by Brynn Kelly
“Hold on,” Tia said, limping toward the beach.
“You talking to me or the mutt?” Its canines pierced the jacket, scratching Cody’s skin, but the pressure was the bigger problem. Any second he’d pop like a balloon. “This thing must weigh sixty pounds.”
“I’m more of a kilograms girl.”
She returned with the towline and clipped it to the dog’s collar. It rolled its eyes back, trying to figure out what she was up to. Me, too, mutt. Another whistle from downriver. The dog whined.
“It has an attachment problem,” Tia said. “Well, a detachment problem. Doesn’t know how to let go.”
“You tell me this now?”
She hoisted its hind legs, easing the strain. It twisted, eyes rolling back, paws scrabbling in air, like it wanted to turn and take out her instead but didn’t know how. “Walk inland. To the pig.”
“You’re not tying it up?”
“Got a better idea.”
“I’m not really warming to your last idea.”
His body was chilling with panic, his nerves screaming at him to do something. His medic’s Scottish brogue landed clear in his head: “Suck it up, Princess.” Tia had done this without the armor.
After forever, they reached the dead pig.
“Now what?” he asked.
“Sorry, that’s as far as my plan went.”
“What?” Another whistle. Closer. The shooter was on the move.
“I’m kidding. Let’s lower the dog.”
Bad idea. As soon as its paws hit dirt it yanked, trying to drag its prey down. Tia leaped to a tree and tied the towline around it.
“Jaws, release,” she hissed.
It didn’t.
She scanned the ground, grabbed a stick and caught the dog around its middle, which triggered more head thrashing. She angled the stick up and tried to wedge it into the corner of the mutt’s mouth. With the jacket and Cody’s arm stuffed in, there wasn’t room.
“Hold tight,” she said.
“Again, me or the dog?”
Cody braced as she shoved the stick. The dog released and dropped onto its spine with something between a cough and a bark. Tia grabbed Cody’s good arm and they stumbled away. With another cough-bark, the dog lunged. The towline snapped tight and yanked the mutt back. It whined and shook its head, then found its voice, barking to burst an eardrum.
Ah, now he got it. Not only were they just out of reach—so was the pig. Dog goes bat-shit crazy at pig, shooter thinks it’s guarding Cody and Tia and leaves the bridge to come find it, they get over the falls. Genius.
Tia shoved Cody. “Get the kayaks ready. If I’m not back in two minutes, go without me.”
“What the fuck? He’s coming!”
“Go!”
“I’m not leaving you behind, if that’s your pl—”
“It’s not. Trust me. I can’t waste time explaining. I’m a soldier, too, Cody—show me some respect and go.”
She was right. He wasn’t her bodyguard—they were a team. He’d give her two minutes but no way was he pushing off without her.
He’d just gotten the kayaks to the water when she leaped down the bank. Blood everywhere—her shorts, her jacket, a smear across her forehead.
“Shit, Tia, what happened?”
She held up a couple of dripping slabs of meat, hairy black skin still attached. “Ham steaks happened. He keeps them hungry. If we have another encounter...”
She zipped them into her jacket pocket. Shee-it, this could well be love. As they pushed off, stretching their spraydecks on, he ran through instructions for clearing the waterfall. “Only thing you gotta remember—you have to hit it from the left. You go down in the middle, you’ll get caught in the suckback. Too far right, you’ll hit a nasty undercut ledge.”
“The left. Okay.”
“Coming up to it, the current will push you right, so be ready. You gotta shoot out of that left-hand corner with nose straight and as much momentum as you got.”
She nodded, her face locked in calm focus. Show me some respect. Man, that’d stung. He had total respect, total faith in her, like he had in his commando team, like he’d had in Zack. Like Zack once had in him...
Cody rounded the bend in the river, his hull scraping a submerged rock. The current was already forcing him right. A stream of sunshine lit a rainbow in the curling mist. Fifty feet ahead, an old rope-and-wood bridge swooped low from bank to bank. Beyond it the water vanished over a crisp, smooth line, like his folks’ infinity pool, and reappeared much smaller far down the valley. Merde. Was this a waterfall or the fucking Hoover Dam? He pushed away from the rock and corrected to avoid the wake of a fallen tree splitting the current. One hell of a sieve trap. He glanced back to warn Tia—and caught movement on the stony beach they’d just left. The beach drifted out of sight but he knew what he’d seen. Camo gear.
A gunshot. Tia cried out, her boat rocking. Crack. Her paddle splintered, leaving a stump in her hand. Her gaze met his, eyes wild. A bullet had ripped the side of her kayak open. The current pulled her into a spin, going downstream fast. Another gunshot. The bullet smacked into the water behind her. She was using her half paddle as an oar, desperately pulling herself right—to the sieve. He veered violently and caught a branch of the fallen tree with one hand, his biceps straining to steady the kayak against the charge of water.
She was out of the hunter’s sights, but her nose was dipping, threatening to flip the kayak end over end and send her down the falls belly-up. Not a fucking thing he could do but watch her fight. And man, was she fighting, her cheeks blown up with the effort of feeding oxygen to her overworking muscles. She leaned hard to the right and the kayak swung—and wedged neatly between the tree’s upended roots. Good plan but it wouldn’t hold her long. His kayak lurched. The branch slipped from his grip. She thrust out her paddle, and he caught it with one hand while backpaddling with his other hand and wrangling the current with his hips and abs. Not sustainable.
“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.
Oh God, Cody.
Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe Shane had missed or just holed the kayak and Cody was right now swimming to the bank.
“Shall we pull her out and let you play with her while we figure out where the other bitch went?”
Wait—what?
Shane thought the dogs had found the body, not Tia. The boots passed overhead. He was seconds from discovering the truth. She’d wait until he reached the end of the bridge, anchored back in the trees, where his view would be obscured for a few seconds.
When his footfalls faded, she silently pushed off, skirted the body, drifted, stroked in and got ahold of the lowest boulder. Her numb fingers slipped right off. She flung her arm over it, the shock of the hit reverberating to her shoulder. She forced her fingers to grip, and hoisted up. The dogs hit desperation pitch. She threw herself onto the rock like a seal, climbed the next one, and the next. She hurtled, swaying, to a tree and pressed her back into its far side, panting. Her scalp tightened with cold.
Downriver, through the trees, through the haze, she made out a stony beach—with an orange kayak on it. She stumbled forward. Cody was slumped over the bow, still in the spraydeck, the back of his life jacket torn up. By bullets? As she watched, the river tugged the boat back in, spinning it. Cody sagged sideways and the boat flipped.
Come on, Cody. Roll. Pull out.
The overturned kayak drifted downriver, bouncing off rocks. She stifled a sob. He’d died alone on a river, like his brother. She’d told him to go. She’d let the paddle go. This was it—the stupid split-second decision that would haunt her, like Zack’s death haunted Cody.
Barking. She straightened and wiped her eyes with clammy hands. Time to get this bastard. Her chest tightened. Yes, use the anger. The grief can come later. If she could catch up with the kayak, with Cody’s—oh God, his body—she could...what? Tip him out and take the kayak? Trigger the beacon?
First she had to get there. At a sickening distance below, the waterfall boiled and hissed as it hit the river, its spray hazing towers of boulders. Directly under her, the rock ledge jutted out like a giant’s diving board. She could climb to it, boulder by boulder, and go bush. A head start.
A growl, right behind her. She spun, catching her breath. The greyhound, alone, advancing. It barked harshly, like it was losing its voice. It tipped up its head, sniffed, whined. Getting her scent. Or maybe...? She patted the bulge in her jacket pocket.
Slowly she unzipped it. She pulled out a bloody chunk of meat and waved it. The sandfly spray bottle flew out and landed on rock. The dog followed the path of the meat like a hypnotist’s watch, barking. She shuffled closer, letting it catch the scent. It whined and jumped but she snatched the meat away. Atta boy. It crouched, clawing the earth, whining, begging.
She tossed the slab high into the air behind the dog. The creature skidded around and bounded off. She retrieved the repellant, ran to the cliff, sat on the edge and pushed off to the first boulder. She landed awkwardly, sheering to the side and smacking her thigh on rock. A bolt of pain, but no damage done.
She slid to the next boulder, and the next, and the next. The final drop to the ledge was a leap of faith but she made it, knees bent, the impact jolting her frozen feet. To her left, two meters down the cliff, was a rocky alcove—but there was no way off it. She’d be trapped. The bush was still her best chance.
She limped for the trees. As she neared them, something barreled out. The brown dog. She pulled up, forced her shaking fingers to unzip her pocket, and grabbed the other slab of meat. The dog didn’t even look, just fixed beady eyes on her, barking. She held up the meat, shook it. Nothing. Waved it. Nope. Threw it into the bush. Not a flinch. A whistle, nearby. If she could skirt the dog, get to the trees... She took a step and it lunged, driving its teeth into her ankle. She bit her cheeks to keep from screaming. It released and stood its ground, barking. Blood dribbled from several new holes. The pain felt distant, numbed by the cold. Jesus, if that was just a warning nip...
She backed up, hopping. The dog followed her, barking, to the edge of the precipice. Spray washed over her, pinpricks of ice on her skin. Far downriver, Cody’s kayak was a tiny orange oval floating through a turquoise pool. Another whistle. Shane had to be following the dogs through the bush.
She wasn’t going to stand here waiting. One last trick up her sle
eve. She held up her left arm, elbow out. Her hand shook like it knew what was coming.
“Attack,” she hissed, jabbing her arm at the dog.
It whined, tilted its head, pawed the rock.
“Attack. Attack.” What was the dog’s name? Some eighties movie, like Jaws. Sylvester Stallone’s face popped into her mind. “Rocky! Attack!”
The dog lunged. She twisted away, shot her other hand forward and released the trigger on the repellant. Spray blasted the dog’s eyes. It yelped, smacked onto its side and slid off the cliff sideways, scrabbling air like a cockroach. Its thick body thudded onto the alcove. It leaped up and shook itself.
A whistle. Now to get to Cody’s kayak. She hobbled to the trees, her foot slippery with blood, blinking as she passed into the dark shade of the canopy. A breeze prickled her face.
No. This didn’t feel right. Well, God, none of it felt right, but this... She backed out into the sunlight. Her lungs felt like they’d shrunk to the size of grapes. Maybe there was another way off the ledge, to the river. Running through the bush, dripping blood, with the greyhound out there was suicide. And no way was she jumping.
“Knew I’d find ya.”
She froze. Shane stepped from the trees, rifle raised, the two dogs at heel.
Her throat dried. “Are you going to track me now?” She hated the hope in her voice. The pleading.
“Nah. I’ve had enough fun with you.” He flicked off the safety.
Her breath skittered. But the thing with a rifle like that, it made the person behind it feel bulletproof. And the thing with a guy like Shane? He underestimated women. He thought the weapon and the dick put him at an unassailable advantage.
“You think I’m too much of a challenge,” she said, walking backward. “I know this forest better than the other women so you’re taking the easy way out. What happened to cat and mouse? You giving up?” Her voice shook. Hell, her feet shook. No, that wasn’t her feet—the ledge was vibrating from the force of the falls.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, his need to be respected battling his fear of being played. “Yep, and now the mouse starts to squeal, right at the end of the game.”
