Forbidden River (The Legionnaires #2.5)(31)

“Go!” she shouted. “Get help.” He could hardly hear her over the thunder of two hundred smashing cumecs.

“Not leaving you.”

She glanced at the bank, her eyes huge. “He won’t kill me straightaway. He’s doing this for sport. He’ll draw it out, hunt me.”

Cody’s boat shot forward, his glove slipping down the paddle. “Tia, pull me in!”

“You’re good at running and I’m good at hiding, remember? We play to our strengths. I’m letting this go. You’d better be ready because I sure as hell don’t want to search for your body.”

“No!”

“If something happens to me, don’t blame yourself or I swear I’m coming back to haunt you.”

“Tia...”

“Three. Two.”

“Tia!”

“One.” She let go and the current took its chance, sweeping him downriver. “Don’t come back without the army, Cowboy.”

Fuck. He swiveled, tossing her broken paddle and gripping his. He was too far right. He paddled hard. The current swung him sideways, accelerating on approach of the drop, shooting him under the bridge. His abs burned. The watery horizon was coming up fast. He was going down sideways, smack in the middle.

Not a great time to find out he was scared of death, after all. No way was this gonna beat him. No way was that freak gonna win. No way would he abandon Tia like he had Zack.

His kayak fell away under him, yanking him down. Weightless. White water, rocks coming up fast. Screw the death wish. Turned out he did have something to live for.

Someone to live for.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

TIA WAITED TO hear something—the crack of Cody’s kayak hitting a rock, a shout. The roaring falls smothered everything. The current shunted her kayak, lurching the stern up. Water gushed into the nose, submerging her feet.

Cody was a pro. He was wearing a helmet, a life jacket. He’d gone down on the current’s terms but he’d recover it. That was not how they’d say goodbye.

She yanked the spraydeck off the cockpit and clambered onto the tree. It rolled a little, sending her heart into palpitations. Time to swim. She’d be safer on the far bank, away from Shane, but that meant crossing the main mass of water—and the current was charging like a burst dam. But maybe she could lay a false trail. She unclipped her helmet and, with a grunt, hurled it across the river. It bounced onto a stony shoal. She shimmied out of the spraydeck, tightened her life jacket and leaped.

The current slammed her like a train. She stroked and kicked hard, icy spray pelting her eyes. Her arm hit a rock, spinning her. Something scratched her leg. A branch? She grasped for it, got a hold, stopped dead, the water tugging her. A tree root. She clamped her other hand around it. She was just short of the swing bridge. The root led to a gnarled tree clinging to the bank. Keep clinging, tree. She pulled hand over hand over hand, her belly clenching so hard she fought the urge to vomit. Her feet hit stones and she pulled into the rocky shallows, shaking all over.

Her instinct pricked. Goddamn, she was sick of that feeling. Shane? The dogs? She looked around. There, under the bridge, caught in debris corralled behind a pile of rocks—a square of yellow fabric, billowing and sucking like a jellyfish. A jacket? Clamping her jaw to kill the shivering, she waded up and grabbed it. It was heavy. Not just a jacket. Oh God. Something brushed her knee and bobbed to the surface. She stumbled back. A pair of legs, swollen, pasty, skin peeling off the feet, ankles tied with an orange strap—a dog lead.

She smacked a hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, riding out the hit of shock. That fucking monster.

A squeak. Her eyes flicked open. Squeak. Above her the bridge lurched and started jumping around. Squeak. Squeak. The sole of a boot appeared between the planks. Paws scrabbled. She held her breath, heart pummeling her ribs. The boots passed and a dog followed, nose down. The greyhound. It clawed the wood and whined. Tia slunk down, her skin stinging as the water reclaimed her. The whine rose to a bark, and another.

“Shut up,” Shane shouted.

The dog kept barking. Shane stopped in the middle of the bridge. Keep walking, keep walking. The dog flew back into the bush, still yapping. Damn. She sank until only her face was above water, the cold piercing her skull, her hair swirling.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted frantic movement by the bank, under the bridge. The greyhound. More barking. A crack. She lurched up. A gunshot? The brown dog bolted out of the undergrowth to join its friend, both baying like their lungs would burst. Shane was still on the bridge. He wasn’t aiming at her. He was aiming...downriver. Crack.

“Got him!” Shane yelled. “Fucking got the motherfucker!”

Tia stilled. No. No.

“Woo-hoo! Rocky, come here, boy.”

The dogs stayed put, barking, whining, pawing the lapping water. The bridge groaned and starting swaying. Shane was coming for his dogs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know she’s down there.”

Holy shit. He knew? He trod slowly, heavily. Taunting her. Cat and mouse. Oh God, what now—take her chances with the waterfall? She scanned the river ahead. There was one more spot where she could pull out—a tower of boulders right before the drop. She could scramble up and over and head into the bush. If she missed it, she’d hit the waterfall on the right and smack onto the rock ledge Cody had warned her about.