Forbidden River

by Brynn Kelly

  “Let’s talk about this.” She reached the end of the ledge and peered over, swallowing. In the alcove, Rocky jumped to attention and barked. Nowhere to go but the waterfall. Breathing through her nostrils, she stood rigid, hands fisted by her sides, making out she was frozen with fear. Which she kind of was. “Maybe we could come to some—” she made a show of gulping “—arrangement.”

  “Ah fuck. Yeah, they all do that at the end.” He jabbed the air with the muzzle, in emphasis, strutting ever closer. “Think that’ll put me off my game but nah, that’s not the game. I got plenty of bitches wanting to suck my cock. I don’t need to rape anyone.”

  “Let me go. Please. I won’t tell anyone.”

  He shook his head slowly, the tattooed snakes twisting on his neck. “You’re just saying any-fucking-thing now. I really thought you’d be more of a challenge.”

  And you’ve just got too close. She filled her lungs. “Let me go and I’ll show you what a challenge I can be.”

  “Nah, this is just you trying to mess with—”

  She sprang to one side of him, gripped the muzzle with one hand and shoved it sideways, away from her. Before he could recover, she slammed her other hand down on the buttstock, flicked the muzzle up and cracked the sights into his nose. The dogs went ballistic. Shane’s grip loosened, just enough. She flipped the rifle, snatched it from his hands, spun it and crunched the butt into his face.

  As she twisted the weapon into firing position, he launched at her and grabbed it. His boot smacked her wounded shin, and her leg gave in a blast of pain. She stumbled back, stones falling away under her feet. Her ankle skidded, her stomach dropped. She was going over.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TIA CLUNG TO the rifle. So did Shane. For a microsecond he held them, the veins bulging in his neck. Then he buckled and they were skidding down the cliff.

  She bounced out into thin air. Rock, blue sky, clouds, Shane, water, the rifle flying end over end. Fall like a seal, not a giraffe, Tane had said. Toes first, arms by your sides. Aerodynamic. She thrust out her legs. Smack. She gasped. Too late. Pain shuddered through her legs, her back. She’d hit rock. This was it. She was dead. She kept falling, through the earth. The roar muted. Not falling—plunging. She’d hit water, not rock. Cold shocked her heart, her skull, her eyes, her ears. Her descent slowed, like she was in a cushion, but she was still going down. Her elbow hit a rock. She tipped forward and kept tumbling, bubbling water filling her nose, her mouth. Everything was white, like a blizzard. Caught in the washing machine.

  Swim down. Find the calm water under the whirlpool. But which way was down? She stroked, her lungs stinging. The water tossed her back into the spin. She tried again but she was helpless. The water was in charge. She was too...

  Too buoyant. The life jacket. What if...? She lunged for the quick release, her hair swirling into her mouth. Found it. Tore the thing over her head, her legs pedaling. Her chest threatened to cave. She plunged down, channeling her energy into kicking and pulling. The water pushed her up—the cyclone, sucking her back in. Oh God. Her vision darkened. Fight, Tia. She felt herself slipping, out of the churn, into...smoother water.

  She was being pushed forward. She stroked up—and her hand hit air. She kicked fast, popped out like a cork, scraped in a breath. The water pushed and tugged, and slapped her face. The beach—she could see the stony beach Cody had pulled up onto. The water relented and her hand hit stones. She crawled up, coughing. The ground seesawed, left and right, left and right.

  She heaved into a sitting position, hunched over, her breath wheezing. Water swirled around her legs, blurry veins of pink entwining with the bubbling white. Her blood. No pain, just cold clawing deep into her bones. She raised her head in a zombie lurch. No sign of Shane in the churning river. But she should hide. Just as soon as she could stand.

  Crunching, behind her. Heavy footfalls. Cody? She started to turn. A green-swathed figure grabbed her from behind, pinned her arms, trapped her in a headlock. Shane. Not Cody. Cody was dead. Something cold jammed against her neck.

  “It’s over,” he snarled. She tried to twist away but she had no fight. Above her, his face was slick with blood, one cheek a pulpy mess. He had a knife to her throat.

  “I win, bitch.”

  She bucked but her body felt weighted. She saw it from the air, as the search pilot would—her body sprawled on the stones, Cody’s overturned kayak. They’d fought and lost. Loved and lost. Her eyes burned. Shane pushed the blade. A second of pressure and the skin gave.

  Crack. His hold released and he fell back, taking her with him. Her skull bounced on his shoulder. The noise emptied from her head, like she was back underwater. He twitched and was still. She lurched up and rolled away, the effort like swimming against the current. He lay motionless, legs splayed. Beneath his head, thick blood hobbled through the stones. She pushed onto hands and knees, swaying. He stared at the sky, one eye bloody, the other clear. A deep red puncture hole between his eyes.

  Her name. She could hear her name. She could hear the waterfall crashing, hear a dog barking, feel the spray peppering her, but it was all so distant.

  Her name. Again. She spun, her butt plonking down on the stones. The world kept turning for a second. Her gaze locked on something on the opposite bank. Someone.

  “Cody?” she croaked.

  He threw something to the ground—the rifle—strode into the river and dived. He churned across with strong strokes, his head flicking side to side. She pinched her cheeks. Wasn’t that how you checked if you were dreaming? Her skin was so cold it felt like someone else’s fingers on someone else’s cheeks. Maybe she was delirious. Hypothermia could do that. Maybe she was dead. The fall, the washing machine, the knife...maybe she was dead three times over.

  The Cody hallucination reached the bank downstream of her and staggered up the stones. He was shirtless, his chest slick, shorts clinging to his thighs. Totally how she’d picture him if she were dreaming, right down to the tattoo. A strap was slung diagonally across his torso, a dry bag on his back.

  He bent over Shane and shoved two fingers against his throat, then turned to her. Eyes deep and brown, just as they should be. If this was heaven, she was all for it—but would she have to spend eternity this cold? He stepped over the body, dropped to his knees before her and took her cheeks in his hands, searching her eyes. His palms were so warm. She began to shiver.

  “Tia. Oh God, Tia.” Husky, but yep, that was his voice. He pulled her into his arms, pressing her cheek against his chest, their legs in an awkward tangle, his lips on her hair. Her shin throbbed but that was the least of her concerns. How was he so warm after swimming through that ice bucket? There it was—the flaw in this vision.

  He drew back, holding her upper arms, and swept a worried gaze down and up. He touched the side of her neck. His fingers came away bloody. She shot her hand to the spot.

  “Just a scratch,” he said. He shook his head and swore. She knew what he was thinking. A few more seconds...

  “Are you...?” she started.

  “I’m okay.”

  “But are you...real? Alive? Am I alive?”

  His eyes creased in the corners.

  “He shot you. I saw.”

  “He didn’t shoot me.”

  “But... I...” Her bottom teeth hammered her top teeth.

  He unrolled the bag. “We gotta get you into dry clothes.”

  “You just wanna see my...tits.”

  “Damn straight, Cowgirl,” he said, but his smile was forced.

  She was in trouble, wasn’t she? She sat like a baby while he stripped her, barely able to lift her arms or hips to help. He rolled on layers of clothes—leggings, socks, his navy top, still smelling deliciously of him, a fleece... As he dressed her, the shivering released its hold and she could almost feel her blood begin to flow again,
hot and thick. He shrugged into his own clothes and helped her to a flat rock in the sunshine, out of the breeze, away from Shane. She lay on her side, the stone warming her, her body tingling and buzzing. Life, returning. A second chance. And Cody...

  He pulled something from a pocket. The rescue beacon. “Permission to set this off?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  He rolled the bag and stashed it under her head, settled in behind and drew her close. Spooning. The sun on her face, his chest against her back, his thighs under hers, his arm slung over her.

  “Je ne t’abandonnerai jamais,” he whispered.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  As she relaxed, her body ached and stung. But she was alive. He was alive. They were together and it felt so right.

  “How did you...?” Her throat closed.

  In a low murmur, Cody caught her up. He’d managed to swing the kayak on descent and survive the waterfall. He’d paddled to the beach and built a target for Shane—stuffing the sleeping bag and mat into his spray jacket, helmet and gloves, and fixing it all in place with duct tape and the spraydeck, with the paddle taped across the top. He’d attached the wire to the front of the boat, hid behind a rock and yanked it through the water when Shane arrived on the bridge, to make it look like it was moving on its own momentum.

  “With the haze from the waterfall, I figured even the scope wouldn’t give away that it was a dummy. I was climbing up to find you when I heard you on that shelf. And then you fell.” His voice cracked. “I saw the rifle land in the trees and went after it. When I got back you were on the stones, and he was...” He swore.

  “You’re alive,” she said.

  He laughed, his chest rumbling under her back. “Yep.”

  “You’re here.”

  “Yep.”

  “What happened to ‘Yes, ma’am’?”

  “Happy to ‘Yes, ma’am’ you whenever you like.”

  “Maybe just sometimes.” His forearm tensed under her hand. Yeah. That sounded like this thing would continue beyond the river. They both knew it wouldn’t.

  “Come traveling with me,” he said, so quickly she might have imagined it.

  “What?”

  “I have three weeks until I fly out. You’re grounded anyway, so...”

  Her turn to tense up. With mammoth effort, she pushed up and rolled over. This was a conversation that should happen face-to-face. He smiled but there was a seriousness in his eyes. A vulnerability. Like he was afraid she’d say no. She lay down facing him, her knees grazing his.

  “I don’t even know you,” she said, pulling the dry bag back under her head.

  “You could get to know me.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I’d like to get to know you.”

  “What would we do for three weeks?” She could barely hear her own words over the pulse pounding in her ears.

  His lips curled up. “Something slow. Something quiet.” He slid a hand onto her cheek, into her hair. It jammed in a knot. “What do you say?”

  Her stomach plummeted—with nerves this time. Good nerves. In the last hour she’d almost died three times. And now...this? Just a fling but she’d take it. Oh hell, would she take it. “Okay,” she whispered.

  “To be honest, I was looking for a little more enthusiasm.”

  Laughing, she shuffled forward, cradled his jaw in both hands and touched her lips to his. He groaned and pulled her on top as they deepened the kiss. He tasted curiously salty. His hands pressed into her lower back. Bliss. Three weeks of bliss. Three weeks of him. That was enough to last a lifetime, right?

  * * *

  CODY CLUNG TO a safety railing as the bungee jump guide did final checks of the harness and the giant woven elastic wrapped around his legs. A hundred and fifty feet below, a thick turquoise river carved through a steep, silvery canyon.

  “Last chance to join me,” he shouted behind him.

  “Yeah, not feeling the urge right now,” Tia called, leaning on the handrail of the old bridge. “But you go ahead. Enjoy.”

  With glossy curls blowing into her face, skin warmed by the sunset and a broad smile, she looked like the cover of a healthy living magazine. Right down to the fifty-three freckles across her cheeks. Yep, he’d counted. For three beautiful weeks he’d worshipped her.

  Not that it’d been all sightseeing and sex. After getting Tia’s wounds stitched up, they’d given police statements, dodged the media, arranged the salvage of her chopper, filed her insurance claim, sent her koro’s buddies in after the dogs. “Not their fault,” the Colonel had muttered. “I’ll give ’em a home on the farm. Put ’em right.”

  They’d stood hand in hand in the old Wairoimata Hall at a memorial for the four tourists. They’d returned to the Awatapu with Koro and Tane for a spine-tingling Māori blessing. And tomorrow Cody would fly out. Three weeks had dissolved into hours. One more night of heaven, and then it was Queenstown to Christchurch and back to a life that suddenly felt hollow.

  “She’s scared of heights,” he said to the bungee guy, loud enough for Tia to hear.

  “I’m reluctant to plummet uncontrolled through thin air,” Tia shouted. “Perfectly logical.”

  “You can’t control everything. Sometimes you have to dive in and trust that the cord will stop you.”

  The man guided him to the edge of the platform, which wasn’t much different from a plank on a pirate ship. He inhaled the crisp air, waiting for the adrenaline to hit. He breathed again. It didn’t come. He felt...serene, happy.

  Why the hell was he about to mess with that?

  “I’m not sure I want to do this anymore,” he muttered.

  “Sometimes it helps not to look down,” said the guy, holding the back of Cody’s harness. “Take as much time as you need to make up your mind.”

  Cody looked up at Tia. Her head was tipped, trying to decipher the conversation. “You know what?” he said to the guide. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

  “You serious?” the guy asked.

  Cody kept his gaze on Tia. In the last few weeks she’d been every bit the woman he’d admired on the river—strong, passionate, sharp—and so much more. They’d talked late into the night, laughed a lot, even cried... “Very serious.”

  “You’re not gunna jump?”

  “I’m not gonna jump.”

  As he stepped back onto the bridge, unbound, Tia hurried up. “What happened?”

  “Suddenly I just didn’t see the point.”

  She smiled, her lip gloss catching the sun, making her even more kissable, if that were possible. “Was there ever a point?”

  “I once thought so. But I just realized...there’s no reward anymore, in any of this.” He waved at the plank. “I’ve been taking all these risks and if I fail, the consequences are dire. But if I succeed I just end up back at the beginning, looking for the next quick thrill. So no, there’s really no point.”

  She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. “Congratulations. I think you just grew up.”

  He pulled a strand of hair from her lip gloss and planted a kiss. She tasted like candy, and smelled like clean air and distant snow. “I thought all this was my way of dealing with it, of living with it. But it’s just another way of running.”

  “I did wonder if it was about that.”

  “I think you said as much but I needed to figure it out for myself.” He took her other hand. “Right now, there’s only one risk I want to take and it scares the life out of me, more than jumping off a damn platform or hurtling down a river.” He looked at their hands. So now the adrenaline charged in his veins. What was with that? “Except with this risk, if I succeed I might actually get somewhere in life, something might change for the better—which makes a hell of a lot more sense.”

  He lifted his gaze. The
breeze had blown her hair back onto her lips.

  “I’m really not following,” she said. “What risk are you talking about?”

  “It involves you and a plane.”

  “You want me to take you stunt flying?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Gliding?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I am not skydiving.”

  He cleared his throat. “My big risk is...asking you to come with me tomorrow.”

  Her smile melted.

  “This is gonna sound silly, but I’m thinking maybe Zack brought me here to meet you so I could move on, live again. Maybe he was sick of me and my stupid death wish.”

  “Oh God, don’t make me cry.”

  He brought their hands up to bridge the gap between them. Her eyes glistened, which kicked him in the chest. “I don’t want you to cry. I want you to say yes.”

  “Cody, I...”

  “See, the risk is that you’ll say no, which would suck, and I would honest to God be heartbroken. But the reward...the reward is us getting to see where this thing between us goes. And I reckon it’ll go somewhere good. And I reckon maybe you need the chance to move on, too.”

  “You mean I come to France?”

  “Yep.”

  “For a holiday?”

  “At first, yeah, I guess. You’re gonna be grounded awhile, and I should be on base awhile, so come to Corsica, see if you like it. See if you like me.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure I’ll like you. And Corsica. But—”

  “Plenty of call for good pilots in the Mediterranean. Or we could end up back here—or any damn place we choose. Who knows? Let’s just take off and see where the plane goes.”

  “I don’t know if I can—”

  “Fly away with me, Cowgirl. Take a risk.”

  Panic darted across her eyes.

  Don’t say no. Please don’t say no.

  “Cody, I’m not good at taking risks.”