yesterday?”

  “Yes.” Izabel attended group bereavement services in addition to her private counseling sessions. “I’m not sure it’s helping.”

  “Give it time, Izzy.”

  That was what everyone told her, but Izabel was beginning to think it was a lie. The hollowness inside her kept growing each day, threatening to swallow everything that she was.

  “Well, I have to go if I’m going to make it to the office on time.” She ended the call and took in a ragged breath to fortify her resolve for the workday ahead. Leaving her bedroom, she passed by the big picture window with a planter situated underneath. Twelve potted orchids—once her pride and joy—now sat shrunken and dead in their clay pots. In her own morbid way she’d neglected to throw them in the trashcan. The once beautiful orchids reflected Izabel’s world.

  She descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen, sighing again as she pulled out her breakfast from the fridge. No matter how hard it was to muster an appetite, Izabel made sure she ate properly to nurture the life growing inside her. She was clinging to hope that the last part she had of Drake would pull her out of this darkness.

  Izabel was going to be late for an important meeting where a couple of teams were pitching their designs on an upscale development. She decided to ditch the basement garage and park on the street. Her competitive edge fueled her movements as she collected her laptop, her lunch bag, and jug of filtered water, then got out of her car. Bumping the door closed with her hip, she beeped the locks and glanced at both sides of the street before she started for her building.

  “Watch out!”

  Izabel registered a dark blur before the most excruciating pain rammed into her frame. She was airborne before the unforgiving pavement stole her breath when she landed.

  “My baby!” She clutched her stomach amidst screams and yells. “Help me … oh, God, please.”

  She folded over in a fetal position just as cramping seized her pelvis.

  Unbelievable pain followed, and then, nothing.

  “A bike hit her …”

  “… placental abruption …”

  “…too much blood ….”

  “Need a C-section now!”

  Izabel drifted in and out of consciousness. Lights, shadows, and unfamiliar faces hovered over her.

  “Drake,” she mumbled. “I need Drake.”

  “I’m here, Iza.”

  “I want to be with you, but our baby needs me.”

  “I understand.”

  “…lungs underdeveloped. Can’t survive …”

  Izabel awakened to a dimly lit room and a cloak of numbness. A blond head was bowed over folded arms, sleeping at her bedside.

  “Cindy …” she croaked, reaching out and touching her friend.

  Cindy bolted up straight and the look on her friend’s face strangled Izabel’s heart in fear.

  It was then she knew. Even before her friend uttered a single word, Izabel knew.

  She had lost her baby.

  Numbness disappeared, replaced by the agony of having her heart ripped from her chest in the way a life was yanked from her womb and snuffed.

  Her mind spurned the terrifying thought.

  “No!” Izabel choked. “Tell me I didn’t lose her, too.”

  Cindy’s eyes filled with tears and spilled down her cheeks. She gripped Izabel’s hand. “She was too small.” Her lips quavered as she explained. “At twenty-two weeks, her lungs …”

  “My fault …”

  “No, Izzy, it was the fault of that bike messenger.”

  The two women clung to each other in their shared sorrow. No other words were spoken for the longest time; the room filled with the heartbreaking wails of a mother who had lost her child.

  How could Izabel survive this? Without Drake. And now without the last part she had of him.

  “I need him to be here!” she cried in her friend’s arms. “Why can’t he be here? I can’t go through this alone.”

  “I’m here, Izzy.”

  “I need Drake,” she sobbed over and over.

  It was then Izabel realized that her life in the coming months was going to be a cycle of chilling numbness or gut-wrenching pain.

  There was no in between.

  “I’m sorry, brother.”

  His chair scraped back as Drake sprung up, backing away from the screen in disbelief.

  “When?” he rasped.

  “Yesterday,” Tex said solemnly. “A bike messenger took a corner too fast and hit her.” He blew out a breath. “She hit the pavement with too much force, caused some complications and severe bleeding. They had to do an emergency C-section.”

  Tex’s words receded in a vacuum as Drake processed the horror Izabel had gone through—must still be going through.

  Losing their daughter …

  “… she’s banged up, but otherwise okay …”

  Rage flared through his veins at Tex’s words. “She. Is. Not. Okay,” he gritted through his teeth. “She just lost me …” he said roughly. “And now …”

  Without saying another word and with emotion making it difficult to speak, Drake pivoted on his heel and exited the comm room, ignoring the pain shooting down his bad leg. He was leaving this place and going home to Izabel. His wife needed him. They’d figure out a way to survive the threats against them.

  He was stuffing clothes into a duffle when the door to his room opened. Out of the corner of his eye, he made out his teammates, Brick, a ginger-haired former SEAL, and Edmunds, one of Viktor’s Guardians.

  He continued packing as the air in the room bristled with his aggression.

  “Where are we going?” Brick asked slowly.

  “Home,” Drake clipped, muscles coiled, ready to take on his teammates. He zipped closed one of the duffle and turned to face them squarely, lifting his chin in challenge. “Izabel needs me.”

  “We heard what happened,” Brick said, eyes wary, voice soft. “We’re sorry.”

  Drake nodded. “I’ll catch a flight from Ramstein.”

  “How do you propose to do that?” Edmunds asked evenly. “You don’t exist. Drake Maddox is dead.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it,” Drake shot back. “A couple of keystrokes and I can be reinstated.”

  “And how about Fire Team?” Brick challenged. “Remember the
m?”

  Red hazed his vision as he charged his friend and slammed him against the wall.

  “What do you think?” Drake snarled, his head felt like exploding from the force of his anger, not knowing where to direct his fury. “I have nightmares. Every fucking night, I’m trapped in that cave. I see my brothers blown up. Repeatedly. I hear their screams for help.” He let go of Brick’s shirt and staggered back. “But it’s not real because they didn’t even get the chance to scream. They were simply … obliterated.” A shudder passed through him. “Sometimes I wished I died along with them, but … Izabel.”

  This past few months, he was a man conflicted.

  Duty to avenge his brothers versus his love for his wife.

  Guilt that he survived and hope that he would be reunited with his Iza.

  Just when he found his resolve that going after the bastards was the right thing to do, the universe threw him a curve ball and all he could see was Izabel’s despair.

  His insides were tearing him in half.

  “I have to go to her.” He turned away from them and resumed shoving the rest of his things into another bag. The hairs on his back prickled as he sensed an imminent threat and, before he knew it, something stabbed his neck.

  “What the fuck?” Drake roared as his fingers clamped down on the Edmunds’ hand at the same time jabbing him in the face.

  Cartilage cracked and blood spattered.

  Drake yanked the still-embedded needle from his neck and squared off against Brick, but his teammates simply watched him.

  His vision darkened and hopeless rage surged inside him. “Fuck you both,” he slurred as he fell against a chair. He tried to remain upright. “Damn you.” When he was about to pitch forward, someone caught him.

  “Sorry, man.”

  Drake spent days in solitary. A room with no windows and one light bulb which they used for captured hostiles. There was no way to tell of time. The bastards had taken his watch. He slept on a mattress with no bed frame. There was a toilet and sink in one corner. Food and water were shoved through an opening in the door. He hadn’t fully healed from his injuries and missing his physical therapy sessions made him hurt like a motherfucker. He massaged his right leg where a muscle spasmed.

  He’d lost his shit when he regained consciousness and found out he was locked in a room, but he was lucid enough to know not to cause himself further injury. All he could do was roar and curse. There was an overwhelming urge to hit the wall with his fists, but he had just overcome the tremor in his right hand and, if he reinjured it, he wouldn’t be able to shoot straight.

  Endless hours and days passed. In the beginning, he seethed with impotence. But through the war waging inside him, he finally saw clarity by remembering one of the best moments of his life.

  The Nor’easter dumped two feet of snow in Ithaca, New York, but even mother nature couldn’t stop a determined SEAL. Commercial flights were already grounded, but he got into the city before the worst of the weather hit, hitching a ride with one of his friends who worked for the National Guard. Air travel by Black Hawk was nothing new.

  Holed up in Izabel’s tiny studio apartment, the wide windows set against exposed brick walls served as a front row seat to the winter tempest. The wind howled balefully and the radiator struggled to keep the dwelling warm, but there was no place Drake would rather be.

  Stirring cocoa into a mug of steaming milk, he walked over to the dining table where Izabel was studying for an exam. She was in the final year of her architectural degree. The last thing she needed was distraction from a boyfriend, but Drake couldn’t help himself.

  She needed to be his.

  Izabel glanced up distractedly when he laid down the hot cocoa beside her. Books, notepads, and crumpled paper covered every inch of the surface. She wore her fleece robe over her flannel pajamas, her nose red from the constant sniffles as her body attempted to stay warm.

  “Thanks,” she smiled before burying her nose back into her textbook.

  “That’s the least I can do.” He sat in the chair beside her, grabbed her hand that wasn’t holding a pen and rubbed it between his palms to help circulation. “Since you don’t want me to keep you warm in bed.”

  Izabel’s soft laugh made his chest contract. “I told you not to come up this weekend because I was going to be busy.”

  “Nothing was keeping me away.”

  “I see that.” She put down her pen and surrendered her other hand to his ministrations. “Oh my God, that feels so good,” she groaned as he massaged her hands between his. Her eyes were closed, and Drake wanted to pepper kisses all over her face.

  Staring at her unusual beauty was a habit he never grew tired of, but more than her physical attributes, it was her inner strength and determination that drew him into her orbit. She was a heady combination of fire and sass and a whole lotta sweet.

  Izabel had stolen his heart and he never wanted it back.

  “Iza.” His voice was gruff.

  Her eyes fluttered open—mesmerizing caramel orbs that made words stick in his throat. When a crease formed between her brows, he found his voice and spoke, all words from his prepared speech forgotten.

  “Mother nature ruined my plans,” he led in. “I’d planned to take you out to a romantic dinner.” He glanced outside and grinned ruefully. “That’s not happening anytime soon.”

  Her lips parted and trembled slightly.

  “But I couldn’t wait, Iza.” Not letting go of her hands, he knelt in front of her. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and she held back the sob that rose to her throat when she realized what he was doing. “Every time I’m away from you it’s as if I’m missing a limb. I can’t leave for another mission without worrying someone is going to steal you away from me.” At her confused gasp, he added, “I’m an insecure son of a bitch when it comes to you. Can’t help it, don’t wanna help it, deal with it.”

  At her annoyed huff, he sighed. “Before I mess this up further.” He reached into his pocket and held the ring he’d purchased weeks ago.

  “Marry me.” He watched the tears spill from her eyes and his own heart expanded to the point of exploding. “I’m soul-deep in love with you. I never understood what that meant until you. So marry me, Iza, make me the happiest damned bastard on the planet.”

  That memory was like a faded photograph, but he never forgot how he felt that day she said yes. He knew he would never experience that level of happiness with Izabel again until he hunted down the murderers of Fire Team. He loved her with his entire soul, but the core that held his spirit lay in ruins at his feet like the jagged pieces of rocks that buried his brothers.

  An eerie calm took over and he regained his perspective of what needed to be done.

  Drake didn’t know how much time had passed when the door to his room opened and Viktor walked in. He sat up on the mattress and scowled at the other man. Viktor grabbed the lone chair in the room, flipped it so the back rest was facing Drake before straddling the seat.

  “How are you feeling, Lieutenant?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I apologize for your accommodations.”

  “When are you letting me out?”

  “Are you still planning on leaving the task force?”

  “How’s Izabel?” Drake countered.

  Viktor sighed. “She’s coping as best as she can.”

  “I need more than that.”

  “Your buddy, Tex, and his wife flew out to see her. I assume, Izabel already knows them?”

  Drake gave a brief nod. “How many days have I been in here.”

  “Five.”

  “You can let me out.”

  Viktor scrutinized his countenance and the slight smile on the other man’s face indicated he liked what he saw.

  A stone-cold killer.

  Drake locked eyes with him. “There are terrorists to hunt.”

  Chapter 3

  Three years later

  That night’s op was the most important one of hi
s life.

  Drake Maddox re-assembled his automatic rifle. Cleaning his weapons was a way to focus his mind on a mission. The years had transformed him into Viktor’s lethal shadow operator.

  Task Force Deadly Spear (TFDS) was born when Washington’s bureaucracy and politics all but crippled the special operations community, rendering the CIA ineffective and leaving the United States vulnerable to terrorist attacks. Deadly Spear was not under the DoD or Pentagon umbrella. Viktor Baran handpicked the team and reported directly to the Director of National Intelligence. It was Drake’s understanding that the President himself ordered its formation, but for plausible deniability, nothing led back to the White House.

  Years of TFDS intelligence work yielded a series of small surgical strikes that chipped at the terrorist network responsible for the biggest loss of life on a single day in special operations history.

  Maharib Altanwir was a secretive terrorist organization led by Youssef Hamza—known as the “Warrior” or Maharib. He lost his entire family in Sudan—caught in the crossfire between Boko Haram and operators from Fire Team. Drake remembered that mission. Boko Haram had used civilians as shields. Among them were Hamza’s wife and three daughters.

  Hamza had a tight inner circle. He never did his own dirty work but planted chatter in the ISIS and Al Qaeda networks, manipulating their members into suicide missions through enlightenment propaganda. The day Drake lost his entire team, ISIS fighters blew themselves up. It took a couple of months for TFDS to figure out that other terrorist networks were being manipulated by a single mastermind.

  Youssef Hamza and his Warrior of Enlightenment organization would meet its end that night. Viktor’s analysts hit pay dirt in a Dark Web chat room and uncovered a perfect storm of intel. The location of Youssef’s lair had been confirmed and the raid would commence at zero dark thirty.

  After three years, he could finally return to Izabel.

  Izabel.

  Fuck.

  He shouldn’t have checked social media that morning. Tex had warned him to lay off Facebook. He’d had Tex create an account for him, pretending to be an architect whom Iza had met at a convention. Catfishing was a new low, but it had been his link to her, his way of looking in on her. He didn’t obsess about it and checked on her maybe once or twice a month. He rarely had downtime anyway. Tex maintained his social media updates, making sure that posts and pictures came from a U.S. location.