Maya Banks - The Darkest Hour

Rusty froze, and fear returned to her eyes. “Yeah, of course I do. I’m not homeless or anything.”

“You just don’t have food at this place to stay?” Marlene asked gently.

Rusty’s lips came together in a firm line. Marlene put two sandwiches in front of her and then reached up into the cabinet for a glass.

“Get her some ice, dear,” she instructed Frank.

Frank looked annoyed, but he did as she asked, returning a second later with the glass. The ice crackled and popped when Marlene poured the tea, and she pushed the glass across the table to Rusty, who was already devouring one of the sandwiches.

Marlene exchanged unhappy glances with Frank, who looked as moved by the sight as she felt.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” Marlene offered.

She wasn’t sure who was more shocked, Rusty or Frank. She silenced Frank with a look, then directed her gaze back to Rusty.

“Well?”

“Why do you want me to stay?” Rusty asked warily. “I tried to steal from you. You two aren’t into any freaky shit, are you?”

Marlene blinked in surprise, and then her heart broke as she realized what Rusty must be thinking.

“No, honey,” she said gently. “I’m just offering you a place to sleep and a good breakfast in the morning.”

“But why?” Rusty blurted.

She looked as though she wanted to cry, as if she had no idea how to deal with kindness dealt to her. Which told Marlene she’d seen far too little of it.

“Because you look like you could use some rest and another good meal.”

The yearning in Rusty’s eyes hit Marlene like a hammer. Lord, but she hurt for this child.

“And what happens tomorrow? Are you going to call the police?”

Marlene shook her head. “No, Rusty. No police. Unless you try to steal from us again. You do that, and I’ll call Sean myself. But you’re welcome to stay. And as for what happens tomorrow, why don’t we discuss that over a hot breakfast in the morning? You’ll have to pardon me for saying so, but you look dead on your feet.”

“Uh yeah, sure, okay,” Rusty said around a mouthful of bread.

“Don’t think I won’t be watching you,” Frank warned.

Rusty’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t respond.

“Go on and finish your meal, then I’ll show you to your room. You can take a bath and change into some of Rachel’s clothes I still have.”

“Who’s Rachel?” Rusty asked.

Marlene paused, sadness creeping into her soul. “She was my daughter-in-law,” she said quietly.

Rusty must have sensed her misstep because she didn’t press the issue further. Instead she wolfed down the remaining bite and chased it down noisily with the tea. Afterward, she wiped at her mouth with the back of her sleeve.

Marlene’s eyes narrowed, and Frank actually grinned. If there was one thing she didn’t tolerate, it was poor table manners. Every one of her boys had been subject to her ire at some point over the years, and as a result, they all had impeccable manners, even if they didn’t always choose to use them.

Still, she didn’t comment. The poor little chick probably hadn’t ever had too many decent meals, so table manners weren’t a priority.

“Come on then. Let’s get you upstairs. I’ll get you some clean sheets while you’re in the shower.”

RACHEL. Her name was Rachel. She had proof now. The strange man who’d appeared so suddenly in her hut had called her Rachel, and then her guardian angel, the one she’d feared was a figment of her imagination, had arrived to save her. Finally.

Only she didn’t feel saved. She was scared mindless, and everywhere she looked, there was only jungle. She was hopelessly lost and alone.

Alone. Not in captivity.

The idea gave her fierce pleasure as the realization settled over her. She was free.

She fell to her knees, nearly crying out when her stomach revolted and lurched. Her palms planted in the damp soil, she braced herself as she dry-heaved.

In the distance she heard movement, and she immediately stilled, holding her breath. Were they coming to take her back? It was tempting just to stay there and let them find her. At least then she’d get her medicine and the horrible pain would go away.

Angry tears burned her eyelids. She wouldn’t go back there. She’d die first. Ethan had been shot trying to rescue her. The thought made her stomach heave all over again.

She had to get away. The idea of going deeper into the jungle, into the unknown where any number of creatures stalked for prey, scared her to death. But staying frightened her more.

She pushed herself to her feet. She took one step. And then another. The ground felt warm and alive under her bare feet. She picked up speed until finally she ran.

Pain. Fear. She couldn’t tell which was winning. They both overwhelmed her. Rachel stopped to rest, leaning against a tree for support. She weaved and bobbed as nausea welled in her stomach.

Every nerve ending felt like it was firing in random succession. An endless staccato of agony barreled through her veins. Her skin itched, and it took every ounce of her will not to claw raggedly at her flesh.

Sucking air through her nose, her nostrils flaring with the effort, she looked around at the dense jungle cover. Helpless panic ripped over her until tears gathered in her eyes. She had no idea where she was going or how she’d survive.

A vicious chill wracked her body even as she registered the oppressive humidity. She was cold on the inside though. A sound behind her startled her into motion. She spun around, unsure of which direction to go. Which way had she come from?

Fatigue made her eyes droop, but she blinked and forced herself forward. Slime and God knows what else sucked at her toes. She jerked her foot up when something slithered across her ankle.

Ready to scream in panic, frustration and fear, she dove into a dense area of plant growth. A twinge in her shoulder, and then pain erupted like fire through the protesting muscles. Had she pulled her shoulder out? She lay there panting as agony ripped through her body.

She had to get farther out of sight.

The leaves were moist and brushed across her cheek, leaving a cool trail. Holding her injured arm tightly to her chest, she slapped the ground with her other hand and crawled forward until the ground cover engulfed her.

Her knees bumped over several gnarled tree roots, and she hastily scooted against the trunk, huddling for warmth and to try to still her thundering pulse.

Quiet, she had to be quiet. Her breathing sounded like a roar in her ears even amid the cacophony of the jungle around her.

Carefully she pulled her legs up, sandwiching her injured arm between her knees and her chest. She kept herself as still as possible.

Her muscles quivered and jumped. Her skin rippled, and she fought the urge to scratch and rub, to wipe at the millions of things crawling over her body. She kept her eyes open, knowing she couldn’t see anything crawling there, but her body refused to believe what her mind knew.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and she froze. Her eyes slowly moved to her left, scanning the area. And then she saw him.

Her breath caught in her throat. He was the one who’d been with Ethan. Sam. He was big and mean and carried a rifle. His gaze swept the area, his expression fierce and concentrating.

Oh God, oh God. What should she do? He scared the life out of her. She didn’t know him. Didn’t trust him. He knew her name, though. Would he take her back to the hut now that Ethan was dead? Would he help her or want to be rid of her?

Then to her right she caught another flash. At first she thought she’d imagined it, but when she looked again, she saw men moving into the area. They were barely discernible, their camouflage clothing melting into the dense cover.

No matter how frightened she was of Sam, she had more to fear from these men. She knew all of their faces well, had seen them on a daily basis for what seemed an eternity. Bile rose in her throat, and she shook so bad that her teeth chattered loudly.

She was taking a gamble. With Ethan gone, this Sam person might not care what happened to her. But he hadn’t tried to harm her, and she couldn’t say the same for her captors.

Desperate fear nearly paralyzed her, but she rose on shaky feet anyway. She had to warn him—had Sam seen the threat?

“Sam, behind you!”

He dropped like a stone. Gunfire erupted. She saw one of the men fall. A sense of savage satisfaction gripped her. Then more gunfire, this time from behind her.

She dove to the ground, throwing her arms over her head, her mind screaming endlessly. Desperate to protect herself in some way as the jungle erupted into a war zone, she curled into a tight ball, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

And then she realized the stupidity of curling into a ball. She needed to get away. She’d given away her hiding spot already. It was only a matter of time before they came for her.

Terror lending her strength, she pushed herself up and started crawling as fast as she could. She flinched when a bullet hit the tree just over her head, and she threw herself down once more.

When no other bullets smacked the ground around her, she started forward again, praying with every inch she gained. The gunfire stopped, but instead of reassuring her, it inspired gut-wrenching panic. No longer distracted, they’d be after her.

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.”