Page 65 of Reclaiming Izabel

“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.

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