Page 15 of Bad Rio

From up the mountain came a great roaring sound. The trees shook. Both she and the mountain lion jerked upward to the noise. Down the incline of trees and snow, Rio half ran, half slid toward them, waving his arms and shouting. Ice skidded beneath his boots.

The great cat’s ears flattened. It broke its stride.

Becca gave the engine gas, and the combined noises of Rio’s shouting and the roar of the engine frightened the animal. In great bounds, it ran off into the forest.

Now, Becca had only one predator to escape. Leaning over the handlebars, she gunned the engine. The scooter leaped forward. Her feet found the floorboards. In the snow, it fishtailed and she had trouble straightening out the front wheel. Finally, she got it going.

Along a ledge above her, Rio was still running.

She had mere seconds to escape.

Chapter Six

Hunched low over thehandlebars, Becca aimed the scooter at the only path that led out from the heavy thicket of trees.

Unfortunately, it also aimed her toward the ledge where Rio was moving fast above her. She had to make it past the choke point where the trees closed off one side and Rio’s ledge bracketed the other. After that, the forest opened to flat dirt. She had to get by him, past the point where he might stop her. She knew one thing: if she failed at this escape attempt, he’d never give her another. She could do it. She must.

If he caught her, who knew what he might do?

Desperately, Becca gave the engine all the gas she could while still keeping the handlebars straight. The ground was uneven, rife with gopher holes, tree branches, underbrush, and snow. She bounced on the seat.

Above her, Rio ran a parallel course along the ice-covered ledge.

At last the ground evened out, and nearly to the choke point, she sped up.

That was the moment Rio flung himself off the ledge.

Like an NFL tackle, his big body slammed into both her and the Vespa. Man, machine, and Becca flew yards across the ground. Like a spinning top, she skittered over snow, dirt, branches, and rocks. She crashed to a hard stop wedged against the trunk of a gnarled oak. The wind was knocked from her lungs. She lay stunned.

Drawing her knees to her chest, she wheezed, and at last drew in air. Pain lanced through her wounded leg, and shrieked from a dozen bruises. Covered in mud, leaves, and snow, she felt a new cold leach into her very bones.

Rio recovered before she did. He got up, dusted off snow, and righted the Vespa. He thrust it into some deep undergrowth. Then he turned to her.

Still on her side, she couldn’t help it. She cringed.

He said nothing. His face grim, he merely walked to her, pulled her up, and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of stones.

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