Maya Banks - The Darkest Hour

How long had she been gone? It seemed like hours, but the sky was still pitch-black, no sign of dawn to the east. The water got deeper again and she sank tiredly down, only too willing to float for a while.

She rounded a sharp corner and sucked in her breath when she saw the inky black expanse of the lake spread out before her.

It freaked her out, the idea of going into the lake in the dead of night. The river channel ran quite deep, more than thirty feet in the coves, and out in the middle of the main drag, it reached depths of more than fifty feet.

Still, it beat the alternative. Anything beat being shot because Castle wanted her dead. A man who nagged at her memory but remained cloaked in shadows.

Tiredly she pushed on, rolling to her back and kicking her feet to propel her farther into the lake.

She was fast coming off the adrenaline rush, and shock was setting in. She needed to get to a safe place fast before she passed out.

Turning over, she struck out with one arm, holding the other close to her body. She kicked strongly, but she knew she looked like a crippled tadpole moving erratically through the water.

She focused single-mindedly on the main stretch of lake, determined to make it, to put as much distance between her and her pursuers as possible.

Numb to her toes, staggered by exhaustion, she made her way out of the cove to where she could finally see down the lake. In the distance, the lights on the bridge twinkled at her, mocking her. She had to laugh. That damn bridge, the one that had nearly killed her, now marked an impossible distance for her to travel.

Sam’s house was before that bridge. His property backed to the water’s edge. Would she recognize his dock in the dark? How far from the bridge was his house? The bridge seemed an interminable distance.

Two inlets? Three? For that matter, which was she in now?

Water lapped up over her face, and she struggled to keep her head above water. She was holding on by a whisper-thin thread. It would be so much easier to just roll over and let the water take her.

Insidious voices whispered in her ear. Some of them mocked her, told her to give up like a wimp. Others told her to buck up. Her family had gone through much worse. Ethan and all his brothers had been shot, injured, defied impossible odds, and here she couldn’t even manage a swim with a broken arm.

Ethan’s SEAL brothers would laugh their asses off at her.

She needed a SEAL—or three—right now. Or at least she needed to channel one. This would be a walk in the park to them.

Oh God, she was getting delirious.

It bolstered her spirits to realize that while she’d been carrying on a ridiculous dialogue with herself she’d made good progress. At least one thing was working in her favor. She was moving with the current.

Her first plan of action would be to find Sam’s house. Or any house. If that failed, she’d go for the bridge and pray she’d make it that far.

Too tired to attempt the motions of swimming, she turned on her back again and let the current take her along.

She kept her face turned toward the bank and scanned the shore, looking for anything that looked familiar. Lights beckoned in the distance. A house? Houses?

Clumsily she struck out toward the shore. As she got closer, the shape of a dock loomed in the darkness. Excitement took a little of her pain away. There weren’t many docks because of TVA regulations on new construction. Sam had owned his house for years and had purchased it from someone who had been on the lake for two decades.

Her toes dragged along the bottom and she dug them in, straining to get closer to shore.

Two docks. Did Sam live next to someone who also had a dock?

She shook her head. It didn’t matter if it was Sam’s place or not. She only hoped whoever lived here was home.

She slipped below the surface when she tripped over a rock. Every single movement sent tears of agony coursing down her cheeks. Finally she gave up on standing and crawled through the shallower water toward the dock. With her good hand, she reached up to circle her arm around one of the wooden posts supporting the dock.

For several minutes, she leaned her forehead against the wood and sucked in painful, sharp breaths. Her broken arm sagged against her. It hurt with each movement, and she wanted to scream in pain and frustration.

Using the dock for support, she edged along the side until finally she was only ankle-deep in water. Each step took a ridiculous amount of will. Animal sounds of pain whispered past her lips. She hadn’t realized it until the sounds grew louder.

She stopped at the bottom of the incline and looked up, straining to see in the darkness. This wasn’t Sam’s house, and there wasn’t a single light on, inside or outside, to suggest anyone was home.

As she moved up the incline, her legs buckled and she went to her knees. Nausea rose sharp, swelling hard in her stomach until she gagged and heaved. Struggling to keep what little composure she had left, she planted her fist into the dirt and forced herself back to her feet.

She went to the back door and pounded with her uninjured hand. After a long wait, silence still abounded. No lights came on.

Giving up on that avenue, she trudged around the side of the house to the front door. She rang the bell and jiggled the handle. At this point she didn’t care if anyone was home or not. She just needed a phone and a safe place to hide.

When the lock didn’t budge and no one came to answer, she turned around, her eyes searching the dark. Mailbox. At least it would tell her where she was.

As fast as she was able, she walked to the end of the short driveway and peered at the side of the mailbox. Her heart accelerated. If the numbers were accurate, these were Sam’s neighbors. His house was a half mile down the road.

With renewed vigor, she nearly ran down the shoddily paved road. Rocks and pieces of asphalt pierced the soles of her feet, but she ignored the discomfort. Next to the agony shooting down her arm, the rest was negligible.

When she reached Sam’s mailbox, she nearly fainted on the spot. For a moment she leaned her hand on the metal box and gasped for breath. Tears stung her eyelids, and she closed her eyes as she struggled to find the strength to go on.

Lights were on in every room, it seemed. Were they home? She hurried to the front door and nearly wept in relief when she found it open.

“Sam! Garrett!” she yelled as she slammed the door shut.

Silence greeted her exclamation.

She went from room to room but found them empty. She had no idea how long it had been since she and Ethan had been forced off the road. Sam and Garrett were probably with him. Or looking for her.

Fear swamped her as she realized the men who’d hit them had obviously known where she and Ethan were. They’d followed them to Sam’s and waited for them to leave. Which meant they could be back.

Panic billowing through her like a flash fire, she ran from room to room, turning off every light until the entire house was plunged into darkness.

A phone. She needed a phone.

In the kitchen she yanked the cordless phone off the charger and headed for the basement. There were lots of places she could hide that would buy her time if the men trying to kill her did come back.

When she found the darkest, smallest corner in the tiny closet that housed the hot water heater, she sank to the floor and dialed 911.

THEY’D been through all the possible scenarios. Ethan, Sam and Garrett had coordinated with the local and state authorities, and then they’d broken away to fill the cracks. If there was anything at all the police were missing, the Kellys would find it.

The call came in an hour before dawn. An abandoned SUV with the front end caved in parked off one of the gravel roads off 232.

They converged on it from all directions, but it was obvious no one had been in it for a good while. The engine was completely cold, the doors open, and footprints led away into the woods.

Ethan swore and pounded his fist into the side of the truck. Garrett gripped his hand and pulled him away.

“Save it, man. Rachel needs you.”

“It’s time to go hunting,” Sam murmured as he bent and shone his flashlight at the mishmash of footprints. “See this one? It’s smaller than the others. I think she got away from them. They lead into the woods.”

“What you got?” Sean asked as he approached after his survey of the area.

Sam pointed and related his theory. Sean nodded.

“I’ll have my men spread out.” He looked up at Ethan and eyed him with a steady gaze. “We won’t give up until we find her.”

Ethan nodded. “Thank you.”

The brothers followed the footprints into the woods. At times they lost the trail, when the way became too rocky to register the imprint of a shoe. Then they’d pick it up several yards later. About a quarter mile from the SUV, they found a tennis shoe lying among the leaves and dirt.

Adrenaline surged in Ethan’s veins. “It’s Rachel’s,” he said hoarsely. He scraped the dirt from the sides and the sole with shaking hands. It was definitely hers. His mom had bought them on one of her many shopping trips for Rachel.

“She kept going,” Garrett said.

Sam directed the flashlight beam along the path where the imprint of one tennis shoe and one bare foot led farther into the woods.

“Atta girl,” Sam murmured.

They hurried forward, keeping the flashlights aimed at the ground as they followed the footprints.

Eventually they came to a stop at a riverbank. The soil was disturbed like someone had fallen, and the incline was eaten away.

Ethan slid down the embankment to study the area closer to the river’s edge. There were distinct footprints, and closer to the overhang, there was a hollowed-out area that looked very much like someone had huddled there.

Rachel’s prints ended here, but the larger boot prints circled and overlapped before finally paralleling the shore west.

His brothers scanned the area beside him with frowns on their faces.

“What do you make of it, Sam?” Garrett asked.

Sam stared at Ethan, and it infuriated him that Sam was holding back.

“Just say it,” Ethan bit out. “We’re wasting time.”

“There are two possibilities,” Sam said slowly. “The smaller prints lead here and none lead away. The boot prints arrive here and they leave again in the other direction. Either Rachel lost them here or they caught up to her here and she didn’t leave on her own.”

Ethan sucked in his breath. He might be looking at where Rachel had died. He shook his head. Fuck no. He refused to believe that. If Rachel got away the first time, she could do it again. She was smart, and she was a fighter.

Garrett turned to survey the river.

“She could have gone into the water. She’s listened in on enough of our powwows to have picked up any number of evasion tactics. Hell, we used to sit around drinking beer and telling combat stories. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that she hit the water and stayed there so she wouldn’t leave tracks.”

Excitement curled in Ethan’s stomach. He had to believe that. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

“So we split up,” Sam said. “I’ll go upriver. You two head down. If she headed downriver, she would have hit the lake. I’ll radio Sean and have a search party scour the riverbanks upriver and also search the lake for any sign of her. If she’s out here, we’ll find her.”

Their radios crackled, and Sean’s voice bled into the night air.

“Sam, you read me?”

Sam picked up his radio. Ethan gripped his, but held back the urge to demand if Sean had news.

“Yeah, I read you, go ahead,” Sam replied.

“We just got a 911 call . . . from your house. Woman. Terrified. Babbling about men trying to kill her. Dispatch didn’t get her name before the line went dead, but I’m betting it’s Rachel. I’m on my way over now.”

No longer able to keep silent, Ethan keyed the mic and stuck the radio to his mouth.

“We’re on our way.”

Before his brothers could react, Ethan whirled and sprinted back the way they’d come. His brothers followed close behind. They crashed through underbrush like a herd of elephants. Limbs and bushes slapped Ethan in the face, but he batted them aside and kept going.