“That date over the VA Beach cloud … that was four days before we shipped out,” Drake speculated.
Viktor nodded grimly. “Multiple transmissions between Hamza and that number have been confirmed on the days leading to your team’s deployment and we’ve managed to identify who was at the location.”
The look on the Task Force chief twisted a knot of apprehension in Drake’s gut. “You have a name?”
It was more a statement than a question.
Again, Viktor nodded. “Guardians are keeping an eye on him, but we received a ninety-nine percent confirmation from Tim’s app this morning.”
“Do we know where he is?”
“We’re ready to bring him in.”
“Great!” Drake sprang from the chair, a devil of a purpose driving his actions. He crossed his arms, waiting for Viktor to reveal their target. “Let’s smoke the motherfucker.”
“You’re sitting this one out.”
“What the fuck, Baran?” he growled, but the other man’s expression sent his thoughts into a wild trajectory, a path his brain did its best to reject, but the truth was written all over Viktor’s face.
Drake walked to where the task force chief stood, and picked up the display controller from the table and clicked. Anger and betrayal burned a hole in his chest.
“Son of a bitch!”
Chapter 9
It was almost three in the afternoon when the company vehicle pulled in front of the ruins of several dilapidated houses in the Glen Ford neighborhood.
“Stick close to me,” Marcus said when Izabel was about to open her side of the door.
Her bodyguard/driver got out of the vehicle and immediately turned his attention to their surroundings. Tractors, bulldozers, and demolition crews were already on site to begin clearing the area where new single-family homes and an apartment building were going to be erected. The Metro Bank and the Solace Foundation were financing the project. Stockman and Bose had offered their services—manpower and materials at a discounted rate—including the architectural design work for free. Izabel and her team were leading this project.
“I don’t see King,” Marcus said as he slipped on his aviators. Izabel checked her phone to see if she had missed messages from her contact at the Solace Foundation and noted one had just come in.
“He’s going to be thirty minutes late. Traffic on Sixty-Four,” she said.
“Izabel!”
She turned to see Luisa, fast approaching and with excitement in her eyes.
“So it’s really happening?” The taqueria owner eyed the construction crew at the site.
Izabel’s lips spread into a wide smile. Luisa’s glee was infectious and exactly what she needed on this confusing day. “Yes. It’s happening.”
Luisa clutched her chest. “God bless you, child. From now on, you and your man will have tacos for life.”
She meant Drake, but it was Marcus who gave a pained cough, thinking Luisa was referring to him. Heart in throat, Izabel laughed nervously.
“About operating a taco truck in front of your building,” the woman continued. “I appreciate the offer, but with my son off to college, we will be shorthanded. I’m sure me and my familia will be slinging more tacos than we can handle with construction starting.”
“That’s true,” Izabel agreed. Both women discussed the influx of business to the area brought about by the development. After a few minutes, Luisa bade goodbye to their duo and walked back to her taqueria.
“It just occurred to me,” Marcus started casually. “That Mrs. Romero wasn’t referring to me.”
“She wasn’t.” Izabel put her sunglasses on as she nimbly hopped around the debris on the sidewalk.
“Are you seeing someone, Izzy?”
She was saved from answering when a bulldozer dumped shoveled debris into a pile, drowning out every other noise in their surroundings. Izabel made a circling motion with her forefinger meaning to look around. She was anxious to see the spot where they were building the children’s playground, with the added intent for Marcus to drop the question.
He came up behind her as she headed down the length of the deserted stretch of houses and was reminded about Marcus’s concerns. Although most of the current residents gladly moved out of their homes, there were some who were resistant. Metro Bank bought up their existing mortgages and gave them a stipend to rent an apartment while the eighteen-month development was ongoing. It was more than a fair deal given what they would have spent to keep their houses livable. But, as with all negotiations, there were some who weren’t happy moving elsewhere—especially those who used the houses for drug deals.
After working on exclusive subdivisions with perfectly manicured landscaping and state-of-the-art clubhouses, Izabel wanted a development that would give the residents a sense of home. One where the children could play, get dirty, scrape their knees, and run around with the family dog.
Economic growth was imminent in the Newport News area and Izabel wanted the Glen Ford residents to be a part of it. Most of the community came from Latino or Asian backgrounds. Her own mother was a second-generation Colombian immigrant who, upon graduating from high school, worked two jobs so she could afford to go to beauty school. Izabel understood the value of hard work and she also experienced the fear of losing a roof over her head and going to bed hungry.
She was forever grateful to Mr. Stockman for giving her this opportunity to fulfill a childhood idealistic dream, which brought her ambivalence about Drake’s return into focus. Izabel wondered if she would have been so driven in the pursuit of this project if Drake hadn’t “died.” The hours she put into chasing down every sponsor to donate to the Solace Foundation had been her coping mechanism for the loss of her husband and baby.
His return made her feel like a fraud.
“Goddammit.” Marcus’s muttered curse pulled her out of her musings.
“What … ?” her question cut off with the approach of two dangerous-looking men. She’d never seen them before, and they certainly didn’t look like they belonged in Glen Ford.
“Don’t look at them.” Marcus was close behind her. The demolition activity was a distance behind them. The noise it was producing would drown out any calls of help. “Keep walking.”
Heart pounding, Izabel did as she was told, but luck wasn’t with them. They were definitely on the newcomers’ radar.
Marcus slipped in front of her, shielding Izabel, just as the strangers stopped before them.
“Whassup,” Marcus said.
The ginger-haired man’s smile was shark-like. “We need both of you to come with us. Quietly.” Though the man was dressed like a homie, his military bearing gave him away.
Marcus puffed a derisive laugh. “No can do, bro.” He cupped her bicep and backed them away. “Whoever hired you guys to intimidate the developers can go fuck themselves.”
Ginger-Hair lowered his gaze to Marcus’s side where she figured he had his hand on his gun. The man with Ginger-Hair grew alert and moved his hand, likely to reach for his firearm.
Shit.
“There’s no need for that, Marcus,” Ginger-Hair said softly.
Her friend froze.
“Who the fuck are you guys?” Marcus growled.
Ginger-Hair shrugged. “If you come with us, we can tell you. I can’t believe you’d put Drake’s wife in danger.”
Anger replaced her fear and confusion about how she felt about the whole situation and fueled her bravado. “Tell my husband he can go fuck himself. Marcus and I have a job to do.”
She spun on her heel and marched off expecting the men to respect her wishes. She couldn’t believe how Drake intended to tell Marcus he was alive, scaring them like this. What if Marcus reacted and someone got hurt?
A scuffle erupted behind her and she turned in time to see Marcus taken down by Ginger-Hair and his friend.
“What are you guys doing?” she shrieked.
A hand clamped over her mouth and she was yanked against a hard c
hest.
Marcus’ eyes widened at the man behind her before Ginger-Hair stuck a needle in his neck.
“Sorry it has to be this way, Iza,” Drake’s voice murmured in her ear before she was half-lifted, half-dragged in between two houses and bundled into a waiting van. Drake got in beside her. Ginger-Hair and his partner carried Marcus. A couple of Glen Ford residents watched the scene unfold, but, just like they were taught to do to survive in the rough neighborhood, they turned away.
Marcus was dumped in the back of the van and his head hit the side of the vehicle.
“Be careful!” She yelled then spun on Drake. “Why are you doing this? Why are you treating Marcus like this? Hasn’t he been through enough?”
Drake’s eyes were cold. “He has a lot to answer for, Iza.”
“What are you talking about?”
His jaw tightened. “Can’t tell you yet.”
A mocking huff escaped her lips. “Figures.”
“But I will.”
“When? Will that be your story after another three years of pretending you’re dead?”
The van pulled away from the curb and motored off to the back streets away from the development.
“Enough!” Drake growled. “If you can’t forgive me for what I’ve done, there’s nothing else I can do.”
A feeling akin to fear and panic gripped her heart. “What do you mean?”
Drake sighed. “If you can’t trust me again, then maybe it’s best if we separate for a while instead of tearing each other apart like this.”
Oh! He was giving up? Didn’t she have the right to come to terms with the fact she’d been lied to and made to suffer for three years? Tears burned the back of her eyes. A stricken look replaced the anger on Drake’s face. “Iza …”
“Maybe it is for the best.” Her chin tipped up mulishly. “Better yet, don’t change your name back to Drake Maddox and we won’t have to separate or divorce or anything. Let the dead stay buried.”
She turned in her seat and looked out the window. The awkward silence in the van made her aware that in her anger, she’d forgotten they had an audience. Drake remained quiet beside her except for the rustle of his clothes as he moved.
Her phone vibrated. She slid it out from her purse to see a text from Mr. King who wondered where she was. She gripped her phone, undecided on how to reply. Her inability to do so only frayed her already high-strung nerves.
Drake and his secrets were ruining the life she’d been building without him.
Iza was fuming beside him.
Drake was pissed at himself for not having more patience with his wife, but Marcus’s betrayal hit him hard. And now words were spoken between them that could never be unsaid.
Let the dead stay buried.
Five words. Five words that hollowed his chest, tore at his heart, and shredded his soul. Maybe Viktor was right and they needed a mediator because he sure as hell was digging himself into a deeper hole and he had no clue how to reach her.
“I had a very important meeting with the foundation manager,” Izabel spoke tightly. She was not looking at him, but out the window. “You and your friends better have a good excuse to give my office.”
“We’ll have Tim leave an anonymous tip that you and Harrelson were abducted,” Ginger-Hair said. “Your company vehicle is still at the site. I’m Brick, by the way. And dude in the driver’s seat is Edmunds.”
Izabel was shaking her head. “This was Marcus’s last chance to prove himself.” Sadness tinged her voice and Drake wanted to grab her and roar at her that his commander was a traitor who never deserved to live. “You’ve ruined that for him too. Has he not suffered enough?”
Not even close. Drake thought.
“There’s a good reason we took Harrelson,” Brick said.
“Two people saw you guys put Marcus in the car.”
“We’re taking care of that,” Edmunds piped in for the first time.
“What does that mean?” Izabel asked incredulously.
Viktor had someone pay them off. But no one was volunteering to enlighten her.
Izabel’s phone kept on pinging with text messages.
“Better turn that off, sweet cheeks,” Brick said.
“Don’t call her that,” Drake growled.
His friend chuckled. “Sorry, chief.”
“Where are you taking us?” she asked as their vehicle entered the interstate.
Edmunds eyes met his from the driver’s seat.
“Got it,” Drake muttered, hating to have to do this part because it was gonna be another reason for her to hate him.
She finally turned to face him. “Got what?”
“I have to do this, Iza.” Her beautiful eyes widened in surprise before he threw the hood over her.
Chapter 10
Drake carried his unconscious wife into Castle Rock’s basement. Hooding Izabel had been the last straw for her; he didn’t recognize the screeching banshee she became. Curses he’d never heard before burst from behind the black fabric. He had no choice but to sedate her.
Izabel possessed her mother’s fiery temper. Although Drake had seen it on more than one occasion, both of them treasured their time together when he was home from deployment and drama was kept to a minimum.
He’d also noticed other changes in Izabel. There was a hardness about her and Drake couldn’t make up his mind if it was a good or a bad thing.
All he knew was he’d done this to her.
Tim glanced up from his computer and winced. “We’ve got a cot behind those dividers.”
“Thanks,” he muttered and prowled to the area where the analyst had pointed.
“Where’s Harrelson?”
“They’re prepping him upstairs for interrogation.” He lowered Izabel carefully to the bed, making sure she was in a comfortable position. He crouched beside her, already having removed the hood, and took in her peaceful face. He was the early riser between them and his favorite thing to do in the morning besides sex was watch her sleep. His heart ached to have that back and his hand automatically reached out to stroke her forehead gently. “I’m sorry, Iza.”
He stayed with her for a few more minutes until the unwelcome buzz of his pager let him know that they needed him at the interrogation room. He hated leaving her in this strange place, but she was secure here. How he wished Tex had not moved to Pennsylvania so she’d have someone familiar around when she woke up. However, he hoped that, even when her trust in their marriage was gone, she still trusted him to keep her safe.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Tim offered.
Drake glanced at the bespectacled analyst who looked more like a Clark Kent than the typical SF operator. It was probably best his wife didn’t wake up to one of his rough-looking teammates. Three years chasing terrorists across the Middle East, Europe, and Africa had left an indelible mark on all their faces. It wasn’t just the beard or the longish hair, it was just an overall stamp—almost visceral, yet the sharp edges were there … a feral glint in a hunter’s eye.
“Thanks.” Pushing up from his crouch, he headed to the elevator and took the car to the first floor. He exited the elevator room and crossed the hallway to the room diagonally across from it. It was the only other area in the building that Viktor had extensively renovated. He entered the darkened space, lit by a lone light bulb strung out from the ceiling. The windowless room was reinforced with soundproofed gray walls. The ceramic tile floor had a drainage at the corner, above which a hose was attached. No question, it could get bloody in here.
At that moment, Marcus Harrelson sat in a chair in front of a simple desk. His wet hair indicated he had a rude awakening. Brick stood in front of him while Edmunds was busy prepping the sensory dissonance equipment. A tall form stood in the shadows.
Marcus’s eyes tracked his arrival.
“Drake …? You’re alive?” he asked hoarsely. “Where’s Izabel?”
Fury scalded his insides. “Don’t ever mention her name, you motherfucker.”
Drake glanced at Brick who lifted his chin, giving him charge of the questioning.
“I survived the massacre but Izabel was in danger and I couldn’t return.”
“Dianne … the kids …” Marcus’s face crumpled. “It was because of Fire Team, wasn’t it? It wasn’t an accident.”
Though he believed Marcus wouldn’t put his family in danger, it didn’t excuse his betrayal. “You should have known better than to make deals with the devil!”
Harrelson struggled in his chair. “Would someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“Days before Fire Team shipped out, where were you?”
“I … I was in a hotel.”
“Dianne kicked you out.”
“We’d been separated for months,” Marcus gritted. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“There were calls between Hamza and a number in Virginia Beach. Cell phone cloud algorithms indicated an intersection over the Marquis Hotel.”
“What are you … are you saying I betrayed my own men?”
“How do you explain the cell phone records?”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” Drake growled. “Tell me, Harrelson, what did Hamza offer you?”
“I’m telling you, Maddox! Your intel is wrong. What would I gain? I’ve washed out of rehab twice. Losing Fire Team, my family … does any of this make sense?”
“Guilt, Harrelson. Guilt that your treachery killed your wife and kids.”
“And yet, I would have died if you didn’t shield me.”
That was what bugged Drake about this whole thing. Marcus would have died too.
“Get me out of these restraints.” Spittle flew and Marcus’s face mottled with fury as he shook in his chair again.
“The VP’s chief-of-staff … how well do you know her?” Viktor asked as he walked out from the shadows.
Reclaiming Izabel (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) Page 8