One last time. “Tia!”
He crept downriver and slipped into the water. Holy fuck, he’d expected cold, butthat. He forced himself down to his neck, his throat closing in protest, his skin shocking like an electrocution. Still the damn sandflies followed, dive-bombing his eyes.
A clanking, a knock. Boots on wood, on...metal? Movement, on the roof. Shit, the guy had climbed it for a vantage point, his beady eyes drawn to the bright green kayak. Cody filled his stinging lungs and submerged, a headache striking like lightning. His eyeballs threatened to snap-freeze. But—distraction accomplished. Now to get around the bend in the river, out of sight, and then swim fast for the kayaks. He pulled underwater in long, strong strokes, kicking hard. It was a relief to move—and to be away from those damn flies. How much cold could your body take before your blood iced up, your heart stopped?
He swam till his lungs caved, and silently surfaced, smothering the urge to gasp. No need for silence—gunshots boomed. A tree screened the shooter as he sprayed the green kayak. The bushes flinched with bullets, the water flicked. Perfect. Cody inhaled and sank again, following the current, his scalp shrink-wrapping his skull.
When he rose again, the shooting had stopped and the river noise ahead had changed—the tributary joining, and not real happy about it. With the crosscurrent and the cold against him, his swim back across to the kayaks would be twice as challenging as he’d thought. He was using too much energy keeping afloat, keeping on track, keeping from freezing solid. But he was committed now.
All muscle and no fat. They’ll sink like rocks.The dogs weren’t the only ones. Wasn’t often you regretted those last twenty push-ups, that last ten miles on the trail, but...shit. If he got swept downriver he wasdans la merde.
The tip of the beach came into view, then the orange and yellow kayaks. He upped his stroke and kick rate, pushing until his chest stung. The frothing current shoved back. A bark shot above the churn. Behind the kayaks, branches moved. Cody took a breath, ready to go under, as a figure stumbled through.
Tia! Thankfuck.
He tried to signal but a wave slapped him under. He pulled back up, the current sweeping him level with the kayaks but too far from the bank. Tia looked over her shoulder and pushed the tourists’ yellow kayak until the water nudged it. He flailed like a maniac. Her head snapped up, confusion on her face as he struggled past. She yanked the paddle from where it was wedged, strode into the water and held it out. It was a good seven feet short. Under her other hand, the kayak bucked like rodeo roughstock.
“No chance,” he called. “Kayak out. There’s a towline behind my seat. Tow mine out.”
A gunshot. Crouching low, she found the line and hooked the kayaks up, stern to nose. A dog shot out of the trees, the big one, bowling right for her.
“Tia!”
“I know! I fucking know.” She squeezed into the seat of the yellow kayak. Using the paddle as a gondola pole, she pushed into the water, the boat swaying wildly.
The dog went for the orange kayak, but the stern swung out as Tia pulled, forcing it to spring sideways. More gunshots. No sign of the shooter—he had to be firing into the trees in hope. She met Cody’s gaze as the water drove him past. Her jaw was tight, eyes narrowed. Her kayak caught the current and shot forward. Cody’s biceps burned as he hauled through the water, fighting into a trajectory that would meet hers. In a minute they’d plunge into rapids, studded with rocks.Swimming that vortex would be suicide.
He ducked away as her kayak skimmed past, the hull grazing his forehead. Whoa. The orange one bobbed toward him.
“Unhook the towline,” he yelled.
As she scrambled for it, he caught his boat, got ahold and launched over the cockpit, steadying himself so his weight was balanced, head sticking out over one side of the boat, legs the other, water surging by in a choppy blur. The kayak rocked but settled. Not his best mount but it’d do. He yanked out the paddle and held it flush with the boat. Inhaling, he channeled his weight evenly into his arms, flipped and twisted, and slid his legs inside, his butt bumping into the seat. The cool air blasted his wet skin.
Ahead, Tia was about to hit a grade five boulder garden—no helmet, no life jacket, no spraydeck. Gunshots surged—or maybe they’d been firing all along. Back on auto but still out of sight.
“Left!” he shouted at Tia. “Go left!”
As they shot ’round the corner he caught a glimpse of camo gear tumbling onto the beach. The shooter registered the kayaks, raised his rifle—and drifted out of sight.
Gunfire sprayed, hitting rocks and trees behind them. Wasted, frustrated, desperate shots. Fuck, that was close. One problem down, for now, but Tia was still angling too far right, the river funneling her toward an overhanging rock shelf.
“Tia, go left, quick!”
Too late. The current shunted her kayak under the shelf, giving her just enough time to panic before it flipped, taking her with it, face-first, mouth open. Her upturned kayak scraped the lip of the rock. Cody pulled toward her, his shoulders straining. He needed enough momentum to slip past without getting stuck, but if he misread the angles he’d plow straight into her. Black hair swirled under the water as her jammed kayak lurched downward.
Then she disappeared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ASHESHOTPAST, Cody leaned back, swept a hand under Tia’s boat and grabbed the first thing he touched. He compensated with his hips as she bobbed up next to him, spitting and gasping, still holding the paddle. He had her by the shoulder. He jammed his paddle into his webbing and hauled her astride his bow.
“Hold on to me,” he yelled, retrieving the paddle. His nose was too low in the water. “Scoot up, quick!” Her hands flailed. She found the side of the cockpit and hoisted herself forward, jamming the crown of her head into his bare stomach, her face into his lap. Her ass stuck up over the lip of the cockpit. Her legs straddled the bow. Her paddle dug into his side. It was all he could do to hold the kayak straight, his arms and abs and quads sharing the strain, his hips and shoulders navigating them left and right as they flew around boulders, the bottom of the kayak scraping rock, her head bouncing in his lap.
After an age, a shoal island appeared midriver. They were far enough below the confluence that they could afford to stop and regroup. “Get ready to jump out,” he said. He paddled fast and beached the kayak front-on. She pretty much somersaulted over the bow and onto the stones, freeing him to leap out and pull the craft clear. Her kayak was coming up fast, bottom up, low in the water.
He dived, grabbed it and dragged it onto the island. He flopped onto his back, heart pounding out of his chest, headache crushing his skull. As the adrenaline passed, the cold closed in. He raised his head high enough to check their surroundings. Deep, swift channels on either side. Thick bush along the banks.
“Cody?” Tia’s voice creaked.
