Forbidden River (The Legionnaires #2.5)(15)

Shit. “Wouldn’t I be more of a challenge if I could run?”

He jabbed a pointer finger at her. “See, that’s what I’m saying about women. They try and get in your head and shit.”

A distant artificial whistle pierced the air, above the birds, the river, the wind in the trees. Then the echoing yell of a man, far down the valley. Shit. Cody. He should have been way downriver.

Shane leaped to his feet and bounced around, rifle at his shoulder, peering into the trees like he had X-ray vision. Jaws shrank back at the sudden movement, tail tucked.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Trapper?”

“Nah, they came through already. I watched them, tracked them, for practice. That your kayaker mates?” He narrowed his slit eyes even more. “You been lying.”

More shouting. Another burst of the whistle. Damn you, Cody.

Half of Shane’s face twisted into a smile. “Is it your boyfriend?”

“No.”

He started pacing. “You been fucking sitting here lying to me this whole time.”

Breathing became a conscious effort. Should she double down on denying she knew about Cody, or admit it?

“Nah, I like that. That’s good.” Shane stopped pacing and turned to her. “Coz I was starting to think you were okay, and that might make it hard, you know? But nah, we’re good. If you’re trying to fuck with me, I get to fuck with you. I’ll go after him and come back for you. But first I gotta do this...”

He pointed the rifle at her knee and flicked the safety off.





CHAPTER SIX

TIA SHUFFLED BACKWARD but hit rock. Another whistle. Cody shouted her name, clear on the breeze. How was this going to go?

“It fucking is your boyfriend.” Shane lowered the rifle. “Nah, I don’t wanna give away my position, eh? I’ll surprise him, take him out first. Heaps of time. You’re right. It’ll be more fun if I give you a chance. Dogs’ll catch up with you in a minute anyway, with all that blood.” He threw his backpack on and tightened the straps, then bounced on the spot three times as if warming up. “See ya soon, Tia. This is fucking on.”

He strode off with an exaggerated swagger, pulling his machete from its sheath and swinging it, the greyhound bounding and leaping beside him like it was high on his adrenaline. The attack dogs whined after him, straining their leashes—leaving her path clear. She felt for the wall behind her, used it to climb to her feet. Inhaling, she put weight on her leg. Pain shot up to her thigh but it held. She took a step. Shane spun. She froze.

“Attack, Jaws!” he shouted, gesturing at her. “Attack, Rocky!”

She flattened against the rock as the attack dogs turned, their leashes slackening, then snapping taught—their jaws inches from her legs. They barked, teeth bared, whining, clawing. Shit. Shane hadn’t tied them randomly. He’d tied them in overlapping arcs, trapping her. He laughed, and disappeared into the trees.

The bank behind her back was steep and smooth, a canyon carved by some ancient waterway. No chance of climbing. But if she slunk out along one side of the wall, she’d have to deal with only one dog. With what defenses? No sticks, no rocks, no handy slab of poisoned meat, just small stones and twigs—shrapnel.

Another shout arced over the valley. “Tiaaaaa! Help!”

Cody had to be bluffing, luring Shane away. Disrespecting the plan. Didn’t trust her to save her own arse—not that she was doing a particularly good job of that. And, okay, she might have a bullet in her knee right now if he hadn’t shouted, but that wasn’t the point.

Blood dribbled into her shoe, pooling under her arch. She stripped off her jacket and T-shirt, ripped the shirt along the seams and bent over her leg. Between pulses of blood, a flash of white was visible. Her shin bone. Ugh. She tied the T-shirt around her leg. Blood everywhere, but just having the wound contained made her feel stronger. She zipped her jacket over her bra—then stopped.

Shrapnel. Shrapnel had its uses. She chewed the inside of her cheek. What the hell. She was short on options—and she didn’t want to be here when Shane returned.

Checking that he was still out of sight, she took off her jacket and bra, and zipped the jacket back on. She filled one of the cups with stones and experimented with spinning it, holding it by a back strap, G-force keeping the stones contained. Big ups to industrial-strength bras. The dogs whined, eyes following the bra, jumping at it. She’d take on Jaws. If it was less well trained, it might be easier to scare and distract.

She settled her nerves, picking her route, weighing up angles. If this didn’t work, she’d have a bitch of a time detaching the mutt. And what if it clamped onto her good leg?

After a few practices that had the dogs nearly tying themselves in knots, she paused and took a cool breath. Here goes. She did a wind-up, the cups humming as they sliced the air. She swung the bra and released a load of stones into Jaws’s face. The dog jumped back, stunned. Now. She sprinted, her blood-slicked soles sliding on dead leaves. In wobbly vision, she registered the dog shaking its head, standing to attention, launching. Reacting quicker than she’d counted on. Shit, it had too much space. She’d misjudged the distances, misjudged the leash length. She spun to face it as it leaped for her arm. At the last second, she jerked away, grabbed an end of the bra in each hand, snapped it taut and shoved it into the dog’s jaw.