Page 39 of Bad Rio

Still hugging the shoreline, Rio held Becca’s hand and slowly they sank to chin-level beneath the water. She waited for him to move farther into the river and when he didn’t, she remained quiet next to him.

Deep inside, she was apprehensive, anxious. But infusing her fright was a certain unexpected level of anticipation. She was headed into a real life adventure, with the prospect of possible capture an outcome she couldn’t dismiss.

She gulped. She must believe that Rio would protect her and guide her to safety. She must rely on him, trust him, and she did. Implicitly so.

In wonder, she tried to figure out when her shift in attitude had happened and discovered it didn’t matter. What mattered now was following his lead, launching herself into the unknown. This was a frightening, hazardous, harrowing journey.

And against all logic she couldn’t help thinking also,this is exciting!

Atop her hair, the Bermuda grass hung around her head and draped into the water. She could see through the hanging leaves. Wisps of the remaining fog drifted atop the river’s surface.

For a good fifteen minutes, Rio didn’t move. Under the water and beside him, Becca held tight to his hand. He’d told her to be patient, and to wait, and to be quiet, and not to speak.

She did not. Her heart beat swiftly in her chest.

Suddenly, a tremendous boom some hundred yards south of their position burst through the morning. Becca couldn’t help it, she jerked. Instantly she felt Rio’s hand press down on hers. She stilled, and that’s when he made his move. Slowly, sinking down farther so only his eyes were above water, he moved into the slipstream of the water’s gentle current. Swimming now, Becca placed her reed between her lips and tried to breathe.

On the far bank, men shouted, and down the river another, lesser boom exploded. Excited children’s voices chattered. As they reached the first bridge abutment, Rio paused, allowing their head coverings to appear to catch on a cluster of tangled branches.

Across and over on the U.S. side, a border agent lifted binoculars. Becca tried to breathe normally. Was he trained on Rio and her? With every nerve on high alert, an alarm shrieked through her. Fighting the instinct to stare back, she lowered her eyes, and forced herself to remain calm and not move.

Above where her pant legs rode up, something slimy slid along her calf. She shuddered. Were there snakes in the river? Was it just a fish, or some biting riverine monster?

Chancing a glance across the river, she saw the man with the binoculars take a step closer. His boots in the water now, he appeared to sharpen his watch. He lowered his hand to his holstered pistol.

Were they spotted?

Near panic, Becca sucked air through her reed, and tried desperately not to strike out blindly for the Mexican side. She grew lightheaded.

As though sensing her panic, Rio squeezed her waist. He allowed their weed-constructed hats to touch. Inches away, she sought out his gaze and he did the unthinkable.

He winked.

If her mouth had been above water, she would have gaped.

Impossibly, inexplicable exhilaration filled her. Now in the middle of this bold journey, she found herself up to the task. She would follow Rio to the ends of the earth. They were in this together. Partners.

Despite all the contradictory emotions swirling through her, she held Rio’s gaze ... and winked back.

When the lines around his eyes crinkled, she knew he was grinning.

Down the way, three new explosions tore through the morning. On both sides, people ran along the riverbanks. An officer on the American side angrily shouted something through a bullhorn. It sounded threatening.

The man Becca thought was watching them turned away, gestured at others, and pointed at the source of the sounds. They headed upstream.

Rio’s hand on her waist urged her forward. Slowly, again they set out across the water. Keeping together in leisurely side strokes, Rio guided their movements to coincide with the flowing current. He swam easily, confidently, at one with the water. His proficiency made her remember his past life: he’d once been a Navy SEAL. Such men were half fish.

She was an excellent swimmer, but her skills were nothing next to his.

His clever movements brought them farther down the river rather than straight across. To any observers, they were merely a few clumps of vegetation among thousands that had broken off from the river’s edge and were now floating along on the breeze.

Finally reaching the far side, Rio allowed them to come to rest next to a new growth of Carrizo cane. For several moments, he didn’t move. Becca forced herself to remain still and not go wildly splashing up the embankment.

At last, he guided her beneath the water to precede him up the muddy bank. Somehow through his touch, he communicated with her to move with exaggerated care, making no quick moves, and to melt into the surrounding vegetation.

They crept through the cane, keeping low, until they entered a tree line. Beyond the stand of trees, Becca saw a towering chain-link fence. Not far past that, cars dotted a paved road. Rio pressed her to sit beside a thick cottonwood trunk.

“Nice field craft,” he whispered. “You followed orders, moved slowly, and didn’t panic. Well done.”

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