Page 22 of The Heat is On
Rio bounced to his feet, looked around, and just barely glimpsed a figure darting through the scant forest, disappearing into the eastern shadows.
He glanced at the marshal—the woman’s eyes were closed, her head drooped. But if he woke her, March would belonggone, because all bets were off that that woman would let Rio dash off after him.
Hello, prison escape.
Yes, if he woke the marshal, Rio could very easily end up with a bullet in his back.
Rio took off, a full-out run, his footfalls soft on the piney loam as he tore through the dusky forest, his focus on where he’d seen March vanish.
Rio wasn’t in terrible shape. And sure, his body hurt, but the adrenaline burned through him, lit him on fire, and March came into view, the man not quite as quick and agile.
Rio ran him down, letting branches clip him, his feet landing hard on downed logs, tearing through brush. He leaped on March, grabbing his collar and yanking him back. March let out a grunt as he hit the ground.
Rio landed, his knee on the man’s sternum and it was enough to whuff the breath out of the guy. “Not so fast, Clancy,” Rio said. “Or should I say—Eugene March?”
A flicker of realization flashed in March’s eyes. He swung at Rio, but Rio batted his hand away, grabbed March’s wrist, and pinned it to the ground. “Thought you could run, huh, buddy?”
“Get off me!” March writhed in the dirt, bringing his feet up, but Rio had landed on his other arm, pinning him.
“Not a chance. You’re going back to camp and back to prison, dude.”
“I don’t think so.” The voice came from behind Rio, and he jerked. Soft spoken, but with enough edge that Rio stiffened. Braced himself.Darryl?
He tried not to jerk when he heard a hammer click into place.
He glanced over his shoulder. Yep, Darryl stood there, breathing hard, sweat tracking through the dirt of his pudgy, now-whiskered face.
“Darryl, what are you doing?” Rio hissed. And where had he gotten agun?
The weapon shook just a little. “Seeing my wife. She’s having a baby—get off him.”
Rio held his hands up, eased off March. “C’mon, Darryl. Don’t do this. It’s not worth it—”
“Itisworth it. If I’m going away for years, I want to see my son.” His jaw clamped tight, his hand shaking.
Beside him, March hit his feet. He walked over to Rio, grabbed his shirt, and slapped him.
Rio recoiled, more shocked than hurt, but before he could respond, March had pushed him away, walked over to Darryl, and grabbed the gun from his hand.
Pointed it at Rio, walking right over to press it against his head.
Ho-kay.Rio kept his hands up. “Listen, March. Let’s not—I was just trying to keep you from making a mistake.”
“I saw you mix it up with Boneyard a couple days ago. I don’t know who made you the new warden, but I’m not going back there. So, if I need to drop you right here—”
“And wake up that marshal back there?” The voice emerged soft from the shadows, and Rio had nothing when Archer Mills jogged up. He bent over, gripping his knees. “You guys run too fast for an old man.”
Rio stared at him.What—?
Maybe Archer had heard his unspoken question—or better yet, read their expressions because, “I heard you two last night and thought I’d better come along and keep you out of trouble.” Archer indicated Darryl and March and how had Rio missedthatconversation?
“We don’t need you, old man,” March snapped.
Archer straightened. “You might. Because I used to live around here. I know these forests. And which way to go to find the road.”
“We’re not going to the road. I have a campsite south of here about seven miles. A truck, supplies, everything I need to get lost.”
“The Troublesome campground, right?” Archer said, almost a sigh to his voice.