{"product_id":"the-darkest-hour-isbn-9780425227947","title":"The Darkest Hour","description":"\u003cb\u003eTHE FIRST ELECTRIFYING ROMANCE IN THE KGI SERIES \u003cb\u003eFROM #1 \u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES\u003c\/i\u003e BESTSELLING AUTHOR MAYA BANKS.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Kelly Group International (KGI): \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003ea super elite, top secret, family-run business that handles jobs the US government can't. \u003c\/i\u003eQualifications: \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eMilitary background, high intelligence, and a rock hard body...\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e It’s been one year since ex-Navy SEAL Ethan Kelly last saw his wife Rachel alive.  Overwhelmed by grief and guilt over his failures as a husband, Ethan shuts himself off from everything and everyone.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e His brothers have tried to bring Ethan into the KGI fold, tried to break through the barriers he's built around himself, but Ethan refuses to respond...until he receives an anonymous phone call claiming Rachel is alive.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e To save her, Ethan will have to dodge bullets, cross a jungle, and risk falling captive to a deadly drug cartel that threatens his own demise. And even if he succeeds, he’ll have to force Rachel to recover memories she can’t and doesn’t want to relive—the minute by minute terror of her darkest hour—for their love, and their lives, may depend on it. | \u003cb\u003ePraise for Maya Banks and for the KGI novels\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“If you haven’t read this series yet, you totally should.”—Jaci Burton, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Quick-paced, high-stakes action and plenty of smoldering explicit sex deliver a satisfying one-two punch of entertainment that will leave readers eager for the next book.”\u003ci\u003e—Publishers Weekly \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Incredible. Just beyond incredible and amazing.”—Romance Books Forum \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A must-read for romantic suspense fans.”—Sizzling Hot Books\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A must-read for…Christine Feehan and Lora Leigh fans. The nonstop action and sensuality is a treat not to be missed. I can’t wait for the next installment of the KGI series.”—Fresh Fiction \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A deeply emotional, highly satisfying, edge-of-your-seat read…Compelling and cutting-edge romance.”—Joyfully Reviewed | \u003cb\u003eMaya Banks\u003c\/b\u003e is the #1 \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e and #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the KGI series, the Surrender trilogy, the Breathless trilogy, the Sweet series, the Colters’ Legacy novels, and The Enforcers series. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe lives in the South with her husband and three children and other assorted babies, such as her two Bengal kitties and a calico who’s been with her as long as her youngest child. She’s an avid reader of romance and loves to dish books with her fans and anyone else who’ll listen! | \u003cp\u003eTable of Contents\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTitle Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCopyright Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDedication\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 2\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 3\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 4\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 5\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 6\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 7\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 8\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 9\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 10\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 11\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 12\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 13\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 14\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 15\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 16\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 17\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 18\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 19\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 20\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 21\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 22\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 23\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 24\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 25\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 26\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 27\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 28\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 29\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 30\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 31\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 32\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 33\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 34\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 35\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 36\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 37\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 38\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 39\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 40\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 41\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 42\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTeaser chapter\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePraise for the novels of Maya Banks\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eBE WITH ME\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Three hot men and one lucky woman. I absolutely loved it! Simply wonderful writing. There’s a new star on the rise and her name is Maya Banks.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—Sunny, national bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eLucinda, Darkly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eSWEET SURRENDER\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Searingly sexy and highly believable.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eRomantic Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“This story ran my heart through the wringer more than once.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eCK2S Kwips and Kritiques\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“From page one, I was drawn into the story and literally could not stop reading until the last page.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Romance Studio\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Maya Banks’s story lines are always full of situations that captivate readers, but it’s the emotional pull you experience which brings the story to life.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eRomance Junkies\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eFOR HER PLEASURE\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“[It] is the ultimate in pleasurable reading. Enticing, enchanting and sinfully sensual, I couldn’t have asked for a better anthology.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eJoyfully Reviewed\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Full of emotional situations, lovable characters, and kick-butt story lines that will leave you desperate for more. I highly recommend \u003ci\u003eFor Her Pleasure\u003c\/i\u003e for readers who like spicy romances with a suspenseful element—it’s definitely a must read!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eRomance Junkies\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Totally intoxicating, \u003ci\u003eFor Her Pleasure\u003c\/i\u003e is one of those reads you won’t be forgetting any time soon.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Road to Romance\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBerkley titles by Maya Banks\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFOR HER PLEASURE \u003cbr\u003eSWEET SURRENDER \u003cbr\u003eBE WITH ME \u003cbr\u003eSWEET PERSUASION \u003cbr\u003eSWEET SEDUCTION \u003cbr\u003eSWEET TEMPTATION\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTHE DARKEST HOUR\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTHE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP\u003c\/b\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePublished by the Penguin Group\u003c\/b\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePenguin Group (USA) Inc.\u003c\/b\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTHE DARKEST HOUR\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA Berkley Sensation Book \/ published by arrangement with the author\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePRINTING HISTORY\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBerkley Sensation mass-market edition \/ September 2010\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003eCopyright © 2010 by Maya Banks.\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAll rights reserved.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, \u003cbr\u003ea division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., \u003cbr\u003e375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eISBN: 9781101443170\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBERKLEY® SENSATION \u003cbr\u003eBerkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, \u003cbr\u003ea division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., \u003cbr\u003e375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. \u003cbr\u003eBERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTo Stephanie Tyler, Jaci Burton, Karin Tabke, Sylvia Day and Lorelei James.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGood friends are the sweetest pleasures in life. Thank you for being mine.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eCHAPTER 1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eHE’D\u003c\/b\u003e hoped if he drank enough the night before he’d sleep right through today. Instead his eyes popped open at eight A.M., and sunlight promptly fried his retinas.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEthan Kelly threw an arm over his face and lay there as the reality of the day hit him square in the gut.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJune 16.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe could say something incredibly corny like . . . June 16, the day his world irrevocably changed. June 16, the day everything went to hell. Truth was, it had done that long before.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe phone rang shrilly from the nightstand, and he quelled the urge to smash it. Instead he listened as each ring pierced his skull like an ice pick.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen it didn’t quit in a reasonable length of time, he reached over and yanked the cord from the wall. It could only be one of his well-meaning family members, and the last thing Ethan wanted today was sympathy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf it was his dad, he’d give Ethan a lecture about how Rachel wouldn’t like the man he’d become. No, Rachel hadn’t liked the man he’d \u003ci\u003ebeen\u003c\/i\u003e. Huge difference there. \u003ci\u003eHe\u003c\/i\u003e hadn’t liked the man he’d been.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFrank Kelly would go on about how it was time to get on with his life. Move on. He’d grieved long enough.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf it was one of his brothers calling, they’d ride his ass about when he was coming to work for KGI.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTry never.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKnowing there was no chance of him going back to sleep with a head that was split apart at the seams, he struggled to the edge of the bed and planted his feet on the floor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe’d sought oblivion, but all he had to show for the alcohol binge was cotton mouth and a stomach that felt like he’d ingested lead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd he still had to face today.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEyes closed, he pressed his fingers into his temples and then covered his face with his hands. His palms dug into his eye sockets, and he massaged as if he could wipe away the cloud hovering in his vision.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eRachel.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer name whispered through his tired mind, conjuring memories of his laughing, smiling, \u003ci\u003ebeautiful\u003c\/i\u003e wife. They floated there like butterflies.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJust as quickly they shriveled and turned black as if someone had held the wings to fire.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRachel was gone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe was dead.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe wasn’t coming home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe pushed himself up from the bed and staggered toward the bathroom. His reflection didn’t shock him, and he didn’t spare a moment to splash his face with water or wash out his mouth. He took a piss and stumbled back out, his tongue rasping over the roof of his mouth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe needed a drink. Preferably something that wasn’t going to make him puke.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMechanically, he walked barefooted across the wood floors into the living room. Everything was just as she’d left it. The room reflected her personality. Classy, elegant, and uncluttered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was a rough-around-the-edges slob.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith a heavy sigh, he wandered into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe it was time to put the past behind him. Get on with his sorry life. But he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself for pushing her away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe stood by the coffeemaker, waiting for it to quit gurgling.  He could sell the house and move to something smaller. It didn’t make sense to keep it since it was just him now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe needed to move somewhere he wasn’t reminded of her at every turn, but then this was part of his penance. She didn’t deserve to be forgotten and discarded even if that’s what he’d done.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe thrust his cup forward and poured the steaming coffee from the pot. Then he ambled over to the glass table that overlooked the back deck. He sat and stared out over the landscape that had suffered over the last year. Rachel and his mom had painstakingly planned every detail, putting in long hours planting and weeding. Ethan had helped—when he was home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe’d often been gone for weeks on end, the assignments always out of the blue, classified. He left Rachel with her never knowing where he was going or if he’d return. It was no way for them to live.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe’d resigned his commission after Rachel had miscarried their child. During the two years they were married, he’d failed her a lot, and he’d sworn he wouldn’t do it again. But he had.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe rubbed his eyes then let his hand rest lingeringly on the three days’ worth of stubble that resided on his jaw. He was a wreck.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA flash of peach caught his eye. He zeroed in on the vase of roses he’d bought yesterday. They were her favorite. Not quite orange, not quite pink, she’d always say. A perfect shade of peach. He should take them to her grave, but he wasn’t sure he could bear to stand over that cold slab of marble and tell her for the fortieth time he was sorry.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs quickly as the thought seared through his mind, he curled his lip in disgust. He’d go. It was the least he could do. In the weeks leading up to the one-year anniversary of her death, he’d avoided the cemetery. It shouldn’t surprise him that he was all too willing to shirk his responsibility. He’d made a practice of it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe shoved the cup of coffee across the table, sloshing liquid over the rim. Ignoring the mess, he went back into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He needed a shower and a shave, but he wasn’t taking the time to do either. If his appearance put people off, all the better. Making small talk and exchanging pleasantries wasn’t on his agenda.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBack in the kitchen, he paused in front of the vase of roses.  With shaking fingers, he touched one of the soft petals. He hadn’t bought Rachel flowers in a long time. Not since the first year of their marriage. What did it say about him that he bought them now?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRegret was hard enough for a man to swallow, but to swallow the knowledge that he could never do anything to right the wrongs was more than he could bear.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe gripped the vase, his self-disgust making him more nauseous than the sour alcohol swirling around his belly. He grabbed for his keys and stalked toward the front door, determined to go to her grave, face the past and make his peace with the day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs he opened the door, he came face-to-face with a FedEx deliveryman. He wasn’t sure who was more surprised, him or the FedEx guy, but judging by the way the man backed up a step, Ethan guessed he didn’t look too welcoming.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Are you Ethan Kelly?” the guy asked nervously.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yeah.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Have a package for you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Just leave it,” Ethan said, gesturing toward the rocker on the porch. He was impatient to be gone, and he looked pretty damn stupid standing there clutching a vase of flowers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I, uh, need your signature.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEthan caught the snarl before it escaped and set the flowers down on the porch railing. He gestured impatiently for the stylus and scribbled his electronic signature on the handheld unit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thanks. And here’s your package.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe guy thrust a thick envelope into Ethan’s hand and hastily backed down the steps. With a wave, he got into his delivery van and roared off down the drive.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEthan glanced down at the envelope but didn’t immediately see any identifying information. He leaned back into the house and tossed it on the small table in the foyer. Then he slammed the door and reached for the vase.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he arrived at the small church his family had attended for decades, his gut tightened. It was old, whitewashed and situated off a gravel road well off the beaten path. The cemetery was adjacent to the church, and it was where his ancestors had been buried since the late 1800s.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe got out of his truck, swallowed and then made his way down the worn path to the fenced-in plot of land that made up the cemetery.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe roses shook in his grasp, several petals falling and then catching in the breeze. They swirled crazily and blew across the collection of marble headstones.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis mom had been here. Probably this morning. There were fresh flowers and Rachel’s headstone gleamed in the mid-morning sun.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eRachel Kelly. Beloved wife, sister and daughter.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey’d loved her. His whole family adored her. His brothers used to tease him, tell him if he wasn’t careful they’d lure Rachel away from him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis gut churned. Acid rose, burning a path through his chest. Why had he thought he could return to the place where he’d said good-bye to his wife? His family had gathered round him that day, his mother’s hand on his arm, his father standing to the side, looking for all the world like he’d break down and cry any moment.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe hated this place.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe leaned down and placed the roses next to her headstone. Tears burned his eyes, and he clenched his jaw, determined not to allow his emotions free rein. He hadn’t cried. Not since he’d received her wedding bands in the mail. The only personal effects recovered from the crash. A crash that had taken the lives of the small group of relief workers flying home from South America.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo, he wouldn’t cry again. If he started, he’d never stop, and he might well lose his tenuous grip on sanity after all. Coldness suited him much better. He knew his family thought he was unfeeling. He’d never allowed anyone to see how profoundly affected he was by Rachel’s death. The truth was he couldn’t bring himself to share her memory with anyone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the place where Rachel rested. Overhead the sun rose higher, beating relentlessly down on him. But he felt frozen.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If I could take it all back I would. If I just had one more chance. I’d never let a day go by that I didn’t show you how much I love you.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe knowledge that he’d never \u003ci\u003ehave\u003c\/i\u003e another chance crippled him. The fact that he’d fucked up the best thing in his life . . . he didn’t have the words to describe the agony.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnable to stand it another minute, he turned away and walked stiffly back to his truck. The drive home was quiet. He  blocked out everything but the road in front of him. Numbness he could deal with.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe walked back into his house, absorbing yet more quiet as he shut the door. The FedEx package lay to the side, but he walked by it, his only desire right now to get a shower and rid himself of the smell of stale booze.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwenty minutes later, he sat on the edge of the bed and hung his head as he tried to settle his roiling stomach. The shower had helped. Some. But it hadn’t rid him of the aching head and sick gut.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf it hadn’t meant facing his mom, he’d have gone over to get some of her soup. She didn’t deserve to see him hungover and looking like shit, though. It would upset her and make her and his dad worry more than they did already.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe flopped back onto the mattress and closed his eyes. Peace. He just wanted peace.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e WHEN\u003c\/b\u003e Ethan next cracked his eyes open, the room was dark. He sucked in a breath through his nose and tested the steadiness of his stomach. He didn’t immediately suffer the urge to puke, so he counted that as a victory.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe glanced over at the window to see that night had fallen. Somehow he’d managed to sleep the entire afternoon. Not that he was complaining. It meant he was that much closer to putting June 16 behind him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis muscles protested when he crawled out of bed. He stretched and rolled his shoulders as he padded into the kitchen. His stomach growled, another thing he took as a positive sign.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe threw together a sandwich, poured himself a glass of water and made his way into the living room. Not bothering to turn on the light, he sat on the couch and ate in the dark.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe briefly considered finishing off the liquor he’d purchased the day before, but it would mean he’d start all over tomorrow and eventually his family would get tired of his avoidance and they’d come for him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe’d shoved the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth when his gaze found the FedEx envelope hanging halfway off the table in the small foyer. He frowned as he remembered the encounter with the delivery guy.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSetting his glass on the coffee table, he walked over to  retrieve the heavy envelope. As he returned to the couch, he ripped at the seal. He reached over to flip on the lamp, then flopped onto the sofa and slid his hand inside the sturdy Tyvek envelope.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe dragged out a stack of papers in varying sizes and shapes. Some were legal-sized documents while others were half pieces of paper. There were charts and stuff that looked like satellite imagery and GPS coordinates.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHad he gotten KGI stuff by mistake? Surely his brothers wouldn’t have made an error like that. No one they knew should even have his address, but this stuff looked official. It looked military.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere were photos. Several spilled over his lap and onto the couch. When he picked one up, his heart stuttered and all the breath left his chest in a painful rush.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was a photo of a woman, obviously a prisoner in some shithole jungle camp. If Ethan had to guess, he’d place odds on South America or maybe Asia. Some fuckhole like Cambodia.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwo men flanked the woman in the photo and both carried guns. One had a grip on her arm, and she looked scared out of her mind.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat wasn’t what blazed through his mind like a buzz saw.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe woman looked remarkably like Rachel. His wife Rachel. Rachel who was dead. Rachel who he’d just visited in the fucking cemetery.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat kind of twisted joke was this?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe rifled through the stack of paperwork looking for something that made sense. Maybe some haha note from some sick fuck looking for kicks.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen he came across the short handwritten note, he froze. All the blood left his face at the four simple words.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYour wife is alive\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was a kick right to the balls. Rage surged through his veins like bubbling lava. He crumpled the note in his fist and threw it across the room. It skittered along the floor and landed under the television.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWho the hell would pull a stunt like this and why?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe snatched up the photo again and then another. He gathered them all, his hands shaking so bad the pictures scattered like a deck of cards.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCursing, he got down on his knees to collect the photos from  underneath the coffee table. Some had slid under the couch, and still more were wedged between the cushions.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePapers had also scattered everywhere. Charts, maps, a whole host of crap that made no sense to him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGet a grip. Don’t let this asshole get to you\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEven though he told himself it was all some morbid prank, he couldn’t control the rush of anger. Hope. Fear. Rage. Helpless fury. Hope. Against his fucking will. \u003ci\u003eHope\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe curled his fingers around the papers, wrinkling them with the force of his grip. The pictures stared back at him, mocking him. They were Rachel. All were Rachel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThinner, haunted. Her hair was shorter, her eyes duller. But it was Rachel. A face and body he was intimately familiar with.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWho would do this? Why would someone set up such an elaborate hoax just to fuck with him on the one-year anniversary of her death? What could they possibly hope to gain?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe forced himself to look away from the scared, fragile woman in the picture because if he continued to stare and if he gave any thought to it being Rachel—his \u003ci\u003ewife\u003c\/i\u003e—he was going to vomit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe other documents blurred in his vision, and he wiped angrily at his eyes so he could make sense of what he was holding. He forced calm he didn’t feel. It took everything he had, but he switched off his emotions and studied the documents with the detached coldness necessary to remain objective.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe hastily spread everything out on the coffee table, positioning what he could fit, and then he lined the rest out on the couch.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe map pointed him to a remote area of Colombia about fifty miles from the Venezuelan border. The satellite photos showed dense jungle surrounding the tiny village—if you could call it a village. It was nothing more than a dozen huts constructed of bamboo and banana leaves.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSpecial attention was given to the guard towers and to the two areas where arms were stockpiled. What the hell would a shithole like that need with guard towers and enough ammo to support a small army?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDrug cartel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe glanced again at the photo of the woman.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRachel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer name floated insidiously through his mind.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt looked like her. Made sense it could be her. If it weren’t for the fact that her remains had been shipped home along with her wedding rings.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo DNA testing had been done.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNausea surged in his belly until he physically gagged.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo. No way in hell he’d blindly accepted his wife’s death while she was being held, enduring God knows what by men who had no compunction about terrorizing an innocent woman.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe’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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJesus, he hadn’t questioned his wife’s death.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGPS coordinates. Satellite photos. Topo maps. Whoever had sent it was thorough.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eYour wife is alive\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe glanced at the shadow of the small, balled-up piece of paper lying underneath the television.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFour words. Just four simple words.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOnly tonight he was stone cold sober.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo. 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe’d prayed for a miracle more times than he cared to admit, but his prayers had gone unanswered. Or had they?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re losing it,” he muttered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFinally 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?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe 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?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHell, 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOh God, they’d think he’d finally lost his mind. They’d have him committed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eBut what if this isn’t a joke?\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe thought took him by the throat. It had teeth. It wouldn’t let go.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf she was there . . . if she was alive . . . he was bringing her home.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eCHAPTER 2\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTHERE\u003c\/b\u003e 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEthan 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey’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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA FedEx package had done what his brothers couldn’t do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor the first time, he felt something other than guilt or grief. He was angry. Very, very angry.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEthan 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEthan 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEthan 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\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48338550522085,"sku":"NP9780425227947","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780425227947.jpg?v=1769572652","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-darkest-hour-isbn-9780425227947","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}