Maya Banks: The Darkest Hour

“They’re the dumb ones,” Ethan said.

“Yeah well, what’s your excuse?” Garrett demanded. “Donovan and I set such a good example for you with the marines. But no, you had to go be a navy boy. Although you look damn pretty in the little sailor suit.”

Donovan snickered, and Ethan reached out to slug Garrett in the gut. Garrett doubled over as a laugh escaped.

“It’s good to have you back, Ethan,” Sam said, his tone growing serious.

Ethan glanced up at Sam. “I just want her back, man.”

“Yeah, I know, and we’ll get her. I promise.”

THEjungle around them was alive with hundreds of critters. The air was so heavy and concentrated that it swam in lines in front of Ethan’s eyes. Breathing was damn near impossible. The heat was so oppressive that it weighed down on them like two tons of concrete.

Seamlessly, the men—and the lone woman—moved stealthily through the jungle, closing in on their target.

P.J. Rutherford, their best sniper, took position and trained her rifle on the distant guard towers. She held up two fingers to signal there were two men in each of the two western posts.

David Coletrane, or just Cole, was half a mile directly in front of P.J., poised to take out the two east towers. Steele, P.J. and Cole’s team leader, held up a fist and signaled his ready.

Donovan and Garrett disappeared from sight as they maneuvered to the south. Their job was to set explosives, provide distraction, and take out anyone in their path.

Steele and the rest of his team would take the north.

Sam and Ethan surveyed the ragtag camp in front of them, taking in each of the straw-thatched huts. Sam held up his finger and motioned toward the three to the north and then he pointed at Ethan and gestured toward the four huts on the southern perimeter. Ethan nodded and hunkered down to wait for the fireworks to begin.

It took every ounce of his training to sit there and not charge into the camp, gun blazing, throwing grenades and leveling everything in his path. It was still his preference. These bastards didn’t deserve any mercy. If it weren’t for the fact they weren’t sure where Rachel was being housed and that she might get caught in the cross fire, Ethan would say fuck the plan and decimate the village.

Sam checked his watch and then signaled Ethan that they had two minutes to go time.

Ethan’s gaze drifted through the leaves and tangle of vines, but the only person other than Sam he could see was P.J. At one minute to go time she’d take out the guards and then she and Cole would pick off anyone in the way of Ethan and Sam.

She was an interesting character. When Sam had told Ethan about her, he’d assumed she’d be a doggish-looking woman, stocky in build with a manly haircut and tattoos. Instead she was delicate looking and utterly feminine. That she was a highly skilled assassin was incongruous with the image she projected.

Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face was painted camo. She was hunched over her rifle, her expression one of intense concentration as she found her target.

At one minute to go, only the slight shift of her body told Ethan that she’d taken the first shot. Within two seconds she’d taken the second and then she swung her rifle over to aim at the other guard tower.

She took two more quick shots then held up her hand to signal her success.

Twenty seconds to go time.

P.J. repositioned so she’d have Sam and Ethan’s path within her rifle sights. Five seconds to go-time and she was on her belly, her rifle up and steady.

A thunderous explosion shook the ground. Multiple fireballs lifted through the jungle canopy, lighting an eerie path into the sky.

Ethan lunged forward, his gun up as he ran through the tangle of jungle growth and into the cleared area of the camp.

Machine gun fire erupted on both sides of Ethan as he made his way toward the first hut. He hadn’t checked Sam’s progress, and he just hoped the sharpshooters did their jobs.

SHEhuddled in the darkness, hugging her knees to her chest. She rocked back and forth, a constant motion as she rubbed her hands up and down her legs.

Her medicine. She needed her medicine. Where were they? Had they forgotten? Had she done something bad? Was she being punished? She needed her medicine. The pain crawled over her flesh, leaving a burning trail over her body.

She closed her eyes and rocked harder. Sweat bathed her shoulders, and she shook uncontrollably. The dirt floor felt hard and cold. Despite the oppressive heat and humidity, coldness seeped into her bones. Chill bumps broke out on the surface of her skin.

Rachel . Rachel . Rachel .

She said the name, a litany on her lips. If she didn’t say it, she was sure she would forget, and she had already forgotten so much.

My name is Rachel .

Some of the panic subsided as she managed to hold on to that one vital piece of information. Pain and nausea welled in her stomach, twisting it around in knots.

She sucked in deep breaths and tried to focus her thoughts. She closed her eyes again to conjure the image that had brought her comfort in the long months she had lived here.

Rachel couldn’t remember his name. She didn’t even know if he was real , but as long as she could see him, she could believe there was still hope.

Her guardian angel. He hovered on the fringes of her shattered mind. Big, strong, a warrior. Her protector.

Where was he ?

How many days had she sat here wondering if he would come? She had lost count long ago, the scratches on the wall to mark the passing time a long-forgotten diversion.

Oh God, she was going to die. They weren’t bringing her medicine. She needed it. She couldn’t take the pain. Fear lodged in her throat, and she tried in vain to breathe around it. Her chest burned with the effort.

She rocked faster.

A huge explosion echoed like a million thunderclaps. The ground shook beneath her and she threw her arms over her head. The sound of gunfire rang sharply in her ears, and fear clutched her with dead fingers.

The lock on the door of her hut rattled impatiently, and then another gunshot, much closer, pierced her hearing. She glanced up just as the door flew open. Sunlight blinded her, and she ducked away. When she looked back, silhouetted against the odd orange glow behind him, stood a man.

He was big and menacing, his features drawn and made ghoulish by the fire and smoke and more sunlight than she’d seen in days. His rifle swept the room before he focused all his attention on her.

Oh God, he was going to kill her. The day had finally come. The one they had taunted her with.

She whimpered deep in her throat and wrapped her arms protectively around herself.

“Jesus,” the man swore. “Rachel, honey, we’ve come to help you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

She flinched. They had never used her name. In her darker moments, she wondered if she had made the name up.

The man turned his head sideways and spoke into some kind of a receiver he was wearing. “I’ve got her. Hut three. North. We’ll need cover.”

He looked back at her and started forward.

She threw her arms over her head and shrank as small as she could. She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see what was to come.

Above her the man swore softly, but he stopped. She could no longer hear him move. She chanced a peek from under her arms and saw him standing sideways to the door. He was looking out, his profile illuminated by fire.

A few seconds later, another man burst through the door, a gun cradled in his arms. His gaze settled immediately on her.