See How She Runs

See How She Runs, Book One: The Chronicals Of
Izzy

Published by Michelle Graves

Copyright © 2013 by Michelle Graves

All rights reserved

Cover Art:
Syd Gill/Syd Gill Designs

Cover Photo: Hot Damn Designs

Edited by: Neeley Bratcher
Editing

All rights reserved. Without
limiting the rights under copyright reserved above,  no part
of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise)
without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and
the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners
of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have
been used without permission. The publication/use of these
trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the
trademark owners.

Published in the United
States of America

This book is available in
ebook format.

**********

Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible
without the help of some very dear friends. Regina and Wendy, the
two of you listened to me endlessly ramble about make believe
people for months. You were there to help me when I got stuck and
made me believe that I could finish this. The two of you were able
to look past all of the typos and see the real story. I will never
be able to thank you enough. Without the two of you, this never
would have been completed. I love your faces.

I want to thank my parents who always
encouraged me to be myself, even if that self was a completely
weirdo. To my daughter, who always helps me see the bright side of
things, I hope you never lose your optimism. To my husband, my life
would not be the beautiful journey it is without you. You sir, are
the very best thing that ever happened to me.

I want to thank two of the
most amazing teachers a person could have ever have. Melanie Hazen
and Maria Uffelman, the two of you taught me the love of
literature. Because of that, I am forever indebted. Oh and to Ms.
Uff,
your don’t use ‘you’ speech has stuck
with me all of these years
.

To Belinda Boring and Lacey Weatherford,
thank you for helping me when I felt like I was drowning. The
endless messages will slow down eventually, I promise.

To Ali, my friend from down under, your
enthusiasm and love of Kennan and Izzy drive me to be a better
writer. To Charissa, Dianne, and Susan thank you for supporting me
even in the early days. Without having read a sample of my writing
the three of you believed in me. Your faith in me is humbling. To
Betsy, you are the best kind of fairy godmother!

And thank you, readers, whoever you might be
for taking a chance on me. I hope you enjoy the story and love
these characters as much as I do. Their journey is just beginning
and I can’t wait to see where it will take them.

**********

ONE

I dreaded this time of year. The onslaught
of memories, painful enough to choke out any happiness, always
seemed to pull me out of my typically cheerful normalcy. Seventeen
years ago, before my life completely changed, I loved the season.
Back then I was a kid living in LA. No, I don’t mean the one in
California. I am talking Lower Alabama, where I lived in a no name
town best known for its peanut and cotton crops. This was all
before both of my parents died in a car crash. Back before I was
shipped to what I considered Siberia. Back before my Grams died.
Now this time of year just brought back all of those memories of
the things I have lost.

“Izzy, get your head outta your ass and out
the door!” yelled Mike, pulling me out of my reverie.

“Where am I going this time, Mike? Let me
guess, the Loop, right?" I asked him barely waiting for the
answer.

“Back to the Loop, Iz! Don’t complain about
the meandering tourists either. You know damn well as I do that
most of the big offices are down thattaway.”

Mike is a burly man in his late fifties. He
was raised in Tennessee before he joined the Navy way back when.
So, much like me, he had a lingering accent and a plethora of
southern euphemisms. Mike might be brusque with the demeanor of a
bulldog, but he was always fair. He was sort of my surrogate
father.

Did I mention that I am a bike messenger? Or
what I like to refer to as an information transference specialist.
I spent entirely too much time alone. That combined with an
overactive imagination and a general lack of quality sleep proved
to be a bad combination.

I rushed out the door on my bike to make the
pick-up and delivery. Our office was conveniently located just
outside of the Loop. This time of year was the worst for trying to
navigate the congested area. The Loop was where everything was as
far as tourists seem to be concerned. The whole of Chicago was
amazing to me, but most everyone that comes to visit stays in the
Loop and on Lakeshore. Then there are the few boneheads that
decided to spend their entire trip on the Magnificent Mile. Don’t
get me wrong, at Christmas time, I loved the Magnificent Mile. But
why come from hundreds if not thousands of miles away just to shop?
I didn’t get it.

I got to my destination fairly quick like.
It was one of our regular clients, a law office that needed signed
papers hand delivered to another law office. “Sign this before my
client demands more money and then decides to sue your pants off”
kind of things. I tried to keep my nose out of it. I just plugged
in my ear buds and listened to whatever music fit my mood at the
moment. After the pick up from Sherrie, my all time fav secretary,
I headed down another couple of blocks to the package’s
destination. Two blocks! Seemed like they could walk the durn thing
down themselves. I guess if they did that, I wouldn’t have a job
though.

I locked my bike up to the nearest pole and
headed into the behemoth of a building It had recently been bought
by some foreign company and we had just started transferring
information for them in the past couple of months. Typically, I did
not care who I delivered to, but this company had some of my fellow
couriers talking and that had piqued my curiosity. Apparently the
guy at the top of the food chain was a real piece of work. Like my
Grams would have said, “It is none of my never mind.” I got paid to
pedal, and that was it.

I hit the button on the elevator and waited
for it to make its long ascent. I was not such a fan of elevators,
or closed spaces for that matter. I looked down at the package.
Figured, my delivery was at the very top of the building. I sucked
it up as the elevator "dinged" and the doors closed announcing my
impending doom. After enough stops to almost throw me into a full
on panic attack, the elevator finally made it to the top. I stepped
out and took my first deep breath in what felt like an eternity. I
quickly composed myself and made my way over to the reception
desk.

“Hello dear, could you hold on just one
second?” asked the cheery receptionist.

I couldn’t help but notice her bright red
suit that stood out in stark contrast to the bleak black and white
décor. She finished her conversation turning her attention my way
once more.

“Alright love, what can I help you with?”
she asked, with a slight British lilt to her voice.

“I am here to deliver a package to,” I had
to look down to get the name right, “one Mr. Xavier Xander." Yeah,
I wished I was kidding. What kind of a name was that anyway? And
why not just spell it with Z’s if that was how it was to be
pronounced. Then again, I had no room to talk. My parents didn’t
name me Isabelle. They named me Izzy. I guess I couldn’t blame him
for his parent’s lame name choice.

“Go right in. He has been expecting the
package and is anxious to get it back before closing time today."
She smiled amiably before hitting some button that allowed me to go
through the giant doors. I half expected there to be a sign saying,
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

I stepped through the doors and my eyes were
greeted with more black on white. Or was it white on black? Hm.
Were there more black things or white things in the room? This
place was as uninviting as a party at the local coroner’s office.
There was something decidedly cold and menacing about it that gave
credence to the rumors. I approached the desk with trepidation as
the chair started to turn in my direction. I was almost afraid that
someone would start bellowing, "Who dareth disturb me in my
domain?" I really needed to get my overactive imagination under
control.

My curiosity was piqued by what sort of
person would enjoy such a sterile environment. As the chair finally
came to rest facing my direction, my jaw dropped. A god, or perhaps
he was a demigod, sat in the chair. The man made drop dead gorgeous
look straight, street urchin. He was all broad shoulders and
carefully contained menace. His face was like that of a Greek
statue, all hard lines and severe angles. He had dark Mediterranean
features and seemed to be all of thirty five, if that. He raised
his dark, almost black eyes to me and flicked an eyebrow up in
question.

“May I help you? I don’t have all day for
you to stand there gawking you know." His voice resonated somewhere
deep inside me, stirring something ancient. It was yelling for me
to beware of this man but compelled me to come closer all at the
same time.

I finally got a grip on my internal insanity
and silently approached his desk with the envelope outstretched. He
gave me a once over and began talking in a voice that seemed to
echo and fill every corner of my soul.

“What’s your name? You aren’t one of the
normal people they send." His voice sent tremors down my spine. He
kept looking down his nose at me as if I were something disgusting
he stepped in out on the street.

I suddenly had to reign in my auburn-haired
temper. I was used to politeness from most Midwesterners. It was
not quite like the southern charm I was raised on, but it was
certainly better than mister snippy pants here. I plastered on the
best charming smile I could and did my best to politely explain.
Even if all I wanted to do was throat punch his stupid arrogant
self.

“My name is Izzy Boone, sir. This isn’t one
of my normal runs, but most of the other couriers were busy when
the call came in. I apologize if it is an inconvenience to you. I
hope that the delivery is still up to your satisfaction." There,
the official line of the company had been spouted and I didn’t have
to speak anymore.

“Not an inconvenience. Actually, you arrived
much faster than the others have in the past," he said as he raised
himself out of the chair to his full height of six foot seven. I
craned my neck up at him. I stood at about five six, five seven on
a good day, but this man was almost as tall as the building itself
and just as imposing. Sheesh.

He gently took the package out of my hands,
brushing my fingers in the process. Something in his countenance
suddenly shifted. He looked at me as though I were the answer to
some great mystery. I was becoming more and more unnerved as the
seconds passed. I felt as though someone were in my head yelling at
me to run. I wanted to get out of there.

“Listen,” he said slowly, “please allow me
to apologize for my rude behavior. It is unpardonable and
unprovoked. I have had a rough day and I took that out on you. Now,
if you don’t mind, I am going to sign these quickly and let you get
back on your way, Miss Boone." The way he said my name was like
taking a sip of hot cocoa on a freezing day.

I had no idea what had sparked his sudden
change. To be quite frank, the whole situation was giving me a
migraine. I just wanted to get this delivery over with so I could
go home and continue my moping about the suckage that was this time
of year.

Mr. Xander finished signing the papers in
record time and handed them back to me with a knowing twinkle in
his eye.

“I hope to see you again Miss Boone, and I
hope that in the future you will not judge me based upon your
undoubtedly unfavorable first impression."