The Darkest Hour(45)

The two men held up their hands and waved as they headed out the front  door. The family followed behind, crowding into the front yard as the  twins piled into their trucks.

Ethan looped his arm over Rachel's shoulders as they watched them drive away.

"Anyone up for a barbeque tonight?" Sam asked. "I'll volunteer Garrett's cooking."

"Nice, asshole," Garrett muttered.

Donovan chuckled. "I'm in. I could use a big nasty steak. Have to keep my strength up."

"I'll get the meat if you and Ethan will make the beer run," Sam said to Donovan. "Mom? Dad? You guys want to come over?"

Marlene reached over and patted Sam on the cheek. "That's nice of you to  ask, but I think I'm going to put up my feet and rest awhile. Rusty  said she'd cook dinner tonight and I aim to take her up on it."

Ethan glanced over to see Rusty's face turn bright red. She wasn't  pleased that Marlene had spread that little tidbit around. Tough kid.  Not an ounce of softness in her. At least not where anyone could readily  see it.

He wrapped his arm tighter around Rachel and smiled down at her. "What do you say? Wanna go on a beer run with me and Van?"

She smiled as she looked between him and all his brothers. "Are you sure  you want me along? This seems like one of those male bonding things. I  could head home and let you guys do your thing."

Sam and Garrett both looked affronted.

"Well hell, Rachel. Stick a dagger in our hearts. You always used to  come hang out with us. Too much testosterone otherwise," Sam said.

Her smile broadened. "A steak really does sound good." She glanced up at Ethan. "Do you care if I run home to change?"

He touched her cheek. "Not at all. You want me to come?"

"No. You go with Donovan. I won't be long."

He fished the keys out of his pocket and dangled them off the end of his  fingers. She reached for them and warmth spread up his arm as her hand  closed around his. It surprised him that even after so long she affected  him with something as simple as her touch.                       
       
           



       

Uncaring that his brothers were standing around watching, he bent to  kiss her, capturing her mouth with his. She tasted small and feminine.  Perfect. It was a taste he'd dreamed about at night when he lay in their  bed alone, aching.

She pulled away as breathless as he was, her eyes slightly glazed. It  was then he realized that she didn't look at him like she had before her  disappearance. Then she'd been guarded with him, never allowing him to  see what she was thinking. It was a self-protective measure he'd forced  on her with his coldness. Now she looked at him with warmth. With love.  She hadn't said the words, but he felt more at ease, more confident of  her affection now than he had in a long, long time.

"Get a room," Garrett smirked.

Ethan held up his middle finger behind Rachel's back. Sam and Donovan laughed while Ethan kissed Rachel again.

"Better go now, baby," he murmured. "Otherwise I'm coming home with you."

Her cheeks bloomed pink as she pulled away, but her eyes laughed up at him. Man, he'd missed that.

"I love you," he whispered, more for himself than for her.

She smiled, her teeth flashing, her eyes shining with happiness. It took every bit of his breath away.

"I won't be long," she promised.

Then she leaned up on tiptoe to offer him a kiss.





CHAPTER 31



EXCITEMENT curled in Rachel's stomach as she slid back into Ethan's  truck. Comfortable now in cutoff jeans and a T-shirt, she was eager to  get to Sam's house on the lake.

Her old clothes fit her better now. The shorts were still loose in the  waist and her T-shirt hung over her shoulders and gathered around her  breasts. Thanks to countless meals Marlene had brought over and Ethan's  relentless nagging to eat more and better, she was putting on weight.  Her color was better. Her eyes were brighter. Even her hair had regained  its sheen.

Now if only she could get rid of the lingering effects of the drugs and  regain complete memory of her past. It was the only missing piece to the  puzzle.

She started up the bridge over Kentucky Lake. The water shimmered and  sprawled for miles on either side of her. It was a calm day, and the sun  still shone bright overheard. Perfect day for a barbeque.

Reflexively, she slowed as she reached the top, where the concrete  guardrail had been knocked out a week before by a tractor-trailer wreck.  Orange cones sat strategically on the edge, but there was no protection  between the road and the drop-off.

The right lane was closed and traffic rerouted to the left lane so no  one ventured into danger. As she neared, she accelerated, only wanting  to be beyond the scary spot.

A sharp impact sent her forward into the steering wheel. Her seat belt  clamped down in reaction and yanked her back against the seat. Someone  had hit her from behind! Worse, they'd struck her left fender, spinning  her so she faced the gaping hole in the side of the bridge.

She whirled in her seat to see behind her when she was struck again. The  sickening sound of metal crunching assaulted her ears. The truck  lurched forward, and she cried out as she rocketed toward the edge.

Her foot slammed onto the brake, and she put all her weight on it as if  sheer will alone would keep her from plummeting over the side.

Her neck snapped forward as, once again, she was struck from behind. She  screamed when the front end of the truck dipped as it left the surface  of the bridge. She closed her eyes, prepared to feel the impact of the  water and the cold surrounding her.

After several seconds, she cautiously opened her eyes again to see the  sunlight still streaming through her windshield. A windshield that was  bobbing precariously up and down.

Oh God. She was hanging over the edge, rocking softly up and down. Any movement could send her over.

She didn't move. Was afraid to breathe. Only her eyes moved, rapidly,  side to side, as she tried to figure out how she was going to get out.  Her hands curled around the steering wheel, holding so tightly her  knuckles were white. Her seat belt was still fastened, and she didn't  dare release the steering wheel to unbuckle it.

And so she sat, terrified, as the truck did a gentle seesaw motion in  the breeze. Around her, she heard voices shouting to her, but she  couldn't even turn her head. She stared ahead and wondered if she'd  survive the drop from the bridge.

Ethan was trained in water. He lived in the water during his years with  the SEALs. She frantically searched her memories for anything that could  help her now. A hysterical laugh escaped. Escaping a submerged vehicle  hadn't come up in any of their conversations. She was sure of it.

The voices were closer now. Surely they wouldn't try to pull her out.  Panic exploded in her stomach. Slowly and carefully she turned just so  she could see out her window from the corner of her eye.                       
       
           



       

Two men were standing a few feet away shouting at her. What were they  saying? If the buzzing in her ears would abate long enough, maybe she'd  know.

She sucked in several steadying breaths and forced herself to relax.

Don't move. Stay there.

Yeah, she heard that. Not to worry. She wasn't going anywhere. Except maybe down.

A moment later she heard the wail of sirens. Her chest caved in relief. Surely they'd know how to get her out of this.

Anxiety was making her sick. Nausea welled in her stomach until she was  sure she would vomit. The only thing keeping it down was the knowledge  that if she allowed herself to be sick, she'd likely roll right over the  edge.

"Rachel! Rachel!"

Relief swamped her. Sean. She tried to turn her head to see him.

"No! Don't move, honey. Sit tight, okay? I just want you to know we're  here. We'll get you out of this, okay? Just don't move, for God's sake."

The worry in his voice did nothing to soothe her ragged nerves. Calm,  unflappable Sean had an edge to his voice that sounded like panic.

A low moan escaped before she could clamp her lips around it. It was  stifling inside the truck. Sweat rolled down her neck and between her  breasts. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and it made her  light-headed.

Memories of that hated hot box slammed back into her mind. The days had  bled into one another. The only way she knew it was night was because  the temperature went from unbearable to slightly less so. And then it  began all over again.

Her hands shook despite her best efforts to remain calm. She couldn't go  back there. She wouldn't. She closed her eyes against the memories  because now it all seemed too real. Maybe she'd dreamt everything. A  hallucination brought on by withdrawal and days baking in the heat in  the hated prison.

Her hand left the steering wheel and flailed at the window. Air. She needed air.