Page 3 of Bad Rio

She nodded.

“We’ve got to make it. Run fast. Go!”

Together they sprinted for the bushes.

Sweeping flashlights swung by them, hit their backs. An outcry rang out.

Shots were fired.

They plunged into the vegetation.

Shit!He wasn’t getting paid enough to eat a bullet. And if Rebecca De Monte were killed, he wouldn’t get paid at all. Add to that, his career would go the way of the Dodo bird. That was a non-starter.

Rio flung himself into the clump and pulled out a small, two-wheeled motor vehicle with a long seat. “Get on.”

He swung his leg over and fired up the engine.

In disbelief, Becca hesitated. “A scooter? This is your getaway car? A little Vespa?”

Shouting voices neared them. A bullet whined overhead. They both ducked.

“It’s either the Vespa or a donkey, Buttercup. Figured you’d prefer this. Now, get on.”

“Buttercup,” she sputtered, but threw herself onto the seat behind him.

Before she was settled, he hit the gas. As she was flung backward on her seat, he shouted, “Hang on.”

At full throttle, they burst from the bushes. A hail of gunfire stitched the ground, pelted the leaves overhead. To slow their fire more than hit anyone, Rio raised his Glock, pointed it backwards, and unloaded a barrage of spray-and-pray rounds. They needed only a few seconds to get away.

Keeping Rebecca De Monte alive and in one piece represented his entire future, as well as a hefty paycheck.

And Rio meant to collect.

Chapter Two

The man who’d whiskedRebecca De Monte away from her Mexican captors, who’d said his name was Nino, Nero, Reno, she wasn’t quite sure, kept their motorized getaway vehicle rolling at breakneck speeds for what seemed like hours. They passed ramshackle homes and soon were on bleak and uninhabited country roads.

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