A sob caught in her throat and she swallowed rapidly. Afraid of betraying herself, she lowered her head, burying her face in her free hand. She just needed a moment to rest.
Several long minutes passed, or maybe it was seconds. It seemed an eternity. And then she heard her name. The softest whisper, carried on a breeze. Rachel.
She flinched but refused to look up. They never called her by name.
“Rachel.”
Too close this time.
Her head came up, and she grabbed for her rifle. She rolled over, jamming the gun in the direction of the voice. A strange man stared back at her, his expression blank. His ice blue eyes were unreadable as he surveyed her calmly. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact she was pointing a gun at him.
She tried to scoot away, but she was tangled in ground cover. She thrust the gun forward, trying to at least keep her finger on the trigger.
From behind the man, another man appeared. Sam. He said nothing as he put himself between her and the other guy.
“Back off, Steele,” he murmured.
Sam put one placating hand forward, his other loosely holding his own rifle, though he made no effort to point it at her. “Rachel, listen to me. I won’t hurt you. I swear it. You need to put down the gun and come with me so I can take you back to Ethan.”
Tears immediately swirled. A knot formed in her throat, and no amount of swallowing would make it go away.
He couldn’t be trusted. He was lying to her. Ethan was dead. She’d seen the blood. Seen him fall right after he’d yelled hoarsely for her to go.
Holding back the grimace of pain, she got awkwardly to her feet. Sam relaxed and held out a hand to her, but instead of moving forward, she backed away, her gaze never leaving him or the man still standing just a few feet away.
Her hands shaking, she leveled the gun at an area between them, hoping they would just go away. Sam’s brows came together for a moment and then he stepped forward.
“No,” she choked out, as she stabbed the gun in his direction.
His hand moved upward and he stepped back, his expression guarded.
“Rachel,” he said soothingly. “Honey, I’m here to help you. It’s time for you to go back home. To the people who love you. Your family.”
Her heart seized. Family? She couldn’t remember a family. All she could remember was Ethan, and even those images were vague. When had she forgotten? All she could remember was endless pain and fear. The haziness brought on by injections thrust upon her and the crawling need when they waited too long to give her another dose.
For a brief moment she hesitated, drawn to the idea of family. A home. People who loved her. But then she remembered. Ethan was dead. He was all she had, all she could remember. Surely she would remember if there were others. Would she have forgotten her family?
You can barely remember who you are.
The thought drifted through the twisted pathways of her mind, taunting and reminding her of her tenuous grasp on her sanity.
She caught movement in her periphery and yanked her head to the side to see another man stalk toward Sam and Steele. He wore a ferocious scowl as his gaze homed in on her. He was bigger and meaner looking than Sam, and he should have put the fear of God in her, but there was something familiar, something oddly comforting about him.
Was she losing her mind?
He stopped at Sam’s side, and she still stared as images flashed erratically in her mind.
“What the hell is going on, Sam?” he asked in a low growl. “We don’t have time to be f**king around. Let’s get her and go.”
“Tell her that,” Sam murmured as he stared at the gun she held. “I’d say she doesn’t want to go.”
Like flashes of lightning in a black sky, pictures shot randomly through her shattered mind. Memories? The man standing beside Sam, only he was smiling, almost tenderly. Water. A dock. He lifted her and then tossed her into the lake. He stood laughing as she came up sputtering, and she was laughing too. Happy. She’d been happy.
Another memory, haunting and sweet. A church. Her gliding down the center aisle. Ethan waiting . . . and this man in front of her . . . he’d escorted her. Her hand clutched tight over his arm. He whispered low for her not to worry, that she was the most beautiful bride in the world and that his brother was the luckiest man on earth.
Garrett. Ethan’s brother?
“Garrett?” she whispered.
His face immediately softened. The scowl disappeared and something that looked like joy flashed in his eyes for just a moment.
“Yes, Rachel. It’s me, Garrett.”
Making an instant decision, she flew to his side, careful to put him between her and the other two men. He stiffened in surprise but put an arm around her. She tucked herself into his side and leveled a guarded look at Sam.
“Let me have the gun, sweet pea,” Garrett murmured as he gently pried it from her fingers.
She flinched when it glanced off her injured shoulder, and her breathing sped up. Sam frowned and made a move toward her, but she hastily backed away, her feet tangling in the undergrowth. She went down on her backside, landing painfully.
Garrett was down beside her instantly, his hand going to her arm. Sam stood back, his brows furrowed.
“Are you okay, Rachel? Where are you hurt?” Garrett asked.
“My shoulder,” she said. “I can’t move my arm. Hurts too much.”
“Probably dislocated,” Sam said grimly. “The angle is crooked, and she’s favoring it awfully bad.”
She scooted back as Sam moved forward again. He cursed and halted.