Forbidden River (The Legionnaires #2.5)(2)

He knelt over his kayak and pulled a water bottle from one of the dry bags stashed in the hull. He’d been crazy thirsty since Hong Kong, like the flight had sucked the water from his body.

“Hey, Cody,” Tia called from the hangar a couple of minutes later. “Give me a hand with these.”

He stowed the bottle and strolled over, the sun warming one side of his face. She waited by a roller door. Two single kayaks were lined up in front of her, faded and scratched, one yellow, one green, paddles balanced on top. As he neared, she nodded at the nose grab loops while she grasped the stern ones.

“It’s not meant to be a group tour,” he said as they lifted. They better not be taking anyone else.

“They’re for a couple of tourists who are climbing the glacier and crossing the peaks before doing the Awatapu. The conventional route.”

Right. Because he hadn’t earned the downriver kayak without first hauling ass uphill? Whatever.

“Glaciers are too slow,” he said, walking. The kayaks were lighter than he’d expected—but then, the climbers would be carrying a lot of their gear. “When are these guys due at the river?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

Extra incentive not to mess around. Not that people usually caught up to him on any river, let alone a fast one. They dropped the boats near the chopper and in silent accord returned for his kayak.

“You’ve kayaked before, right?” She knelt before the port skid and began fitting heavy-duty straps to it.

“Yep,” he said, yanking off his boat’s price tag. The elastic gave with a snap that made her head turn. He caught a hint of a smile. He’d taken it off so it wouldn’t flap during the ride, but he stopped short of explaining.

“You know the Awatapu is a grade six? Messy rapids, waterfalls, boulder gardens, sieves that’ll suck you under and keep you forever, snags to lose a battleship in...”

Tremendo. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You know no one does it solo?”

“I do a lot of things solo. I like it that way.” Not quite true. Not a lie. In a parallel life where things hadn’t gone to shit, he’d have been standing here with his brother, racing to be first into her good books and maybe even her bed. In this life, yeah, he was a loner, outside the legion. The shine had gone out of chasing women, like it had a lot of things.

“You know there’s no mobile reception, and no one passes by? These climbers are the only others up there.” Her lips tightened. “The only ones presumed alive.”

“You didn’t think of talking me out of it before I paid you?”

“Hell, no. I need the money. But we’ve already lost four tourists on the river this spring and it’ll be bad for business to lose a fifth. So just...don’t die.” Her tone caught somewhere between dry humor and genuine concern.

“Wait, four tourists? I heard about two, a month or so back.”

“Another couple went missing a fortnight ago. The tapu had only just been lifted after the last pair.”

“Tapu?”

“If a place is tapu, it’s sacred or forbidden. When someone dies up there, it becomes tapu until it’s blessed.”

“When someone dies. This happens often?”

“There’s a reason the river’s called Awatapu. But I’m hoping like hell both couples are waiting for us up at the hut, living off eels and huhu grubs.”

He noted her pronunciation—Ah-wah-tah-pu. Long vowels, a soft T, even stresses on the syllables. Not far off Spanish. “What’s it mean?”

“The forbidden river, the sacred river. Want to lift your kayak and paddle up here, and I’ll strap them?”

“And... Wairoimata?” he said, hoisting the craft, following her lead on the pronunciation, rolling the R. “That’s the name of the town I’m getting out at, right?”

“Yeah. Wai means water, roimata is tears.”

“Water of tears. Uplifting names. Did you fly them in—the missing tourists?”

She frowned as she strapped the kayak. “The ones from two weeks ago, yes. Danish couple. Experienced kayakers.”

“But not the others—the first couple?”

“I didn’t think they could handle the paddle. Both couples are officially still missing, but yeah, it’s a safe bet they won’t be walking out. We’ve had some late-season snowfalls so it’s not a good time to be lost in the bush. Not that there’s ever a good time.”

He pictured the terrain he’d flown over—the Alps, subalpine scrublands, rainforest... “Guess it can be tough to find people out there.”

She tugged at the kayak—it didn’t budge—then straightened and dusted her hands on her jeans. “Yep. I was up there long days, searching. I’ll be paying off the fuel for months.”

“You cover your own fuel on a search and rescue?”

She picked up the remaining straps and walked to the other side. “I’m funded to a point,” she said as they got to work. “But what am I supposed to do when the budget maxes out, leave them out there? And I took the second couple in, so... They’re probably snagged in tree roots, caught in a sieve. They’ll be flushed out soon, with the snow melting in the tops. The river always gives up its dead. The bush, not so much.”