Reclaiming Izabel (Special Forces: Operation Alpha)

by Victoria Paige

  Pissed. Off.

  How did one go on after surviving the stages of grief, only to find out it was all for nothing?

  When she arrived at the office, Cindy was already at her desk. “So,” Cindy gushed as she came around the table. “How did it go?” The sly smile on the twenty-eight-year-old blonde confused Izabel until she remembered her date with Kyle on Friday. That felt like ages ago after everything that happened over the weekend.

  If there was one person who was a strong proponent of Izabel getting back in the saddle, it was Cindy. It was through her friend’s clever machinations that Izabel ended up going to the Solace gala with Kyle, which in some way paved the way for him to ask her out.

  At Izabel’s pained smile, Cindy frowned. “What happened? Was he a jerk? I will punch him in the nuts if he didn’t treat you right.”

  “Slow down, slow down.” She had to laugh at the outraged expression on her friend’s face. Clearly her loyalty was to Izabel. “Kyle was the perfect date.”

  “Then what?” she squinted. “No chemistry?”

  “Uh…”

  “Bad kisser?”

  Izabel gave up and walked into her office.

  “Bad in bed?”

  “Cindy!” Izabel exclaimed in a half-shocked, half-amused tone.

  Her friend chuckled. “You’re so fun to mess with. Seriously though, you need to get some action.”

  She grimaced. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen any time soon.” Especially after Drake pussy-blocked her on Friday. Not that she was ready to sleep with Kyle. She was a widow … was being the operative word.

  What a mess.

  Cindy sat in the chair in front of her desk, all levity gone from her adorably freckled face. Her blue eyes searched Izabel’s countenance. “Okay, Maddox. Out with it.”

  “I can’t talk about it,” Izabel hedged.

  “This isn’t about Drake, is it?” Cindy’s voice was so gentle, it made Izabel cringe. “He’s been gone for three years. He would want you to find happiness again.”

  Izabel burst into hysterical laughter, startling her friend but she couldn’t stop even when it sounded more like a cackle of bitterness than amusement.

  Cindy grew alarmed. “Izabel, if you don’t say anything—”

  She pressed an arm to her stomach because it hurt to laugh and held up a finger to signal Cindy to give her a moment.

  “I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath and tried not to think that her “dead” husband was not really dead. “I’d love to talk about it, but not right now.”

  Cindy crossed her arms over her chest. “Something happened between Friday and now. I wished I checked on you over the weekend, but I didn’t want to interrupt … just in case.” She resumed her teasing and waggled her brows.

  A short laugh that was completely genuine this time escaped Izabel’s lips. “Okay, Lake, we’ve got a busy day ahead.”

  Cindy rose from the chair and clucked her tongue. “You’ve got a busy day with site visits. I’m stuck in the office all day while you get to spend time with hunky Harrelson. Hey, do you think he and I …?”

  Izabel cleared her throat as she looked over Cindy’s shoulder at the tall, sandy-haired man who appeared at the door.

  Cindy froze, face paling. “He’s standing behind me, isn’t he?”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Marcus drawled. Drake’s former commander still had an imposing look about him, but tragedy had taken its toll, evident in the brackets around his mouth and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  And now Izabel was having a hard time meeting his gaze, much less imagining spending an entire day with him.

  Flustered, she shuffled papers on her table. “I don’t think I need your escort today, Marcus.”

  The dead silence in the room forced her to look up. She ignored Cindy’s penetrating stare and held Marcus’s flinty regard.

  “Something going on, Izzy?” Marcus asked, tone level.

  She shrugged. “No. Why do you say that?” Her tone went high-pitched with her last two words, so much so that she couldn’t help wincing.

  “She’s been acting strangely this morning,” Cindy announced, crossing her arms again.

  “Uh-huh, I can see that.” Marcus mimicked her friend’s movement.

  “I’m right here, people,” Izabel muttered, sitting in her chair and spinning around to give them her back as she woke up her computer to go through her emails. “The Solace Foundation site visit in Glen Ford is in the middle of the afternoon, and I’ve made enough friends in the community to be comfortable among them.”

  Marcus grunted his displeasure. “I gave you my report on them last week.”

  “And I appreciate it, but I can’t be walking around their neighborhood with an armed escort beside me.”

  “Tell me the reason again?” Marcus challenged. “Because we’ve played it so I’m your driver and not your bodyguard. So why is it suddenly a problem?”

  Izabel swiveled in her seat to face him. “I can’t be a hypocrite. I fought so hard for this project. We gained enough sponsors because I believed in the industriousness of the immigrant population. Given the same chance and the same support as everyone else, they can realize their American dreams. If I show up with a bodyguard every time, it’s like I don’t trust them to live a life other than being a criminal.”

  His face softened. “I get you now, but as part of this company’s security team, let me be the judge. All right?”

  Izabel was about to protest when Marcus held up his hand. “Can’t mess up, Izzy. I’m on probation right now and the evaluation of the Solace site is ongoing. We can’t let idealism trump operational procedure especially after Bose got attacked by one of his foremen.”

  Well, Mr. Bose could be an asshole as she remembered the lone dissenter in the boardroom when she proposed the Solace project. It was good thing the other owner, Mr. Stockman, threw his support behind Izabel.

  “Whew, so that’s settled, right?” Cindy asked. “Marcus’s going with you?”

  Izabel sighed. “Guess so.”

  Her driver/bodyguard glanced at his phone. “We’ve got Little Creek at ten, Newport News at one, and Glen Ford at three. Sound good?”

  “Sounds about right,” Izabel leaned back against her chair. “Thanks, Marcus.”

  He tipped his chin at them, pivoted on his heel, and strode out the door.

  Cindy bit her bottom lip. “Now that’s a gorgeous ass.”

  “Stop drooling.”

  “Hey, I know he’s not interested, okay? I just want to take care of him.”

  “He’s a forty-four-year-old man. And how old are you?”

  Her assistant scowled at her. “You know what I mean and don’t tell me you were never worried about him.”

  “He’s been sober for six months. I’m very hopeful this time.” Izabel knew Cindy was more concerned for Marcus as a friend, just as most in the company were rallying around him. It sucked to be the poster boy for a tragic past and Izabel wished Marcus was blessed with anonymity. But his story was too big and an overzealous reporter managed to expose Drake’s commander, compromising his identity as a SEAL. But Marcus was too broken to even be considered for active duty. Izabel was surprised he hadn’t eaten his gun. She was apprehensive of how he’d react once he found out that Drake was alive and confirmed that his family was indeed targeted.

  A knock on the open door drew their eyes. Kyle stood there looking clean-cut and handsome in his expensive suit. He’d been brought on as a senior manager for their commercial development department and had all the interns swooning at his feet with his golden-boy good looks.

  The little spark that she’d felt for him last Friday had fizzled with the return of the dangerously sexy version of her husband. A stubborn part of her wanted to be mad at herself, but a larger part of her was relieved.

  Damn the CIA or whatever agency had gotten her into this frigging mess.

  “Am I interrupting something?” Kyle asked uncertainly. Concern
drew his brows together.

  Cindy winced. “Uh, I’m out of here.”

  Izabel shot her a “Some friend you are” look. She hadn’t prepared her break-up speech. Wait, was there even something to break up? They’d been on one date.

  As if reading her mind, Kyle’s shoulders drooped and disappointment washed over his features. “You’re backing out on our date Wednesday.”

  “Something’s come up.”

  Kyle gave a tight nod. “Tell me honestly. Did I come on too strong?”

  “Friday night was perfect,” Izabel said huskily. “I can’t explain right now, but it’s nothing you did.”

  He was quiet for a while, looking at a spot on the carpet, as if contemplating his words carefully, then he raised his gaze. “Did I imagine our connection at dinner?”

  Izabel shook her head. “No, you didn’t.”

  Another tight nod followed a long exhale. “I think I know why, but I’m not going to push you on it. You’ll have to open up your heart in your own time, Izabel. I’m willing to wait.”

  He turned and walked to the door, but paused right by the frame, giving her a backward stare. “Your husband would want you to be happy. Think of that, Izzy. In the meantime, I can be patient.” He smiled, his face brightening with determination. “You’re worth it.”

  When he left, Izabel buried her face in her hands. Aggravation stretched her already high-strung nerves. It was as if the universe was laughing at her and she’d been tossed into a farcical drama.

  Chapter 8

  Drake parked his Escalade along the sidewalk of a small stretch of commercial buildings. He exited the vehicle and walked up to a nondescript gray building a few blocks from where he’d parked. From the outside it looked abandoned and a big sign on several entrances stated that the building was condemned by the Hampton City engineer’s office.

  He knew otherwise because he’d been there the night before. A rust-colored iron door sealed the back exit and a metal mailbox was mounted on the wall at around chest level. The contraption was not used for mail.

  Drake inserted a security card through the fake slot. Rotors whirred and a shield slid down to expose a one-inch by six-inch display with a keypad beneath it. He entered a nine-digit code and bent down for a retinal scan. The shield slid closed and the door emitted moving tumblers and gear sounds before its tight seal slackened. His security card ejected from the slot. The mechanism would have destroyed his access card if the retinal scan and code hadn’t matched up.

  He pushed down on a lever and pulled open the door. The motion sensors turned on the lights, illuminating a drab hallway. The interior was old, but spotless. Vinyl tiles covered the floors and fluorescent fixtures hanging from equally clinical ceiling tiles gave the illusion of an underground operation. Camera spheres were mounted at every corner. The blinking red LED attached to its base signaled it was recording his arrival.

  Drake headed down the hallway, his footsteps a conspicuous echo in the silence. He turned and entered the last room. A collapsible table and several folding chairs littered an otherwise empty space. He walked to the big cabinet near the wall. Except it wasn’t a cabinet. Hidden buttons along a side panel activated rollers to move the fixture enough for a man of Drake’s size to move into a space in the wall and enter the car of a hidden elevator.

  He dragged the scissor gates closed, activating the lights along the edges of the interior. Flipping open an access panel, he entered a code and the floor below him moved as the elevator descended below ground.

  The basement had been a bomb shelter in the sixties. Unlike the rest of the building, it was completely renovated and tricked out with the latest technology including a holographic map and glass projector screen at the center of the room. A stack of servers sat at the corner with a direct link to the CIA, NSA, and other federal databases. WiFi connection was highly encrypted.

  Castle Rock—their task force’s base.

  Tim was in one corner, processing data. Edmunds and Brick were sitting around a conference table. Viktor stood at the head of the table, pouring over some documents and, without looking at Drake, said, “Glad you could join us, Maddox.”

  Fuck you, Viktor. He didn’t regret being half an hour late. Drake discovered something in Izabel’s office at home that had gutted him. The temptation to blow off this meeting and confront Izabel at once was strong, but he reminded himself that the sooner they closed the loop on the Task Force’s mission, the sooner he could return to his life with her. His chest spasmed at the idea that he could be too late, that his wife had truly moved on.

  He nodded to the other two men in the room, who returned his greeting with chin lifts. The shit-eating grin on Brick’s face told him he was enjoying whatever anti-bromance he was having with their leader. Finally, the man in question glanced up, studying Drake’s face. The slight narrowing of his ice blue eyes felt like a blade scraping over Drake’s skin.

  “You okay, Maddox?”

  Drake gave one shake of his head. “Feeling a bit raw.”

  “Something happen with Izabel?”

  He clenched his jaw and shook his head, hating the drilling stare from the other man. “No. Can we get this meeting started? Got shit to do.”

  “Oh, definitely…” Viktor replied. He looked at Edmunds and Brick. “Give us five minutes.”

  A look of surprise came from the other two men when Viktor walked up to Drake and tipped his chin to follow him to the back of the room. Blowing out a breath, he trudged after the man. Whatever Viktor had to say couldn’t bring him down any lower. Maybe he’d kick him off the team, although the look on the man’s face was far from irritated. Drake would say it was almost … pitying.

  Which was worse.

  When they reached the far corner, Viktor turned to face him. The other man was an inch taller to his six-three, so they were more or less eye-to-eye.

  “Kept you guys waiting … sorry.” Drake grimaced. “I needed time to sort myself out.”

  “Can you do your job?”

  “What exactly is my job?” Drake derided. “What the hell am I working for if I’ve lost everything I want to live for?”

  “Groveling not working, I take it?”

  “Fuck you,” Drake growled. “Cut this shit and get to the point.”

  “We will, but we need to sort your ass out.”

  “Got a headshrinker for that.”

  “Maybe Izabel needs to see Carter, too?”

  Dr. Gina Carter was a good friend of Viktor’s and a retired agency shrink. Somehow Baran had convinced the doctor to fly over to Germany during Drake’s recovery from his back surgery. Viktor didn’t believe in wasting time and wanted him to work on his mental, as well as physical, recovery. Basically, ensuring Drake didn’t break down and return to Izabel before the mission was complete.

  “What? Like couple’s counseling?”

  “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

  “Doc G would do that?”

  “She’s retired,” Viktor said dryly. “Gina has nothing else to do but play golf.”

  “Izabel’s having second thoughts about staying married to me.” Bile rose up his throat as he looked away from the older man and brushed the cold sweat from his upper lip.

  “Give her time to adjust to you.”

  “How long?” Drake fidgeted in his stance. Thinking about staying away from Izabel was making it hard to keep the panic from crawling out of his skin.

  “Jesus, Maddox, I don’t fucking know.”

  “Not giving her space.” Especially with that damned architect sniffing at her heels.

  “Somehow, I’m not surprised,” the other man drawled. “Underneath your perceived betrayal, she’ll realize that you made the best and most logical decision for the both of you.”

  Drake emitted a bitter laugh. “She’s also come to her senses that I’m a bad bet.”

  “Stop whining.”

  “Fuck you,” Drake growled.

  A few seconds of testosterone charged ai
r hung between them.

  Until Viktor’s brow shot up. “You good?”

  “Yeah ...” Surprisingly, using his boss as a sounding board to release his frustration was very helpful.

  “Good. Because I ain’t talking about feelings.” Viktor moved past him to walk back to their conference table.

  “You started it,” Drake muttered.

  A soft chuckle escaped Viktor’s lips. “Just wanted you to know that Carter is available to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Out of their Task Force, only Edmunds and Brick returned to the East Coast with Drake. The rest of them disbanded to retire or pursue other things. Though most of their team were handpicked because of their skill set, each one had a personal stake whether to avenge their fallen brothers or to end Youssef Hamza. At this stage, they were more dependent on spy craft to determine the leak of operational information that compromised the JSOC mission. Their deaths had marked Drake’s soul and bringing all the men responsible to justice was the only way the scar wouldn’t blister and bleed.

  Viktor grabbed the glass display controller and clicked several times to show a list of numbers and several overlapping circles which Drake interpreted as cell phone triangulation.

  “We recovered a list of cell phone numbers from Hamza’s files,” Viktor said. “Most of them are burners and scattered around Africa, Europe, and the Middle East, but we’ve shutdown most of those cells over the past three years.” He clicked and changed the screen to what looked like a map of the eastern seaboard centering on Virginia. “With the list of numbers from Hamza’s files we were able to isolate these cell phone clouds. Tim’s algorithm along with archived data from the NSA managed to plot two clouds over DC and Virginia Beach at around the timeframe of the joint Fire Team and Delta Force mission.”

  “Are you saying we had a blatant breach of operational security?” Brick asked incredulously.

  “Yes.” Viktor clipped, magnifying the cell phone clouds. “The one over DC was active two hours before that mission. Someone was feeding Hamza real-time information.”

  Curses erupted between Brick and Edmunds, but Drake’s attention was riveted on a particular spot on the display.