Chapter 16
chapter
sixteen
Izabel
“Drake’s here.”
Cindy’s voice came over the intercom just as he strode into my office.
It had been over a week since I returned to work.
So far, despite the intrusiveness of the press and the Solace project in full throttle, we managed to spend quality time together working on our marriage.
We had our joint session with Gina the night before and, today, Drake was taking me out for lunch… just because.
“Ready?”
“Give me one sec.” I reviewed the email to the Solace Foundation chairperson and when I determined it looked okay, clicked send.
I pushed back my rolling chair and got up. Tossing my glasses on the table, I smiled at my husband.
“You look a bit frazzled,” Drake murmured after giving me a lingering kiss.
“Tired,” I quipped. “Someone kept me awake all night.”
His hand settled possessively at the small of my back. “Can’t get enough of you, baby.”
Drake admitted to Doc G that since his return, he had trouble keeping away from me, which explained our frequent lunch dates. One day, he even showed up at my Solace project site and Marcus had to warn him about interfering in our work.
But I felt the same. The hours away from Drake were difficult. If it weren’t for my responsibility for this new development, I’d be all for an idyllic getaway, a place where it’d be just the two of us, reconnecting and making up for lost time. It’d be one hell of a long vacation.
Cindy wasn’t at her desk when we exited my office.
“The press seems to have thinned out.” There was no reporter in sight when we left the building.
Drake clasped my hand and we walked side-by-side on the sidewalk.
Bittersweet memories stabbed my mind. Of the times I’d seen sweet couples walking down the street like this and thinking I wouldn’t ever get to do that with my husband again.
Because it was missing those small and seemingly mundane moments that hurt the most when you lose them.
Like waking up to an empty side of the bed.
Falling asleep while watching TV and waking up still on the couch when Drake would have always carried me to bed.
The pile of laundry cut in half because it was missing his dirty clothes.
It took me a year before I was able to put his clothes in a box.
It was only because I had a panic attack and my therapist traced it to my unhealthy habit of sniffing Drake’s clothes and realizing his scent was fading.
The universe might have played a cruel joke on us, but it gave us a second chance.
“They’re always after the next new story.” Drake’s glib answer yanked me back from my bittersweet memories.
“Admit it, pal. You glared down at another reporter or threatened them with bodily harm.”
“Me?” Drake chuckled. “Now, where did you get that idea?”
“I was there, remember? That ‘I know six ways to kill you and make it look like an accident’ threat to that XNN reporter?”
“He bumped into you on purpose,” Drake growled.
I reminded myself to pick my battles with him.
Drake would be forever overprotective. It was embedded in his DNA.
The interest of the general press was fading, though there were investigative journalists who continued to hound us.
It also helped that the whereabouts of Drake for the past three years were deemed classified and that, in itself, discouraged most reporters.
I’d become so attuned to the change in my husband’s moods that I could tell when charged air emanated from him, and it didn’t take two guesses as to why he tensed up.
Kyle stood motionless by the corner of the building, staring at us with a cold, impassive face. An expression I’d never seen on him before.
It gave me chills.
Two nights later, I had to work late. One of our clients wanted to move the location of their kitchen cabinets and we had to rework the house plans to accommodate the request. Because the client was paying good money to have this done on time and one of my architects on the team was out sick, I took on the changes myself.
I’d been so engrossed in my work, I forgot the time and next I checked my phone, it was eight in the evening. Cindy had left two hours earlier. The same time I shot off a text to Drake informing him of my late night.
Picking up my phone, I typed a message:
Almost done. You can pick me up soon.
Instantly, bubbles appeared on my screen.
Drake
There in 20.
Drake was brief in text and wasn’t one for cute emojis, either.
When I entered the drafting room, the printer had finished inking my changes. I rolled up the plans and stuffed them into a circular tube. On my way to the shipping department, I ran into Gordy, who was my personal bodyguard assigned by Marcus.
“I’m going to the shipping department.” The section was in the basement and closed at midnight. It would be good to have the plans on their courier’s schedule so the contractor and cabinet maker would have their hands on them before noon the next day.
“I’ll go with you, ma’am.”
It felt weird being followed around a building I’d deemed safe, but it was the only way Drake would agree to leave my side.
“Drake is picking me up.” He sent a recent text that he was stuck in traffic. That meant I could drop off the plans, return for my purse, and maybe spend the extra time to do something productive. Sighing, I slipped my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
The elevator doors dinged and opened. Three men in maintenance coveralls stood there. Their eyes zeroed in on me as if in recognition. My muscles locked and my heart jackknifed to my throat. Gordy tensed and was already reaching behind him.
Everything happened quickly.
The man carrying the large toolkit swung and struck Gordy on the chin before he could unholster his gun.
I screamed.
He reached for me, but I smashed the hard edge of the shipping tube on his face and heard a crunch.
“Run!” Gordy shouted as he recovered and tried to stop the attackers from going after me, but they were too close. Rough arms caught me around the waist, lifting me, but I fought like a wildcat, reaching behind me, grabbing and twisting what I could—ears, hair, skin.
“Dammit! Stun her,” a voice roared.
The man I hit with the shipping tube came at me with a stunner, but I wasn’t going to make it easy. Drake taught me self-defense skills long ago. I pushed back against the guy holding me, raised both feet and kicked Shipping Tube man, sending him flying.
Suddenly, I was free. Pain exploded on the side of my face, and I saw stars.
“Coop, goddammit, boss said not to hurt her.”
“Too late,” Coop snarled. I was thrown over someone’s shoulder. I wasn’t sure which part hurt more, my face or my ribs. Gordy was on the floor, groaning with blood pouring from his side.
He was shot. I didn’t even hear gunfire.
In my daze, I clawed at Coop’s back, still trying to fight back. Lightning fried me with unbearable pain until my vision dimmed.