The Darkest Hour (KGI #1)(75)

She started up the bridge over Kentucky Lake. The water shimmered and sprawled for miles on either side of her. It was a calm day, and the sun still shone bright overheard. Perfect day for a barbeque.

Reflexively, she slowed as she reached the top, where the concrete guardrail had been knocked out a week before by a tractor-trailer wreck. Orange cones sat strategically on the edge, but there was no protection between the road and the drop-off.

The right lane was closed and traffic rerouted to the left lane so no one ventured into danger. As she neared, she accelerated, only wanting to be beyond the scary spot.

A sharp impact sent her forward into the steering wheel. Her seat belt clamped down in reaction and yanked her back against the seat. Someone had hit her from behind! Worse, they’d struck her left fender, spinning her so she faced the gaping hole in the side of the bridge.

She whirled in her seat to see behind her when she was struck again. The sickening sound of metal crunching assaulted her ears. The truck lurched forward, and she cried out as she rocketed toward the edge.

Her foot slammed onto the brake, and she put all her weight on it as if sheer will alone would keep her from plummeting over the side.

Her neck snapped forward as, once again, she was struck from behind. She screamed when the front end of the truck dipped as it left the surface of the bridge. She closed her eyes, prepared to feel the impact of the water and the cold surrounding her.

After several seconds, she cautiously opened her eyes again to see the sunlight still streaming through her windshield. A windshield that was bobbing precariously up and down.

Oh God. She was hanging over the edge, rocking softly up and down. Any movement could send her over.

She didn’t move. Was afraid to breathe. Only her eyes moved, rapidly, side to side, as she tried to figure out how she was going to get out. Her hands curled around the steering wheel, holding so tightly her knuckles were white. Her seat belt was still fastened, and she didn’t dare release the steering wheel to unbuckle it.

And so she sat, terrified, as the truck did a gentle seesaw motion in the breeze. Around her, she heard voices shouting to her, but she couldn’t even turn her head. She stared ahead and wondered if she’d survive the drop from the bridge.

Ethan was trained in water. He lived in the water during his years with the SEALs. She frantically searched her memories for anything that could help her now. A hysterical laugh escaped. Escaping a submerged vehicle hadn’t come up in any of their conversations. She was sure of it.

The voices were closer now. Surely they wouldn’t try to pull her out. Panic exploded in her stomach. Slowly and carefully she turned just so she could see out her window from the corner of her eye.

Two men were standing a few feet away shouting at her. What were they saying? If the buzzing in her ears would abate long enough, maybe she’d know.

She sucked in several steadying breaths and forced herself to relax.

Don’t move. Stay there.

Yeah, she heard that. Not to worry. She wasn’t going anywhere. Except maybe down.

A moment later she heard the wail of sirens. Her chest caved in relief. Surely they’d know how to get her out of this.

Anxiety was making her sick. Nausea welled in her stomach until she was sure she would vomit. The only thing keeping it down was the knowledge that if she allowed herself to be sick, she’d likely roll right over the edge.

“Rachel! Rachel!”

Relief swamped her. Sean. She tried to turn her head to see him.

“No! Don’t move, honey. Sit tight, okay? I just want you to know we’re here. We’ll get you out of this, okay? Just don’t move, for God’s sake.”

The worry in his voice did nothing to soothe her ragged nerves. Calm, unflappable Sean had an edge to his voice that sounded like panic.

A low moan escaped before she could clamp her lips around it. It was stifling inside the truck. Sweat rolled down her neck and between her br**sts. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and it made her light-headed.

Memories of that hated hot box slammed back into her mind. The days had bled into one another. The only way she knew it was night was because the temperature went from unbearable to slightly less so. And then it began all over again.

Her hands shook despite her best efforts to remain calm. She couldn’t go back there. She wouldn’t. She closed her eyes against the memories because now it all seemed too real. Maybe she’d dreamt everything. A hallucination brought on by withdrawal and days baking in the heat in the hated prison.

Her hand left the steering wheel and flailed at the window. Air. She needed air.

The truck rocked precariously, and the window slid down, letting in a blast of fresh air.

“Rachel, no! Goddamn it, don’t move!”

She had to get out. She didn’t want to die.

“Goddamn it, hurry up and get it secure!” Sean yelled.

She let out a low whimper. Her throat tightened until she couldn’t breathe. She could hear Sean talking to her, his voice low and soothing. She could hear the noise around her, the men hurrying to secure the back end of the truck so they could pull her back.

“Okay, Rachel, listen to me.”

She turned just enough that she could lock onto him. He stood just a foot away from the truck. Close enough to touch, but neither he nor she made any move to do so. His features were tight and worried, but his lips were set in a determined line. He wasn’t going to let her die.