Page 17 of Reclaiming Izabel

He paused as if wanting to say something, but changed his mind and lowered his head to press a chaste kiss on my lips. “Until Monday then.”

Seconds after I closed the door and stepped into the foyer, the annoying car alarm stopped.

Thank God for that.

chapter

five

Izabel

I wokebefore the sun came up. The relative success of my date with Kyle gave me hope I could finally find happiness again. It might not be with Kyle; it might be with someone else. But this weekend would be about starting over—beginning by getting rid of Drake’s things.

When I’d sold our house, I hadn’t given away his stuff. I couldn’t bring myself to part with pieces of him. His gun safe was in my office. The guns were an extension of Drake. He took utmost care of every single one of them.

Some of Drake’s work tools I’d given to Hank. Others I’d given to Marcus.

Drake’s commander needed help more than I did. I’d tried dragging him to some grief counseling sessions, but it wasn’t only grief that was eating at Marcus. Guilt was involved, too. If only he could talk to someone.

I headed to the attic and stood at the entrance with a feeling like I was about to enter a mausoleum. Sighing, I flicked on the switch, illuminating the room in a ghastly incandescent glow. The smell of stale air, mildew, and old books permeated thespace. Boxes labeledclothes,garage, andlibrarywere stacked on top of each other.

I walked over to the window and stared outside. The first rays of the sun peeked through the horizon. It was a bit late to start my morning run, but I’d wanted to wait for more sunlight. The cold air passing over the warm waters of the James River created foggy mornings. I loved running at this time of the year and I’d better get started, because it was going to be a long day. Taking one long look at the boxes, I hardened my resolve that they would be taken care of later.

Definitely today.

By the time I reached the kitchen, the pot of coffee was ready. I poured myself a cup and checked emails and messages.

Fully caffeinated, I changed into running gear and put on my reflectors. It was a cool forty-nine degrees, but I’d warm up after the first mile. The fog was coming in low and the sun’s golden rays fighting to break through increased my excitement. It was going to be a gorgeous morning with the patches of fog hovering over the wetlands along the trail behind my house. I was looking forward to the serene view of the sunrise on the arch bridge over the James River.

I picked a playlist and started with a brisk jog, waving to my neighbor, who’d just come off the trail. There were several routes around the park, and since I planned to run five miles today, I’d probably do two passes by the river, where the bridge allowed me to cross over the water to make a loop. I reached the bridge and observed the foggy scenery. The park was unusually empty this Saturday morning.

Movement in my peripheral vision made me turn. The contour of a man broke through the swirling fog rising from under the bridge. An achingly familiar form clad in track pants and a hoodie that shadowed the top half of his face. A thick beard hid the rest. I forced myself to look away. My heart edgedup my throat. No, it was because I was thinking about him. For months after Drake was killed, I saw him everywhere. I couldn’t go back to that again. Limbo. Barely existing. Sucked out of joy and wishing I’d died along with him.

My breathing quickened and it had nothing to do with the run. The burning despair in my heart switched to alarm when the man didn’t pass behind me but, instead, stopped a couple of feet away on my right.

He was looking at the sunrise same as I was.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the man’s gravelly voice reached me.

That voice.

But what triggered my fight or flight had nothing to do with Drake, but my survival instinct due to the overwhelmingly lethal vibe exuded by this stranger. Goose bumps raced across the top of my shoulders and crawled up my scalp. I slanted my gaze to him, keeping my face forward while my hand slowly rested on the pepper spray, thankful I always carried it on my runner’s belt. The park was generally safe, but one couldn’t be too sure, and neither was I letting any sicko frighten me into avoiding the one activity that gave me peace.

“Baby, you attack me with that pepper spray, I guarantee we won’t be spending time talking in the pickup.”

I gasped. All thoughts of survival disintegrating as I spun to face the stranger.

The man dragged the hood from his face.

Drake.

He looked a lot like Drake. Broader in shoulders, arms a bit more muscular. I’d seen my husband with a beard, but never one this long. And yet the eyes, the slash of brows, and the slightly crooked nose were unmistakably Drake’s.

“Iza…”

My mouth fell open, but shock prevented any words from forming. Thoughts clashed in my head.

Is this a dream?

---