Forbidden River (The Legionnaires #2.5)(13)

The sour stench of body odor smacked into her. Shane appeared, gripping the brown dog’s collar. It lunged for her, gagging as he yanked it back, its eyes rolling. Behind, the greyhound tracker bounced side to side.

“She got a good strong bite on her, eh?” Shane said, his shoulder looking ready to jump from its socket. “Jaws! Release!”

It didn’t.

“Yeah, nah, bit of a mongrel that one. Well, they all are, but must’ve been some monster jumped her bitch mother. Trick is, getting her to let go. Still working on that.”

“Get it off me!”

“Yeah, hurts like fuck, eh? Hang on, just let me tie this bugger up. He’s going apeshit. He can smell the blood, eh?”

What was this guy on? Tia tried to pant through the pain but it sharpened with every inhalation. Man, if she ever gave birth she was taking the drugs. Panting didn’t do shit. The dog—Jaws—gave a rolling growl. She forced her leg to relax. Maybe if she stopped resisting it’d stop the goddamn tugging. Its hold slackened—just long enough for it to adjust its bite and bust through fresh skin. She yelled.

She vaguely registered Shane leashing the brown dog to a tree and taking off a camo backpack. Something thudded down in front of the greyhound. A slab of meat. As it sniffed, Shane crouched and ruffled its ears. “G’boy. G’boy. What a good boy. Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The bound brown dog yelped. Shane tossed another slab and it jumped and caught it, choking as it yanked the leash.

Shane grabbed a stubby stick from the bag and advanced on Jaws. “Yeah, bitch got me good, too, when I’s training her.” He thrust his left elbow at Tia and, with the stick—an artificial thing with rope at either end—pointed out a ragged red scar on his forearm, below his rolled shirt. “Right through the bite sleeve. Shouldn’t a got the cheap one. Fucking li’l shit.”

He turned to Jaws. “Release!” he barked. “Release! Nah, fuck, see? She’s useless.”

The dog stilled, giving Tia a split second of relief. Its nostrils flared, the whites of its eyes glowing in the dim light, ears pinned.

“Yeah, girl, you done good but you gotta know when it’s time to concede, mate.” He forced the stick between her jaws, the extra force threatening to snap Tia’s shin. “Release! Release!”

The pressure lifted. Tia inhaled. Shane kicked the dog’s stomach and it yelped and skittered sideways, tail down. He pulled another slab of meat from his bag. The dog slunk to it, eyeing Shane’s boot.

Tia’s leg throbbed, blood soaking her jeans, filling the puncture wounds. She closed her hands around her calf, which only cranked the pain from red hot to white hot. Whoa, so not the kind of wound that liked pressure. She eased off, blood dribbling over her hands.

“Jeez, she got you good. Gotta work on her people skills, eh? I keep ’em right on the edge of hungry so they don’t lose their fight. Keep ’em remembering they’re working dogs.”

Just what brand of psychopath was he? As Jaws chewed, Shane hooked a leash onto its collar.

“Who you dropping off kayaks for? You got hikers coming through? Three of ’em?”

Three? Shit. He hadn’t seen Cody? She’d been alone when he’d opened fire.

The longer she stalled him, the more of a head start Cody would get. She surreptitiously checked her watch, pretending she was inspecting the wound. Eleven minutes until 1800.

“I’m flying a big group of kayakers up in a few days. Had to spread out the load.”

“Yeah, you’re not gunna be now, are ya?” He laughed, as if it was a shared joke. “You found that guy, eh? That weirdo German, or whatever the fuck. I went easy on him. He went quick. Shoulda seen what I done to his missus.” His head bobbed in a self-congratulatory nod.

Oh God. She had to know if the woman was alive. “What did you do?”

“Oh, we just had a bit of fun, eh?”

Her forehead prickled. His voice held no malice. He wasn’t taunting her—it was the conversational tone of a passerby who’d stopped to change a stranger’s tire.

“What do you mean?” She couldn’t keep the fear from her tone.

“Bit of a game. Cat and mouse. Well, dog and mouse. It’s what I do—get rid of the guy and have a bit of fun with his missus. Hunt her like with the pigs—send the dog to find her, weaken her, then go in and finish off. You’ll see, later. Not that I’ve done it heaps, not yet. Only, like, four so far.” He sounded apologetic, as if he was humbly underplaying his achievements. “Five, soon.”

Not if I can help it. The pain had eased to a throb, giving her a beat of respite between pulses. Would she even be able to walk?

She’d be able to kayak.

Four so far. “Where are the others? The other three?”

“Ah, they’re all up bush. Possum food. Wait, do possums eat meat? Hey, might be good to give ’em a taste for it, eh? We could stop ’em stripping the trees, get ’em going after the pigs and goats. You should see the damage they do, up the valley. We gotta do something about that shit.”

“Totally agree. Tell me where and I’ll report it to the rangers. Maybe you could help us cull them? I bet you’d be good at that.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Nah, it’s okay,” he said finally, as if turning down a favor.