Out of Darkness

Out of Darkness
by
Erynn Newman

Chapter One

“Mrs. Andrew Marek. I like the sound of that . . .” Elisabeth brushed her cheek against Drew’s lapel and admired the way her new wedding band wrapped around her engagement ring, the diamonds sparkling under the dance floor lights. The reception was winding down. She had long since kicked off her shoes and now stood barefoot on his feet as they swayed back and forth, barely moving to the music.

“Are you still staring at that ring?” His blue eyes shone with laughter.

“What? I’m allowed.” She bit her lip to keep from smiling. She’d been smiling for so long her cheeks hurt.

“I think she’s allowed to do anything she wants as long as she’s wearing that dress.” Gabe Di Salvo, Drew’s best man and CIA partner, bowed in front of Elisabeth. “Would you mind if I stole you away for a moment, m’lady?”

Drew tightened his grip on her. “Good luck with that, Gabriella. You’ll have to pry her from my—”

“Wait just a second.” Elisabeth cut him off even though his jealousy was kind of cute, and she certainly wasn’t complaining about how good his arms felt around her. Now was not the time to lose focus. “Is that true? Anything I want?” She laced her words with mischief. “Why have I not been using this to my advantage? In that case, I would like . . .”

She grasped Drew by the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and whispered in his ear, leaning back in time to see his eyes widen and a slight blush creep up his neck.

He cleared his throat and spun her into Gabe’s waiting arms. “So, it looks like I need to go check on the status of our limo.”

Gabe grinned as if he’d won the lottery. “Take your time. I’ll just be here, dazzling your bride with my dance moves.”

He put on his best threatening CIA operative look. “I’ll be right back. Try not to get carried away.”

“Which one of us are you talking to?” Gabe dipped Elisabeth with a flourish.

“You know exactly who I’m talking to, Di Salvo. Take care of her for me. You’re holding my heart in those gorilla paws you try to pass off as hands.”

“Aww . . . how romantic.” She rolled her eyes.

Drew grabbed her hand and pulled her in for a dizzying kiss and then bolted for the door with a wink for her and a “Seriously, Bro . . .” for Gabe.

“I will guard her with my life.” Gabe’s tone was serious, and he kept a stern look on his face until Drew was out of earshot. She was still standing there swaying on her feet from the kiss, when she felt Gabe’s arms wrap around her. “Alright, out with it. Where’s he hiding the limo? I’ve searched everywhere, even used some of my agency connections, and I can not find it. How am I supposed to cover it in embarrassing messages and paraphernalia if I can’t find it?”

She poked a finger at Gabe’s chest. “You aren’t supposed to find it. That’s the point. And don’t think all that CIA ninja stuff they taught you will keep me from kicking your butt, Di Salvo.”

Gabe carefully removed her finger from his chest. “Ouch, okay. I get the point. Spoken like a true Marek.”

“Why, thank you.” She smirked before waving a hand at him. “Now then, I don’t feel sufficiently dazzled. Show me what you’ve got in this dance arsenal of yours.”

###

Hand in hand through a flurry of bubbles and bird seed, Elisabeth and Drew dashed for the safety of the limo. She opened the door as he held his jacket overhead to keep the birdseed out of her hair. Laughing, she dove into the back, pulling him in on top of her. He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and each corner of her mouth, before claiming her lips.

“Mr. Marek . . . a word?” The driver’s heavily accented voice drifted from the front seat, and Elisabeth noticed that they hadn’t yet moved from their spot in front of the church. Tensing, Drew moved toward the partition to speak quietly with the driver.

Elisabeth straightened her dress and pulled the pins from her hair to remove her veil. Looking up, she caught the reflection of Drew’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Their coldness made her shiver. Whatever this guy was saying, Drew was not happy about it.

He returned to the seat next to her with a look in his eyes that she didn’t recognize. “I think I left my cell phone and wallet with Gabe. Can you run back in and get them for me?”

“Are you serious?” She started to argue, but something about the set of his jaw made her decide against it.

“Yeah, we’re just gonna drive around the block, and we’ll come back and pick you up.”

“Sure, fine. Finish your conversation. I’ll just go.” She could only pretend to be mad.

Her hand fell to the door handle, but he grabbed it before she could open the door. “Lisbeth?”

“Hmm?” She turned to face him, and he crushed her to his chest and pulled her into a searing kiss. She was breathless when they parted.

“I love you,” he said.

She looked at him quizzically but melted under the intensity of his eyes. “I love you too, husband. For always. Be right back.”

Most of the guests had gone back inside. A few remained on the dance floor. Some of the church members were helping to tear down all the decorations while the catering staff flitted about putting away the leftovers.

“See, I’m not even supposed to be witnessing all these unromantic aspects of this day,” she grumbled under her breath.

She found Gabe in the kitchen flirting with one of the caterers and packing a clam shell box with crème puffs and cucumber sandwiches.

He looked up at her in surprise. “Hey! I thought you guys left. Wasn’t that the point of all the fanfare and stuff?”

“Right, that’s what I thought. But my husband—” Would she ever get tired of saying that? “seems to have left his wallet and cell phone with his best man, so here I am.”

A deep V formed between Gabe’s eyebrows. “No, I made sure he had them right before you guys . . .” His face suddenly became hard, like Drew’s in the limo, and he ran for the door.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Kicking off her shoes, she hiked up her skirt and ran after him. She almost slammed into his back when he stopped at the top of the front steps to scan the scene. She saw the limo across the street, then a flash so bright she couldn’t see anything else.

So hot. And loud.

Her head vibrated, and her ears rang. Gabe tackled her, pushing her into the sidewalk. He was heavy. It hurt.

The world tilted on its axis—everything spinning out of control. She heard voices and crying, and Gabe shouting—something about 911. She blinked, trying to make her eyes see again. She felt her mom and dad holding onto her, and she realized Gabe was gone. He was running toward the fire.

He kicked at the door. But there was nothing left. What was he doing?

The roaring in her ears died down, and the voices swirled around her—saying it was too late.

The voices wanted her to go inside and sit down. She wanted to tell them “no,” that she had to wait for Drew. He was coming back to pick her up. But in the pit of her stomach, she felt the truth. He wasn’t coming back.

She couldn’t breathe. Her legs trembled. Was she standing? She couldn’t tell. A terrible wailing sound ripped through the air. It wouldn’t stop.

Make it stop.

She covered her ears. Still not breathing. The voices told her to calm down, take deep breaths.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The wailing stopped. Was it her? Had she been making that awful sound?

More voices, telling her what to do. Then sirens. Everything was so loud. The ground came up at her, fast. Her knees hit the ground, and she clutched her chest. Her heart hurt. Like it was being wrenched from her body—like it was burning too.

The voices got quieter. She could hear her heart beating. Burning and beating.

He couldn’t be gone. He wasn’t in there. It wasn’t possible.

Someone brought a bottle of water and wrapped a blanket around her. They touched her hair and rubbed her shoulders, hovered around her like a bunch of squawking birds. Too much. Too many people. Too many voices. Too many hands.

Then, just two hands. And a voice.

The hands picked her up and held her close, and the voice told the rest of them to go. Gabe. Maybe everything was going to be okay. He’d tell her Drew wasn’t in the limo. It was all a mistake. But he didn’t. He didn’t say anything.

She buried her face in his shirt. It smelled like chemicals and smoke. She looked up at him, and she knew. His face looked like her heart felt. Scorched and streaked with black . . . and pain. His hands blistered and bleeding. Then, she noticed the rust colored smudge on her ivory skirt where his hands had lifted her. Blood. Gabe’s blood.

Because Drew was gone.

An icy drop of rain fell on her cheek, and she lifted her face to the sky. Maybe the rain would wash it all away.

Chapter Two

Numb. Elisabeth didn’t remember getting into her parents’ old sedan or riding back to the house. She awoke from her daze as they pulled into the rutted driveway of the house she grew up in—past her old tire swing hanging in the oak out front, over the giant pothole that became a pond when it rained.

“What are we doing here?”

Her mom pushed a soaked curl away from her face. “We thought you’d like to rest awhile. There’s nothing more that can be done tonight. Why don’t you come inside and let me run you a bath?”

Elisabeth shook her head and pulled free of her mom’s embrace, feeling like a petulant child. “No. I want to go home.”

“Lizzy—” Her mom looked exhausted.

“Please, Mom. Take me home.”

None of them spoke as her dad drove the seventeen minutes across town to her little bungalow. Theirs. Hers and Drew’s.

Her dad helped her out of the car and kept his arm around her as they walked up the steps to the porch. Like he thought she was fragile—like she might break. Mom fumbled around for the keys and finally got the door open. Elisabeth stood on the threshold unable to move. The threshold that Drew was supposed to carry her over. How could she walk into their house without him?

She could feel her breathing hitch, and she clutched her dad’s hand at her waist. “Daddy, I can’t.” He turned her to face him, and she buried her face in his collar like she’d done a thousand times as a little girl when she was afraid.

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.” He somehow managed to get them inside and over to the couch.

She sat wrapped up in her daddy’s arms as her mom rattled around in the kitchen. He whispered a prayer against her hair. Elisabeth tried to close her eyes, but she couldn’t stop picturing the explosion, the angry black smoke curling up into the air, Gabe’s face smeared with blood and char. Instead, she stared at a blank spot on the opposite wall—the spot they’d saved for their wedding portrait.

Her mom stepped into her line of vision forcing her out of her catatonia. “I made you some tea. Will you try to drink it?”

She sat up and drank dutifully, wincing as the hot liquid burned her mouth. Mom and Dad bookended her on the couch, rubbing her back and playing with her hair but still not speaking. They knew. There was nothing they could say.

The sun began to set, and her mom broke their silent vigil. “Should I light some lamps? It’s getting dark in here.”

“No, dark is good.” She stood on wobbly legs. “You’ve both done enough for tonight. Why don’t you go home? I’ll call if—”

“Don’t you want us to stay?” Her mother looked stricken. “I don’t want to leave you like this. I can sleep on the couch, or . . .”

“No, Mom. I think I just want to be alone here.”

“At least let me help you get out of your dress.” She plucked a piece of wilted freesia from Elisabeth’s hair.

“No!” Elisabeth stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. “I can’t take it off—not yet. That would mean . . . I just can’t.”

Her mom started to argue, but Dad intervened. “It’s okay, baby. Whatever you need.” He turned to her mom. “Come on, Patricia. Let’s give her some space. She’s knows how to find us if she needs us.” He pressed his hand to his wife’s back and led her to the door.

Elisabeth sucked in a sharp breath. Drew used to do that—leading me, making me feel safe.

Her dad stopped and turned around. Grasping Elisabeth’s face in his hands, he kissed her forehead. His eyes shone in the waning light, his shaggy brown hair grayer than before.

Mom stepped in and hugged her tightly, leaving her cheek wet. And then they were gone.

She locked the door behind them—something Drew always insisted on when she was living here by herself. She wasn’t supposed to be alone anymore. Not ever again.

He promised.

She grabbed his scarf from the peg by the door and wrapped it around her neck—inhaling him. She needed more. To feel close to him. Groping her way into the kitchen in the waning light, she picked up the phone and entered the code for the voicemail. Drew’s voice cut through the too quiet house. “Goodnight, beautiful. I can’t wait to make you Mrs. Marek tomorrow. I love you. For always.”

Then the automated voice broke in. “To delete this message, press three. To save it and go on, press four. To repeat, press five.”

She pressed five as she fumbled her way down the hall to the bedroom. She didn’t bother to pull back the covers, just curled up against the pillows with the phone tucked under her ear. She pressed five again.

###

Gabe gripped the sides of the bathroom sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Soot and ash had left black smudges on his jaw. His eyes were rimmed red, and he had a cut above his eyebrow but no memory of how it got there. Filling his cupped hands with cold water, he splashed his face.

He’d spent the last five hours at Langley debriefing and crafting the perfect cover story for why anyone would want to bomb an international business consultant’s wedding—a story he would have to tell Elisabeth, and they would have to tell every other person that cared about Drew. It was a tragic accident, a case of mistaken identity. A terrorist attack meant for a dignitary arriving from the Middle East, but the bomb was placed under the wrong limousine. Gabe lied for a living, and he was pretty good at it, but this one rubbed him the wrong way. Instead of a hero’s death, Drew’s would be ruled an accident, a fluke misunderstanding. And Gabe would help keep up the lie that would bring no comfort to anyone.

The greatest portion of his day was spent answering questions about what he did or didn’t see, questions about their latest mission, old enemies, every possible threat, ad nauseum. They expected him to know something—like if he had a clue this was coming he wouldn’t have stopped it. He filled a cup with water and gulped it down.

It should have been him. He was the senior operative—the one with nothing to lose.

He swore and threw the glass against the tiled wall watching it explode into tiny pieces. “Did you hear that, God? It should’ve been me! Drew was the one who believed in you. He was the one that was always talking about love and grace.

“‘It’s a relationship, Gabe, not a religion.’” His impression of Drew’s voice was too close to the real thing, and it made him feel sick. He slammed his hands back down against the sink.

“Turns out it’s a pretty one sided relationship, huh? He gives you his whole life, and you wait until he’s finally happy, and stab him in the back.” He shouted at the ceiling. “And what about Elisabeth? What did she ever do to you? They’re the best people I know, and you just . . . destroyed them. If you’re really there like they say, and you can hear me—I hate you.”

He stepped over the shards of glass and turned the shower knob as hot as it would go. The water scalded his already blistered hands, but he relished the pain. Physical pain was easier to deal with than the hurt ripping through his chest.

###

Sunday morning had the audacity to dawn bright and clear. The sounds of D.C. waking up and coming to life accompanied the sun’s golden rays forcing their way into Gabe’s consciousness. For one blissful moment, still lingering on the edges of the dream world, he had forgotten. But he moved, and the pain in his hands shot up his arms. His eyes burned. And he remembered.

He stumbled into the kitchen to brew some coffee and rummage through his alcohol cabinet for something he could add to it—something to take the edge off. He felt like there was something he was supposed to be doing. Not work. He’d been given a mandatory week’s leave, unless of course someone at the agency came up with a question they failed to ask during last night’s inquisition. He found his cell on the counter and brought up his calendar. Nothing planned. Then, what?

A memory from yesterday flashed so vividly, he felt it like a physical blow. He was holding Elisabeth, looking down into her face as he dipped her. Her smile was radiant. And Drew. He’d said something. . . “take care of her for me.” Drew had pulled her close and kissed her in a way that made him have to look away, but then he’d handed her back to him, placed her in his arms, and Gabe had promised. “I’ll guard her with my life.”

Elisabeth. How could he be standing here self-medicating and feeling sorry for himself? His best friend only made one request of him, and he wasn’t about to let him down.

###

His stomach knotted as he pulled into the drive. It still looked as picturesque as ever. The last time he was here, he’d been helping them paint the bedroom. He smiled thinking about the paint fight that ensued when Elisabeth got too bossy about the right way to paint. They’d all been covered in a paint she called desert moss, but Drew insisted was just plain old tan. He didn’t know when he had laughed that hard.

He walked up the stairs and knocked on the craftsman style door he’d helped install. When she didn’t answer, he walked around to the side of the house and peered in the dining room window. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

Elisabeth stood in the middle of the living room surrounded by paintings. The canvases, her hands, and her dress were all covered in bright orange and red paint. It was fire and death and destruction. She was frantically stabbing at the painting in front of her. Seeing her like that—it was like all the breath was sucked out of his chest. He was trapped in the vortex of an emotional tornado. Grief, sadness, searing pain . . . all threatening to tear him limb from limb. Anger remained. At God for causing her pain, at himself for not stopping it. But it was empathy that won out. He knew the feeling all too well.

Make it stop. His instinct to protect, to somehow fix it kicked into overdrive. He found the silver key on his key ring, the one Drew had given him in case of emergency. He figured this qualified, and he let himself in the front door. She didn’t turn when the door clicked shut behind him.

Crossing the room in a few strides, he gently took the paint brush from her hand. “Elisabeth—”

She looked up at him, the usual sparkle completely gone from her brown eyes. “You’re here.”

Her knees buckled, and he caught her, bringing them both down to sit on the floor. “I should have been here sooner. I’m sorry.”

Her bottom lip trembled slightly and she caught it between her teeth. He was way out of his depth here. Drew would know exactly what to do. He should be here—not me. He squeezed her shoulder awkwardly. “Have you slept?”

“I couldn’t. I kept . . . seeing it. Every time I closed my eyes. I thought maybe I could paint it and get it out of my head, but it’s like it’s burned into my brain.” She scratched at the dried paint on her hands. “It’s never going to go away, is it?”

He wanted to promise her that it would, that everything would be okay. That one day she’d wake up and feel whole again. “I don’t know.”

Her face crumpled, and quiet sobs wracked her small frame. He’d never felt more helpless. He leaned toward her, and to his surprise she fell into his arms. They wrapped around her easily, naturally. He held her head to his chest and swore to himself that he would keep his vow. He would guard this woman with his life. He would keep her safe, and one day he’d help her find her smile again. He’d do whatever it took.

###

Drew flexed his fingers. Plastic zip ties cut into his wrists. They were fastened behind him in a high-backed metal chair that seemed designed for holding prisoners—sturdy, two slits up the back spaced just right to slip his arms through, so even if he could have dislocated his shoulders to get his hands in front of him, he’d still be attached to the chair. A canvas bag of some sort covered his head. The effects of whatever drug they’d given him were finally wearing off.

He thought back over the details he could recall, many of them still cloudy. The limo driver’s softly spoken threat started it all. “This limousine is wired with explosives. Your choice how many of your loved ones you take with you. One wrong word, and I blow it here and now.”

So he lied to her. To make her get out. Even though he’d promised her he’d never lie to her again. He had to, to save Elisabeth’s life. He groaned—it hurt to even think her name.

When she was safe, and they’d driven enough distance from the church and any potential witnesses, he’d taken out the driver. Once he’d gotten an arm locked around his neck, it was only a matter of delivering the right amount of pressure. But then there were six guns trained on him. He had no choice but to surrender, to let them inject him. The effect was immediate. Like molten lead flowing through his veins, weighing him down, slowing his brain. He watched them put a body into the vehicle in his place—similar age, height, and build—a stranger that could have been his twin.

Who was he? How did he die? Was it just because they looked alike?

I’m sorry.

The drug made everything blurry around the edges. He’d tried to think, stall, make a plan. If he could hold out a little longer, Gabe would find him.

His thoughts swirled and floated out in front of him, slipping into the fog. The unknown gunmen dragged him toward the back of a catering van, his arms limp and heavy, his legs trailing uselessly behind him. His head hit the rust covered floor of the van as they hefted him in. A split second before the door closed, a beefy hand stopped it—reached in and wrenched his wedding band from his finger.

He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t fight them.

Please God. . . this can’t be happening. . . Help me. . . Protect Elisabeth.

The door slammed shut, and he let the darkness and the fog take him.