The Darkest Hour(3)

Only tonight he was stone cold sober.

No. No fucking way. He wouldn't allow himself the small glimmer of hope  that was battling its way through a year of grief. This shit didn't  happen in real life. People didn't get handed second chances on a  fucking platter.

He'd prayed for a miracle more times than he cared to admit, but his prayers had gone unanswered. Or had they?

"You're losing it," he muttered.

Finally he was losing the last shreds of sanity. Was this what it felt  like at the end of the road? Was all that was left was for him to start  barking at the moon?

He rubbed his hands over his face and then over the back of his neck.  Then he stared down at the information spread out before him like a road  map. A map to his wife.

He wanted to believe it. He'd be the worst sort of dumbass to give this  any sort of credibility. But could he afford to dismiss it without even  talking to his brothers about it?

Hell, they ran KGI. They kicked asses for a living. There wasn't a  military operation they couldn't mount. They found people who didn't  want to be found. They rescued people from impossible situations. They  freed hostages. They blew shit up. Surely some rinky-dink cartel outpost  in the middle of Bum Fuck, Colombia, would be a walk in the park for an  organization like KGI.                       
       
           



       

Oh God, they'd think he'd finally lost his mind. They'd have him committed.

But what if this isn't a joke?

The thought took him by the throat. It had teeth. It wouldn't let go.

He spent the entire night rifling through the material, document after  document, mentally compiling the image in his head until it was so  ingrained he could see the compound in his sleep. He knew it intimately,  knew where every hut stood, where the guard towers were positioned. He  knew when they changed guard, knew their drug drop schedule. Even when  they took their prisoner and moved her to a different hut.

He had to be prepared. His brothers might think he was nuts. He couldn't  really blame them if they did. One thing he knew for certain. With or  without them he was going in after his wife.

If she was there . . . if she was alive . . . he was bringing her home.





CHAPTER 2



THERE weren't scripts for moments like this. Nothing in his years in the  military had prepared him for this bizarre turn of events. Even as he  tried to beat down the hope pulsating in his chest, it lived and  breathed inside his skin.

Ethan parked his truck in the driveway of his brother Sam's lake house  then reached down onto the seat to grip the envelope containing all the  information on Rachel's whereabouts.

They'd be surprised to see him. In fact, Sam, Garrett and Donovan were  probably inside planning their raid on Ethan's house. They'd been after  him for months to join their special ops group, KGI. All in their plan  to shove him firmly back into the land of the living.

A FedEx package had done what his brothers couldn't do.

For the first time, he felt something other than guilt or grief. He was angry. Very, very angry.

He harnessed that rage and kept it close, needing it for the impending  confrontation. His brothers were going to think he'd lost his mind. They  were his only hope, though, so he had to convince them that Rachel was  alive.

He got out of his truck and glanced toward the adjacent lot where the  war room was located. Built next to Sam's rustic log cabin that was  nestled on the bank of Kentucky Lake, the state-of-the-art, completely  decked-out, two-thousand-square-foot building housed the offices of  Kelly Group International.

It was where Sam, Garrett and Donovan, Ethan's older brothers,  practically lived. They slept in the war room more often than they did  the house.

Ethan headed there first. Last he'd heard, one of the KGI teams was  doing a recon mission, which meant that his brothers wouldn't venture  far from the communications room.

The facility was impenetrable thanks to a high-tech security system. The  location was benign and seemingly innocent, which was why Sam liked it  so much. No one would suspect that military operations were planned and  carried out in rural Stewart County.

Ethan stopped at the keypad and had to think hard to remember the  security code. The last thing he wanted to do was get it wrong and get  his ass laid out by his brothers.

After he'd punched in a series of codes, the door opened and he walked  inside. Sam and Garrett were sprawled on the couches in the middle of  the room, while predictably, Donovan was manning the computer system  referred to as Hoss.

Ethan strode forward, a determined set to his mouth. There was nothing  to be gained by coming across as some weak pansy. Sam looked up when he  heard Ethan, and his eyes widened in surprise. He kicked at Garrett's  leg that rested on the coffee table and gestured in Ethan's direction.

" 'Bout time you dragged your carcass out of that house," Sam drawled.

Donovan swiveled in his chair, and his surprised gaze met Ethan's. "Hey, man, it's good to see you."

"You look like shit," Garrett said bluntly. "When was the last time you slept?"

Ethan ignored the pleasantries and Garrett's observations. "I need your help."

Sam's brows drew together, and he stared intently at Ethan. His gaze  swept up and down, taking in every detail of his appearance. When he  spoke, it was in a quiet, but firm voice. "You know all you have to do  is ask."

Ethan licked his lips and swallowed back the urge to blurt out everything in a rush. "I need KGI's help."

Garrett's feet hit the floor and he surged upward. "What's wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Trust Garrett to immediately bristle. Sam might be the oldest, but  Garrett was an overprotective bear when it came to family. He'd lose his  mind when he learned about Rachel. Especially since he had been so  close to her.

Ethan looked down at the thick envelope in his hand, doubt clouding his  mind. This was insane. How could he convince his brothers when he  couldn't quite bring himself to believe it? But if it was true . . . if  there was even the slimmest chance she was alive, he had to move heaven  and earth to find out. There simply wasn't an alternative.                       
       
           



       

The knot in his stomach grew larger, and he finally thrust the envelope  in Garrett's direction. Sam shot up from the couch and took it before  Garrett could. Donovan and Garrett crowded behind Sam to look over his  shoulder as Sam started pulling stuff out.

"What the hell is all of this?" Sam demanded as he shuffled through the  charts, maps and GPS coordinates. When he reached the photos of Rachel,  Garrett's and Donovan's expressions froze. Sam's frown grew fierce, and  he stared back up at Ethan. "Where did you get this?"

"It was delivered yesterday along with a note telling me Rachel is  alive." Ethan pointed to the stack of papers and photos Sam held. "That  was the proof."

He marveled at how calm he sounded. How composed. As if hearing that the  woman he'd thought dead was alive was a common occurrence.

Garrett cursed viciously, and Donovan . . . he looked at Ethan with sad,  understanding eyes. Ethan hated that look. It was one beat off patting  him on the head and recommending a good therapist.

Sam was still studying the photos, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"This looks like Rachel," he said slowly, as if it pained him to say it, to admit that maybe Ethan wasn't certifiable.

"It is Rachel," Ethan said, impatience simmering through his veins.  "Believe me, I've been through it all. I've been up the entire night  going through all of this, telling myself this is some sick joke. But  what if it isn't? Can I afford to blow it off and pretend I never got  this? My God, if she's alive . . . if she's been over in some hellhole  for a year..."

He broke off, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of  himself. He curled and uncurled his fingers as the horror of that  thought played over and over in his head. Rachel. Alive. Held prisoner  and subjected to God knows what.

"Sam, you have to help me. I need KGI for this. Who else am I going to  go to? No one else is going to believe me. You've been wanting me to  come to work with you forever. Do this for me-help me-and I'm yours."

Sam swore and shook his head. Garrett scowled. Donovan's face screwed up like he'd just sucked a lemon.

"This isn't about you coming to work with us, man," Sam began. "I  wouldn't manipulate you like that. Shit, I'm trying to get my mind  wrapped around this. Do you know how far-fetched it sounds for Rachel to  be alive after all this time? You know that, right, Ethan? You haven't  convinced yourself that she's alive, have you?"

Ethan fought to keep his expression neutral. He wanted to snarl, he  wanted to rage, and goddamn it, he wanted action. He wanted it now. He  wanted to crawl right out of his skin. How could his brothers stand in  front of him so calm, so rational when they should be planning Rachel's  rescue?