Reclaiming Izabel

Chapter 1

chapter

one

Drake

The smell of antiseptic hit me first. I blinked my eyes open, but everything was so fuzzy, I could only make out the acoustic tiles on the ceiling. My gaze wandered, and an IV line came into view.

Monitors beeped.

A hospital.

The lower half of my body was numb.

I panicked. The dull roar of pain was familiar. I’d been pumped full of painkillers.

My breaths came quick and shallow.

The monitor beat spiked.

I was in a nightmare.

A woman in green scrubs rushed in. She peered into my face before leaning over me.

“Where am I?”

She didn’t answer.

“Where the fuck am I?” I gritted more forcefully.

Then horror rushed in.

The firefight.

Our retreat into the caves.

The blast.

My team incinerated right before my eyes.

No.

Dead. All my men were dead.

A roar.

A bellow of anguish.

Pain in my chest.

A pinprick on my arm.

Oblivion.

When I next came to, a man with close-cropped blond hair was leaning against the wall beside my bed. Tall, muscular, with strong, angular features and ice-blue eyes I would recognize anywhere.

The eyes of a killer.

“Viktor?” I croaked. “What are you doing here? Where am I?”

“Where you are is not important,” he replied.

“Fuck you…” I swallowed, throat parched. “Tell me…fuck…”

Each breath was excruciating.

“Your back’s broken. Your right leg is fractured in three places. Your right hand is a mess. I could go on…hopefully, you’re not half-blind. If so, you’re useless to me.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Start making sense?—”

“If you’d stop interrupting?—”

“My team…”

A flicker of sympathy flashed through Viktor’s face. “Dead.”

“My commander…”

The last thing I remembered was shielding Commander Harrelson when we realized all our attackers wore suicide vests.

“He’s the lone survivor,” Viktor acknowledged. “Both of you were lucky to be caught in an air pocket among the rubble. He’s on his way back to the U.S.” He paused. “Although he’d prefer it if he’d died.”

My eyes narrowed.

“We just received word that his wife and sons were killed in a car accident.”

Foreboding settled in my gut and, even under the influence of painkillers, my brain refused to believe in coincidences.

Viktor’s next words confirmed my fears. “Your team was targeted.”

My wife. “Izabel…does she know I’m here?”

“She’ll be informed of your death.”

No.

“Get out,” I rasped.

“Listen, Lieutenant.”

“Get the fuck out of here!” My chest was caving in as I tried to drag air into my lungs. It fucking hurt.

“The men responsible for your team’s massacre will only leave Izabel alone if you’re dead,” Viktor gritted through his teeth.

“Harrelson’s survival hasn’t been made public yet, but intel is buzzing that Fire Team families are in danger.

Can’t explain. We’re outta time. Delaying the release of the KIA list will put SEAL families in danger. Do you understand, Maddox?”

“Izabel—”

“My people are keeping her safe.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“Listen, Maddox.” Viktor stepped closer to my bed.

“Make a decision. Or let the DoD give you and Izabel new identities. You’ve got months of recovery ahead of you.

You can’t protect her. You can’t shoot for shit.

You’re a liability. Do you think Uncle Sam’s gonna foot the bill and hire you security?

You know that’s bullshit and, if you don’t act now, it’ll be too late. ”

My brain was squeezing out of my skull at the enormity of the decision facing me. I couldn’t be dead to Izabel. It’d kill her. It would kill me.

“I want you on my task force,” Viktor pressed on. “We’ll give you time to heal. The doc said your spine will heal in two months. Full recovery in six. You’ll be back in fighting form, but Drake Maddox needs to be dead for this to happen.”

Rage burned through me, and I cursed my physical helplessness.

“I’m not abandoning my wife!” I gritted through my teeth.

“It’s possible to return to her.” Viktor paused. “We have no idea how long this mission can take. It could be a year; it could be five. Any inkling you’re alive endangers her. Best if she moves on.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

Viktor blew out a breath and the way the man regarded me gave me chills.

“She’s pregnant.”

I didn’t even question how Viktor knew. Joy burst in my heart, but, just as quickly, it shattered into unbearable pain even worse than my broken body.

“You return to her as is, both of you would be on the run, wondering if each day would be your last. Is that the life you want for her and your unborn child?”

“As opposed to making her a widow?” My voice was guttural with the sense of overwhelming loss, but a decision had solidified in my gut. My throat scraped like I’d swallowed a boxful of tacks. “I need people I can trust to watch over her.”

“My agents?—”

“My people, Viktor,” I growled.

“One person,” Viktor relented.

“No.”

“Only one person outside our task force can know you’re alive,” he stated unequivocally. “I’d have to vet him. If he doesn’t pass, there’s no compromise. If you refuse to become a ghost, I’m turning you over to Joint Special Operations Command.”

His warning wasn’t lost on me. The moment I stepped out of the secretive world of Viktor Baran, I’d be exposed, and Izabel could be dead before I reached her.

“Hank,” I muttered, and then more loudly, “Hank Bristow.”

Izabel

I had been crying for two days after reports of a special ops team massacre hit the SEAL community.

And if that news wasn’t terrible enough, Jessica—the wife of Drake’s CO—had been killed in a car accident together with her young boys.

Rumors were rampant that SEAL families were in danger, but they had been squelched by the Navy’s communications director.

I’d come home this morning after sitting vigil all night at one of the wives’ homes where we’d prayed and waited for more information.

I had just walked into the house when I received a text from one of the SEAL wives.

Turn on the TV. XNN.

Switching on the TV, I flipped to the cable news channel.

“Again, details are still sketchy,” the news anchor said. “But a reliable source within the DoD has confirmed that the casualties are indeed from JSOC.”

SEAL Team 6 was a part of JSOC and Drake was the sniper of Fire Team—its most secretive unit.

I hadn’t talked to him since our last video call a week ago. Our conversation had been stilted because Drake couldn’t talk about his mission. He’d slipped into warrior mode, and not the loving husband he was with me when he was stateside. It was the wrong time to tell him I was pregnant.

I glared at the TV, grabbed the remote, and turned it off. If anyone could survive the odds, it was Drake.

I had faith in him.

He was going to walk through that door at any moment.

I entered our bedroom and picked up the pregnancy test. This week had been a rollercoaster. On Tuesday, I’d come home from my doctor deliriously happy that I was six-weeks pregnant and, twenty-four hours after that, I’d come crashing down into every military wife’s nightmare.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven in the morning. I’d just been promoted to senior architect at Stockman and Bose Builders, but I’d have to call in and take another personal day.

I rested a hand on my flat stomach, drawing strength from the life growing inside me.

“Your dad is going to be fine. He’s a superhero.

” The stress was driving me insane and it couldn’t be good for my pregnancy.

My mind desperately sought that time months ago when Drake brought up plans to start a family.

I was sitting beside Drake on the couch, laptop in front of me and absorbed in the modifications to a crucial project.

My husband was watching football, but I could feel his gaze on me.

In the beginning of our relationship, his frank appraisals made me self-conscious.

I would blush to the roots of my hair. Now, it warmed my heart, thinking just how crazy Drake was about me.

It scared me sometimes how much I loved him, but I always felt secure that he would always be careful with my heart.

My mouth twitched. “Game boring you?” My eyes stayed focused on the screen, but my belly fluttered with anticipation. We’d been together six years and just a look from him still made my toes curl.

“I was just thinking,” he said conversationally, but there was something in his voice that made me look at him. “How happy it would make me to have a daughter who looks exactly like you.”

“What are you saying?”

The TV roared with a rousing cheer from the football crowd, but my husband continued to ignore the game.

Instead, he picked up the remote, pointed it at the TV, and switched it off.

Then he scooted closer and sequestered my laptop, setting it on the coffee table.

He did all this without taking his eyes off me.

“SEAL contract is up for renewal,” he told me. “I’m not re-enlisting.”

“But—”

He raised a finger to my lips, effectively silencing me before sweetly tracing its outline with his thumb.

“We’ve talked about starting a family before.

We both agreed when the time is right, I’ll resign from the Navy.

I’m ready.” He took a deep breath. “I hope to God you are. Have my babies, Iza. Give me little girls with their mother’s eyes and glorious hair… ”

“And if we have boys?” My voice was choked with emotion.

His wide grin told me everything I needed to know.

The slamming of car doors jolted me out of the sweet memory. I forced my feet to move and walked out of the bedroom. Through the living room windows, I saw two black SUVs. Time stood frozen as I stared at the door.

“Go away,” I whispered. “Please, dear God, not this.”

The dreaded knock came.

Tears wet my cheeks, and my heart pounded painfully. Still, my body refused to budge.

The doorbell rang, and I came unstuck. Body-shaking tremors tore through me and, before I knew it, I was at the door, throwing it open. Two SEALs in dress blues and two Navymen stood there. I didn’t recognize any of them.

“Mrs. Maddox, I’m sorry to inform you…”

“Nooooo!” Their words echoed in a vacuum as my knees and hit the floor. Hands gently clasped my arms.

Soothing voices tried to reach me, but grief kept me locked in a nightmare.

My rage.

“It’s not him!” I screamed. “You’re wrong. Tell me you’re wrong.”

The SEAL shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not him,” I continued to sob. “Not my Drake.”

I didn’t know how long I cried.

Much later, details of the massacre trickled in.

Fire Team was gone; their lone survivor was Commander Harrelson. Twenty SEALs killed in action—drawn into a trap.

Many more operators from different JSOC units lost their lives that day.

Eight SEAL wives had become widows.

Twenty-one children had lost their fathers.

Including my unborn child.