"Feehan, Christine - Leopard 02 - Wild Rain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feehan Christine)

"It isn't a garrote," he murmured aloud to the cats. "It's just a piece of rope,
not even hidden. Why would they give away their presence like this?" Puzzled, he
examined the ground, clearly expecting a trap of some kind. It was impossible to
find a track in the soaked vegetation. He signaled the animals to spread out and
continued with more caution along the faint trail.

Rio was always careful to use different routes to reach the tree beside the
river. If someone did a thorough inspection of the tree, they would most likely
find the claw marks of a leopard, or think any scarring had been caused by the
makeshift ladders, pegs, going up the tree to a wild honeybee nest. He left
little or no sign, and always carried the pulley system away with him. Still, if
his route had been compromised, it was possible the rebels had sent an assassin
to circle ahead and lie in wait for him. Although his identity was a mystery, he
had been at the top of the hit list for a long time.

WILD RAIN

17



His home was deep in the interior of the rain forest. He used many different
routes to get there, often taking to the trees to leave no trail, but still,
someone could have found him had they been persistent enough. He was more than
adept at tracking and a few of his kind sold out if the money was good enough.
Roots from the trees were tall and fanned out wide, taking in considerable
territory as if claiming it. The large networks of roots created a mini jungle.
Along the trunks hundreds of other species of plants and mold grew to create a
myriad of colors. In the tremendous deluge the fungi growing on fallen, rotting
logs glowed in the dark with eerie luminous greens and whites. Rio's restless
gaze observed and catalogued the phenomenon, dismissed it as unimportant until
he registered a small smear on a log, then a tiny print on a root. A twist of
his fingers sent a silent signal to the cats. The animals quartered the area,
crisscrossing back and forth, hissing and spitting in warning.
He approached his home from the south, knowing that was the side most blind and
therefore most vulnerable should the enemy be lying in wait. The house was built
into the trees, a structure running along the higher, thicker branches, up off
the ground and not easily seen in the thick foliage. Over the years fungi and
creeping orchids covered the walls of his home, making it nearly invisible. He
had encouraged the growth of thick vines to further hide the house from prying
eyes.
Rio lifted his head to scent the air. With the rain it should have been
impossible to detect the faint odor of wood burning, but he had an acute sense
of smell. He was seventy-two hours without sleep. Two weeks of bone-weary, hard
travel. A knife had sliced across his belly and still burned like a hot poker. A
bullet shaved skin from his hip. Neither wound was noteworthy. He certainly had
suffered worse over the years, but left untreated too long in the forest such
injuries could spell disaster. He squared his shoulders and stared up at his
home with hard resolution.