To the Brink (24 page)

He cut himself off. Wiped a hand over his face. Settled himself down. "Look. It's done. We need to get settled in. Ethan needs attention."

All that anger. All that fear—whether he'd admit to fear or not—and he pulled himself back under control.

She felt very guilty suddenly. And very grateful that Dallas was the kind of man he was. "I'm sorry. I didn't think about endangering anyone else."

He stuck out his chin, looked away from her. "Forget it."

But she couldn't forget it. "I... I needed to be clean," she finally said in halting explanation. She didn't expect him to get it. Didn't expect that he could possibly understand that until she'd washed six months of beatings and rape and degradation off of her body, out of her hair, she couldn't begin to heal.

But when he looked back at her, his blue eyes probing, then softening, she realized that he did. He
did
get it.

For a moment, she thought he was going to touch her. For a moment, she wanted him to. She wanted him to pull her into his arms and hold her against all his safe male strength.

But the moment passed. For him and for her. And the quiet that settled in its wake filled up with unsaid words, fractured emotions.

"I used your comb," she finally said inanely, touching a hand to her hair, then flushing red when she encountered the orchid she'd tucked behind her ear. She tugged it out self-consciously.

"I scrubbed my hair with sand." Her body, too, then she'd luxuriated with one of those premoistened wipes that made her think of the way a baby smelled after a bath.

"Yeah," he said, his blue eyes sweeping her hair before returning to rest on her face again. He smiled. "I can see that. Um. Look. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

She breathed her first full-fledged breath since he'd landed in the middle of the stream like an avenging angel.

"I'm sorry I scared—I mean, I'm sorry I made you mad."

"Yeah, well. We're a sorry pair."

And that made her smile. "Not so much," she said.

He gave her a long, searching look.

Then he turned without another word and headed up the bank.

Interesting man, Dallas Garrett,
she thought, following him. Beautiful man with his dark hair and amazing blue eyes and tough, rangy build. Even through the face paint, she could tell that he was what her friends would call—well, they'd call him any number of things. A hunk. A hottie. A hero.

A cold bleakness came over her. She tossed the orchid to the ground. Too bad she hadn't met him six months ago. Six months ago when the thought of a long-term relationship with a man and the physical intimacies that came with a committed relationship were still a possibility in her life.

Six months ago, when the thought of sex with someone special had been a sweet dream instead of the nightmare it had become.

There were many moments Darcy would look back on and remember with clarity when they finally got off this island. Most would come in the night in the form of nightmares.

This moment, however, she would remember with awe.

It was the middle of the night. The treetops swayed gently above. Every once in a while, through the intricate netting of orchids and vines and vegetation of the shelter, the glimmer of a star would shimmer down from a sky bathed in the translucent light of a china moon.

The night was pleasantly cool. But for Amy and Ethan's restful, sleeping breaths on either side of her it was also blessedly silent.

Darcy felt no fear. For this moment, she felt no apprehension. Just gratitude and peace in the dark. A moment suspended from reality ... until the moment ended when a shadow that she recognized as Manny drifted by the shelter of vines.

Reality slammed back swift and harsh. Manny was on watch. She'd heard Dallas wake him a while ago and take his turn catching some sleep. Before him, Ben had insisted on doing his part.

Only Darcy and Amy and Ethan had been relegated to the shelter. In truth, there was barely room for the three of them.

On her left, Amy slept. Darcy still couldn't get over the way Amy had looked when she'd climbed up that stream bank.

Thrilled to see Amy, Darcy had fallen into her arms.

"You made it," Amy said, hugging her.

"Barely." Darcy pulled back. Looked at her. "Amy." She watched as the sweetest blush stole over the younger woman's face and she caught a glimpse of an innocence so brutally stolen. "Look at you... you look wonderful."

Okay. So she didn't look wonderful, exactly. With her emaciated frame and cuts and bruises marring her face and body and the lingering effects of her fever, she looked far from wonderful. But she did look at peace. And Darcy could see all the signs of a beautiful woman that the pain and the snarls and the dirt had hidden.

"I'm glad you're here," Amy said, diverting the attention away from herself.

"So am I," Darcy confessed.

Apparently, Amy was glad that someone else was here, too.
Interesting,
Darcy thought, observing the way Amy watched Dallas with those haunted blue eyes. Even more interesting was the way Dallas watched Amy when he thought no one was looking.

It had been hours since they'd settled in. Hours since Amy's joy had transitioned to horror when she'd seen Ben.

Even after Darcy had explained Ben to her, Amy had still been leery.

But now Amy slept. And for the moment, all was right with her world—if you confined it to this moment, this tiny window of time and the promises it held.

Tomorrow they would finally leave this place.

Because of Ethan.

Ethan.

He slept on Darcy's right. His breathing was regular and deep. A recent check with the back of her hand against his brow told her there was no fever. Not yet. Things were looking up a little. He'd even asked her to dig out his stash of Life Savers earlier.

She lay on her back, never more aware of another heart beating in the night. Never more aware that his was the heart of a warrior. A lesser man never would have made the grueling trip today. Ethan Garrett had never been a lesser man. Still, if he hadn't come on this operation well prepared, there was no telling what shape he would be in now.

Thanks to his foresight, both Amy and Ethan were on a regular regimen of antibiotics. Thanks to Dallas and Manny, who were both well versed in administering medical aid, Ethan had taken on enough fluid to retrieve some of his strength. Tonight before falling into a deep sleep he'd eaten as well. He wasn't out of the woods yet, but his chances for recovery had increased dramatically.

As quietly as she could, Darcy rolled to her side, facing him. Even in sleep, he looked fierce and commanding. Even in pain and weak from blood loss, he looked strong.

And even five years after she'd left him, she realized she still loved him. Loved the heavy roughness of his beard, loved the sculpted angles and planes of a face that still struck her as beautiful.

Loved the implicit trust he invoked, that he was a man who commanded that trust because he'd delivered on every promise he'd ever made.

Even when she'd left him, he'd made promises.

If you ever need me, I'll be there.

And one more time, Ethan had delivered.

A hot tear leaked out, slid down her temple, and trickled into her hair. She never should have called him. She never should have put him in such peril.

Yet she'd be dead now if she hadn't—and he might still die because she had.

How did she justify that? How could she ever justify asking this much of a man? Asking this much of
this
man?

And the bigger question. The one that kept her awake as the moon slowly drifted across the expanse of ink black sky to fade in the light of morning. How was she going to walk away from him again if they got out of this alive?

"I do—fu-in'li— —is."

"Say again!" Ethan yelled into the SAT phone the next day as Dallas's voice broke up.

With an M-4 wedged under his arm and a Life Saver stashed in his cheek, Ethan propped himself up against a coconut palm and tucked in against a rising wind that whipped up frothy surf and slammed it onto the beach.

Dallas was with Manny and Ben reconning the shoreline, searching for a friendlier landing zone for Nolan and the Huey. Ethan had just called Dallas and broken the news that he'd been unable to raise Nolan.

"I repeat. Say again!"

"I said, I don't fuckin' like this!"

That came through loud and clear. Ethan grunted out a weary laugh as a palm frond flew past, flipping end over end across the sand. Where water met shore green coconuts bobbed around in the agitated surf. "Meaning there's something about this fiasco you
do
like?"

For the life of him, Ethan couldn't figure out what that would be. Thanks to the golden BB that had tapped him of more blood than a vampire's buffet, instead of leading the pack out of this bug-infested jungle today all he'd done the last thirty-odd hours was slow them down.

Instead of solving the problem, he'd become the problem.

And now this. The storm of the century was about to hit Jolo and they couldn't raise Nolan, who was supposed to have been here by now to haul them out.

Fuck.

It was his fault. Because of him, they'd rested until daybreak this morning. Yeah, he was stronger today. Yeah, he'd taken on enough fluid and protein to drag him back among the marginally functional. But it had cost them precious time.

Not to mention, it had pretty much depleted what was left of his pride. This morning, Ethan had had to let Manny and Dallas cart his sorry carcass through the jungle again, turning what should have been a six-hour hike to the beach into ten.

And now they'd finally made the rendezvous point and they couldn't raise Nolan.

Ethan squinted against the wind and knew they had less than a half an hour before the last ray of daylight surrendered to a towering bank of black clouds that boiled across the sky like a swarm of pissed-off hornets.

All hell was about to break loose on Jolo—and him without a pitchfork.

Beside him, Darcy and Amy huddled together, shielding their eyes with their hands as a wind gust Ethan clocked at about forty per bent the palms into rustling
Us.
Sand peppered their skin like pellets.

He rung off with Dallas and tried to raise Nolan again. "Come on, Nolan; answer the damn phone."

Nothing.

Double fuck.

Ethan squinted up and down the beach for a sign of the boys and contemplated the
if
factor.

If
Nolan made it to Jolo and
if
the boys found a safe LZ and
if
Nolan could land the Huey in this storm
if
they did and
if
he could spin up again and
if
he could fly back to Zamboanga in this weather, then
maybe
they'd survive this yet.

Yeah,
if
was a helluva big word when your life hung in the balance. It wasn't his life he was worried about. It was everyone else's.

He wasn't exactly out of commission now, but he was less than half-steam. His leg throbbed like a bitch. He'd never admit it to them, but he was still as weak as a goddamn baby. And this ordeal was far from over.