Page 15 of Reclaiming Izabel

“Kyle?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

The endearment made me pause, but I decided to roll with it. “I see a friend at the bar. Do you mind if I say hello?”

“Not at all,” Kyle replied as his gaze automatically pulled to the bar. “Go ahead.”

I pushed back from my chair and got up. I approached the man at the bar steadily and with purpose.

Hank was facing the dining room and shot me his shit-eating grin.

“What are you doing here?”

“No hello?” Hank came forward and gave me a hug. He’d been a buddy of Drake’s and flew in to be with me after that heartbreaking day. “I’m visiting my SEAL buddies.”

“And yet you’re at a French bistro hanging out alone?”

Hank blew out a breath. “I worry about you, sweetheart.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m a thirty-five-year-old woman and you’re treating me like I’m on my first date with a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Hank looked past my shoulder at Kyle. “He looks like a good guy.”

I glanced at my date who was watching us curiously. “Kyleisa good guy.” I leaned in closer. “And don’t you dare run a whole background check on him.”

As far as I knew, Hank Bristow worked in intelligence. I wasn’t exactly sure, but he seemed to know things and showed up when I needed him. I didn’t even question how he did it. Drake had been tight-lipped about what his friend did, but I could only surmise that it was a black ops team.

When he didn’t reply, I narrowed my eyes. “You already did.”

He shrugged.

“I’m trying to move on,” I whispered.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Hank muttered and put an arm around me. “I really was in town to meet up with the guys, but I thought I’d check up on you.” He gave me a squeeze. “Go back and enjoy your evening with Romeo.”

I gave a small snort of laughter. Hank had a way of making an awkward moment turn around.

“We need to catch up,” I told him.

“I’d love to, but I’m on a tight schedule.”

“Bummer,” I mumbled.

After giving him another hug, I made my way back to the table.

“Friend of your husband?” Kyle asked when I sat down.

“Sort of,” I evaded. After what had happened to Drake’s team, I’d been thinking twice about pointing out a SEAL. In his drunken ramblings, Marcus Harrelson insisted that there was a cover-up in his wife and kids’ deaths. Rumors abounded that it was a hit by the same terrorist who masterminded the massacre of Fire Team. But because the Navy refused to spend money on protecting the remaining SEAL widows, they didn’t investigate further. No sense discovering a problem they didn’t plan to fix.

Our server returned with dessert. I had ordered a lavender crème brûlée while Kyle ordered a chocolate ganache layered bar.

“That looks scrumptious,” I remarked at the multilayered chocolate extravaganza.

Kyle chuckled. “Do I detect regret in your tone?”

I cracked the sugary shell of the custard and scooped a creamy spoonful into my mouth. “Hmm…this is good, but I bet yours is better.”

His eyes twinkled. “Do you want to exchange?”

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