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“Watch yourself,” Tanner said, “or I’ll turn you into a suitcase.”
Even Alessandra gave a soft laugh.
Then she half-climbed, half-clawed her way to the top with Tanner right behind her.
* * *
After that, traveling was easy.
The stream was visible from the top of the bank. When it narrowed again, a series of small rapids eventually dwindled into the kind of puddle no self-respecting croc would want to call its own. Tanner and Aless
andra made their way down and walked the muddy path alongside the water.
Twenty minutes later, they came to the place where Chay had said they were to cross. The water here was thigh-deep, but a downed tree made for a handy bridge.
Once they’d forded the stream and walked another few hundred yards, the stream split, the left fork narrowing even further, the one to their right widening and deepening, the current quickening.
They had reached the river.
It took scant minutes to locate a couple of long-abandoned canoes tucked in among a tangle of bushes.
Tanner grinned. He owed Chay a beer. Hell, he owed him a case.
The canoes were old and full of debris, leaves and, in one case, a dead snake and a rusty coffee tin. He emptied everything from both canoes, selected the one that looked to be in the best condition and dumped a pair of paddles into it. Alessandra climbed in, he pushed off, then he got in and they were on their way.
They fell into a steady paddling rhythm, she in the front, he in the stern. The canoe wasn’t the best he’d ever sailed—it had a tendency to steer to the left—but he was able to control it without much difficulty. It also had a small leak and Alessandra used the rusty coffee can to keep the water that seeped in from becoming a problem.
They were making excellent time, but from the looks of the darkening sky and several distant peals of thunder, Tanner knew that the weather Chay had warned him about was coming in.
They were almost at the coordinates where they were to exit the when a jagged streak of lightning split the sky and they were hit by torrential rain.
Within minutes their visibility was blocked by rough waves that threatened to overturn their fragile craft. Tanner had trained for such situations, but Alessandra…
“Get down,” he shouted. “And hang on. I’ll do the steering.”
She kept paddling.
“Alessandra! I said—”
“I heard what you said, Lieutenant. Do I look as if I’m made of glass? Keep paddling and so will I.”
She was a fool. She was impossible. She was all the things any man would respect, all the things any man would—would—
Tanner dug his paddle into the water.
Ten minutes or maybe an eternity later, he figured they were close enough to where they were supposed to leave the river to chance it. He couldn’t check the coordinates; he needed to hang on to his paddle or the wind would take it. But between gusts of wind, he could make out what looked like an indentation in the shoreline.
One way or another, they had to get off the water.
As if to emphasize the grim realization, fingers of lightning sizzled from the charcoal sky.
They had to seek shelter on land or be claimed by the storm.
Tanner leaned forward.
“Paddle for shore,” he yelled.
Alessandra nodded and dug her paddle in.
