The Darkest Hour (KGI #1)(6)

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 f**king war, no matter that his wife was being held captive by a bunch of ass**les.

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 f**king 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.