The Darkest Hour(9)

       
           



       

She crawled faster, her breath ripping painfully from her chest. Sweat rolled down her face, or was it tears?

She ran into the body before she saw it. She was too stunned to scream  or even process that the man was dead. Blood was everywhere and the  rifle he'd carried was still firmly in his grip.

She knew this man. She hated him. She spared no sympathy for his death.  With more strength than she thought she possessed, she ripped the rifle  from his grasp and crawled beyond him.

They wouldn't take her back. She'd kill them-all of them.

When she'd crawled as far from the body as possible, she stopped to  catch her breath. Her sides ached, her shoulder burned, and her vision  was blurred by tears.

A sob caught in her throat and she swallowed rapidly. Afraid of  betraying herself, she lowered her head, burying her face in her free  hand. She just needed a moment to rest.

Several long minutes passed, or maybe it was seconds. It seemed an  eternity. And then she heard her name. The softest whisper, carried on a  breeze. Rachel.

She flinched but refused to look up. They never called her by name.

"Rachel."

Too close this time.

Her head came up, and she grabbed for her rifle. She rolled over,  jamming the gun in the direction of the voice. A strange man stared back  at her, his expression blank. His ice blue eyes were unreadable as he  surveyed her calmly. He didn't seem bothered by the fact she was  pointing a gun at him.

She tried to scoot away, but she was tangled in ground cover. She thrust  the gun forward, trying to at least keep her finger on the trigger.

From behind the man, another man appeared. Sam. He said nothing as he put himself between her and the other guy.

"Back off, Steele," he murmured.

Sam put one placating hand forward, his other loosely holding his own  rifle, though he made no effort to point it at her. "Rachel, listen to  me. I won't hurt you. I swear it. You need to put down the gun and come  with me so I can take you back to Ethan."

Tears immediately swirled. A knot formed in her throat, and no amount of swallowing would make it go away.

He couldn't be trusted. He was lying to her. Ethan was dead. She'd seen  the blood. Seen him fall right after he'd yelled hoarsely for her to go.

Holding back the grimace of pain, she got awkwardly to her feet. Sam  relaxed and held out a hand to her, but instead of moving forward, she  backed away, her gaze never leaving him or the man still standing just a  few feet away.

Her hands shaking, she leveled the gun at an area between them, hoping  they would just go away. Sam's brows came together for a moment and then  he stepped forward.

"No," she choked out, as she stabbed the gun in his direction.

His hand moved upward and he stepped back, his expression guarded.

"Rachel," he said soothingly. "Honey, I'm here to help you. It's time  for you to go back home. To the people who love you. Your family."

Her heart seized. Family? She couldn't remember a family. All she could  remember was Ethan, and even those images were vague. When had she  forgotten? All she could remember was endless pain and fear. The  haziness brought on by injections thrust upon her and the crawling need  when they waited too long to give her another dose.

For a brief moment she hesitated, drawn to the idea of family. A home.  People who loved her. But then she remembered. Ethan was dead. He was  all she had, all she could remember. Surely she would remember if there  were others. Would she have forgotten her family?

You can barely remember who you are.

The thought drifted through the twisted pathways of her mind, taunting and reminding her of her tenuous grasp on her sanity.

She caught movement in her periphery and yanked her head to the side to  see another man stalk toward Sam and Steele. He wore a ferocious scowl  as his gaze homed in on her. He was bigger and meaner looking than Sam,  and he should have put the fear of God in her, but there was something  familiar, something oddly comforting about him.

Was she losing her mind?

He stopped at Sam's side, and she still stared as images flashed erratically in her mind.

"What the hell is going on, Sam?" he asked in a low growl. "We don't have time to be fucking around. Let's get her and go."

"Tell her that," Sam murmured as he stared at the gun she held. "I'd say she doesn't want to go."

Like flashes of lightning in a black sky, pictures shot randomly through  her shattered mind. Memories? The man standing beside Sam, only he was  smiling, almost tenderly. Water. A dock. He lifted her and then tossed  her into the lake. He stood laughing as she came up sputtering, and she  was laughing too. Happy. She'd been happy.                       
       
           



       

Another memory, haunting and sweet. A church. Her gliding down the  center aisle. Ethan waiting . . . and this man in front of her . . .  he'd escorted her. Her hand clutched tight over his arm. He whispered  low for her not to worry, that she was the most beautiful bride in the  world and that his brother was the luckiest man on earth.

Garrett. Ethan's brother?

"Garrett?" she whispered.

His face immediately softened. The scowl disappeared and something that looked like joy flashed in his eyes for just a moment.

"Yes, Rachel. It's me, Garrett."

Making an instant decision, she flew to his side, careful to put him  between her and the other two men. He stiffened in surprise but put an  arm around her. She tucked herself into his side and leveled a guarded  look at Sam.

"Let me have the gun, sweet pea," Garrett murmured as he gently pried it from her fingers.

She flinched when it glanced off her injured shoulder, and her breathing  sped up. Sam frowned and made a move toward her, but she hastily backed  away, her feet tangling in the undergrowth. She went down on her  backside, landing painfully.

Garrett was down beside her instantly, his hand going to her arm. Sam stood back, his brows furrowed.

"Are you okay, Rachel? Where are you hurt?" Garrett asked.

"My shoulder," she said. "I can't move my arm. Hurts too much."

"Probably dislocated," Sam said grimly. "The angle is crooked, and she's favoring it awfully bad."

She scooted back as Sam moved forward again. He cursed and halted.

"She doesn't remember you," Garrett said.

"Yeah, I noticed," Sam muttered. "I'm not surprised she remembers you, though. Thank God for that at least."

"He lied," Rachel whispered.

Garrett's eyes narrowed. "Who lied?"

"Sam."

Sam's head rocked back in surprise. "Me?"

Garrett's hand came out to smooth her hair from her face. "What did he lie about, sweet pea?"

Tears welled, and she bit her lip to keep the moan of despair from  escaping. "He said he'd take me back to Ethan, but Ethan's dead."

Both Garrett's and Sam's eyes widened in shock. Sam blew out his breath  then squatted beside her, ignoring her efforts to move away.

"Why on earth do you think Ethan's dead?"

"I saw him fall. He was shot. He told me to go and then he went down. I saw him."

Sam smiled. "He's not dead, Rachel. It would take a hell of a lot more  than that to kill that ornery bastard. It was just a graze. He bled like  a stuck pig, but he's fine. I swear it."

Her gaze flew to Garrett for confirmation, hope beating relentlessly against her chest. Garrett gave a short nod.

"Is he okay now?" she asked in a shaky voice. "Where is he?"

"I'll take you to him," Sam said. "But we have to hurry."

Fear leapt into her throat, and she began to shake. "Don't let them take me back. Please."

Garrett's face darkened, and she shivered at the raw violence on his  face. From behind Sam, the other man stepped out. For a moment, his cool  eyes bore into her and then he crouched down beside her. He didn't  press into her space. He just squatted there staring intently at her.

"You don't know me, Rachel," he said in an even voice. "You have no  reason to believe me. But there's one thing I can guarantee you. I won't  allow those bastards to take you back. I'm going to get you and Ethan  back home where you belong. Do you understand?"

There was rock-hard assurance in his voice. An unwavering confidence that, despite her fear and anxiety, calmed her.

Slowly she nodded. Steele nodded back and then rose, putting several feet of distance between them.

"This might hurt," Garrett said. He reached down and tucked one arm  underneath her knees. His other arm slid along her back, and he  carefully picked her up, trying not to jostle her hurt shoulder.

She snuck a cautious look at Sam, studying him from the safety of  Garrett's hold. He didn't look like Ethan. Garrett did, and maybe that's  why she remembered him. While Ethan and Garrett were big, black-haired  men with hard bodies and hard faces, Sam was leaner but no less muscled.  His hair was light brown, but his jaw was square and had a determined  set that unnerved her. His eyes were a cold blue. A lot like Steele's.  Impenetrable ice.