The Darkest Hour k-1 Read online

  She’d been identified only by the personal effects supposedly recovered with her remains. The fire had made even dental record identification a moot point. The explosion had incinerated everything in its path. Everything but the bent, misshapen rings and the charred remains of her suitcase. Half of a melted passport had been found in the wreckage. Her passport. It was the flight she’d taken and there had been no survivors. Ethan had never thought to question it.

  Jesus, he hadn’t questioned his wife’s death.

  He shook his head angrily. Boy was he getting carried away. There had to be some other explanation. Someone was messing with him. He didn’t know why. He didn’t care.

  He scanned the rest of the papers. Guard post schedule. Drug drop schedule. What the hell? It certainly looked like someone wanted them to be able to waltz right in. It screamed setup.

  GPS coordinates. Satellite photos. Topo maps. Whoever had sent it was thorough.

  If this was for real, this information made these jokers sitting ducks. The Boy Scouts could mount an assault on the camp that would take it down inside of five minutes.

  Your wife is alive.

  He glanced at the shadow of the small, balled-up piece of paper lying underneath the television.

  Four words. Just four simple words.

  He hated the hope that sprung to life within him. His heart thumped like a jackhammer inside his chest. His pulse raced so fast he felt light-headed, almost like the night before when he’d obliterated any rational thoughts with really cheap liquor.

  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 char
ts, 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?

  “Christ, you have,” Garrett muttered.

  “Ethan,” Donovan began in his quiet voice. “You have to know, this is probably just a hoax. Some sick joke. It might even be someone with a grudge against KGI. What better way to get us in the line of fire with our balls hanging out than to dangle Rachel in front of us like that?”

  Sam nodded grimly. “We certainly have to treat it as a possible threat.”

  Ethan exploded in rage. He slammed into Sam, grabbed handfuls of his shirt and got into his face. “That’s my wife down there in some shithole. We aren’t talking about some nameless hostage or some political pawn who doesn’t matter. This is Rachel. With or without your help, I’m going in to get her.”

  “Take your hands off me, Ethan,” Sam said calmly. He stared back at Ethan, his expression unreadable. There wasn’t anger or judgment in his eyes, and maybe that bothered Ethan the most.

  Ethan slowly uncurled his fingers then shoved Sam back with a sound of disgust. He started to walk away, but found himself in a headlock. Garrett’s arm tightened around his neck, and he muscled Ethan back across the room. He loosened his hold and shoved Ethan onto the couch.

  Ethan stumbled and sprawled onto the cushions. He would have come up swinging, but Donovan promptly sat on him.

  “Goddamn it, get off me!” He wanted to hit something—someone. Let loose the rage that was fast erupting, that he was losing control over with each passing second.

  He blinked when Sam’s face came into focus, their noses just centimeters apart.

  “Listen up, little brother. If you think we’re going to leave Rachel in that shithole, think again. But I’m not going to risk my team—my brothers—by going off half-cocked without any intel or backup, you got it?”

  Ethan closed his eyes. He wasn’t stupid. Desperate, yes. Stupid, no. He knew they couldn’t stomp down to some South American jungle, guns blazing, and start a fucking war, no matter that his wife was being held captive by a bunch of assholes.

  He nodded and felt Sam move away. Donovan eased off Ethan, and Ethan rolled off the couch and onto the floor, the carpet soft under his knees.

  “I’ll get Steele on it,” Garrett said. “He and his team are finishing up a recon in South America. I can get satellite imagery based on the coordinates you have in that packet. If those guys so much as take a piss outside a hut, we’ll be able to tell their dick size.”

  Sam nodded. “We need photos. We need numbers. We need to confirm every single piece of that information. We don’t go until I’m convinced we’re not walking headlong into an ambush.”

  Ethan remained there, on his knees, watching as his brothers calmly did what they did best—plan a military operation. Only this time they weren’t rescuing a nameless hostage or recovering a fugitive.

  Numbness gripped him. Everything moved around him in slow motion. A firm hand gripped his shoulder, and Ethan slowly turned his face upward until he met Garrett’s hard gaze.

  “If she’s there, we’ll get her out. You know that, man.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Ethan said in a voice just above a whisper. Then he stood, irritated by his paralysis. “What can I do?” he demanded. He needed to do something or he would go crazy.

  Sam eyed him, his demeanor calm, but his eyes betrayed him. There was a harsh gleam. Anger. Something Ethan could relate to. “We need an extrication plan. Why don’t you get with Van, pull out some maps and learn everything you can about the lay of the land. Download satellite imagery from Hoss while I get on the horn to some of my contacts. I’ve got a guy with the DEA who should be able to tell me if we’re stepping in the middle of a drug war.”

  Ethan’s lips twitched and he glanced sideways at Donovan. “You mean I get to touch Hoss?” He relaxed the slightest bit. He had every faith in Sam and KGI. They employed some of the brightest military minds in the world. They could do this. Soon. Rachel would be home. Soon.

  Donovan grunted. “No. I’ll do the touching. You just sit and watch. I don’t want you fucking with my computer.”

  “That’s as close as he gets to a love affair,” Sam muttered. “I think he came in his pants when we got the thing.”

  “Ha ha. You’re such a comedian,” Donovan said as he flipped Sam off. He motioned for Ethan. “Come on, little brother. I’ll show you the real brains behind KGI. Peckerhead over there couldn’t wipe his ass without me to tell him when and how.”

  Action. Something to do. Something to keep his mind off the fact that right now, at this very moment, Rachel was terrified and alone. And worse, she thought he wasn’t ever coming for her.

  THREE days later, the war room looked precisely like its name-sake. There were blown-up satellite images and maps covering all surfaces and even some spread out on the floor. Donovan sat at the computer, his brow creased in concentration while Sam spoke in low tones to Steele over the satellite link.

  Garrett stood across the elevated planning table from Ethan while the two of them studied the picture of the encampment they’d put together with satellite images as well as photographs taken by their man on the ground.

  Ethan looked up when Sam walked back over. “What’s up? Have they made a positive ID yet?”

  Sam stood next to Garrett and picked up one of the photos. “Things are quiet there. Too quiet. Steele got there two days ago and has been pulling round-the-clock surveillance with his team. They’ve seen the woman in question twice.”

  Ethan surged forward, putting his palms down on the table. “So she is there. She’s alive.”

  Sam hesitated. “That’s not what I’m saying, man. We don’t know that it’s her.
”

  “Bullshit. You’re telling me Rachel has some goddamn twin in the exact same place she went on her mercy mission a year ago?”

  Garrett and Sam exchanged glances. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, Ethan,” Sam said. “We agree that whoever the woman is, it’s obvious she’s not there by choice, and the fact that she strongly resembles Rachel is enough for us to go in for the extrication.”

  Ethan’s shoulders sank in relief. “When?” he asked. They’d already spent three days—three agonizingly long days—waiting for information, data, satellite photos, and Steele’s recon.

  And then another thought hit him. “You’re not leaving me out of this.” It wasn’t a question. There was no question. He wasn’t staying here while KGI went in after Rachel.

  “To be honest we thought about it,” Garrett admitted. “But I also know if it was my wife, no way in hell would anyone keep me off the mission. So yeah, you’re going, but you’re going to keep your head on straight. You’ve been out of action for a while, and you have a personal stake in this.”

  Ethan nodded, adrenaline stirring in his veins. “When?” he asked again.

  “As soon as we can be assured we know exactly what we’re getting into,” Sam said. “Steele’s on the ground with his team. He’s positioning them so we have a tight circumference around the encampment. As soon as I can get a chopper lined up for the extrication, we’ll gear up and fly down on the jet to Mexico. We take the helicopter into Colombia and drop into the jungle. It’ll be a bitch, but it’s doable.”

  Garrett’s jaw tightened. “Hell yeah it’s doable.”

  “Just got an email from Beavis and Butt-Head,” Donovan called over his shoulder. “Are we telling them what’s going on?”

  Ethan grimaced. The youngest two Kelly brothers, Nathan and Joe, were still active military and currently deployed to Afghanistan. Ethan was sure Sam and the others probably kept the twins updated on the goings-on at KGI, but the last thing he needed was for his brothers to be worried and distracted when they were fighting in a hot zone.