Kate whipped her head around at the splash in the water and saw the ridged back of a reptilian creature meandering toward them.
"Uh, Kate," Tom said, a tremble undermining the usual certainty in his voice, "you might wanna paddle faster."
She looked back again and made eye contact with the creature that was stalking them. "I saw it before you did. What is it? A crocodile or an alligator?"
"A caiman. Might as well be the same thing."
Kate's forte was history and archeology, not the animal kingdom. But she dared not argue with Tom now. They were twenty feet from the bank, sticks slapping the river, their raft rocking side to side—the bundle of limbs settled low—seeping water between the logs, creeping on their way.
She paddled furiously, her white shirt soaking a pale brown with the dirty water.
Without warning, Tom's solid frame of a body brushed across her shoulder and dove into the river, the raft separating him from the caiman. In a flash, he lurched forward, on his feet in waist deep water, dragging the now loosely banded logs and Kate toward the bank.
The caiman drew closer, accelerating in their direction. Ten feet away.
Kate saw her chance. She slung the paddle at the creature—missing it by inches—pushed to her feet and leaped for the welcoming arms of the jungle's edge. But she fell short and crashed into knee deep water, ahead of Tom.
She sloshed through the easing current and scrambled onto the bank.
Tom stood, one foot on the ground, one foot in the river. He shoved the raft at the reptile's gaping mouth. The logs wedged between its jaws, hampering its approach, but the power of the caiman forced Tom backwards. He landed on his rump with a thud.
The caiman thrashed its tail, propelling it forward.
Kate couldn't think straight, but adrenaline drove her into action. She stumbled toward Tom, grasped his outstretched hand, and pulled him to his feet and into the jungle. They slithered into the rainforest, slipping through its intertwined limbs, racing for safety. Part of the way, Kate led Tom. Then, without a word, he jerked her in the opposite direction.
A splash. Followed by the caiman slapping through the underbrush.
Tom planted his boot and changed course, zigzagging.
They pounded through the jungle.
Tom took a wrong step, faltered, and dragged Kate down with him. She landed beside him, her shoulder digging into the ground, halting her skid.
Tom stared at her, a chilling look of fear edging the rugged features of his chin and jawline. They lay there, panting, listening, as the caiman searched for its prey.
YOU ARE READING
GOLD RIVER (Book 1)
AdventureA retired treasure hunter with gold in his veins. A museum curator's daughter held for ransom. A jungle trail with danger at every turn. Determined to walk away from his old path, Tom Logan chooses a quiet existence on a Texas ranch. But everything...
