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

the waiting family and out of the country while Rio deliberately drew the
pursuers away from the others, leading them deep into territory known for cobras
and other unpleasant and highly dangerous creatures. Rio San-tana was
comfortable in the vast jungles, comfortable with being alone surrounded by
danger. The forest was home to him. Would always be his home.
Rio picked up his pace, nearly jogging, heading for the . swollen bank of the
furious river. The water had been rising steadily for hours and he had little
time if he wanted to get the leopards across with him. He led his enemies
through the forest, circling several times, but staying just out of reach to
keep them coming after him. One by one his men reported in. The radio was mostly
crackle in the storm, but with each burst of static, he breathed another sigh of
relief.
The continuous noise of rushing water was too loud, drowning out all sound so
that he had to rely on the pair of cats to sound the alarm should his tenacious
adversaries catch up with him sooner than he planned. He found the
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Christine Feehan

tall tree beside the embankment. The tree had a silvery gray trunk topped with a
feathery bright green crown and it rose high above the bank, making it an easy
landmark. Water already swirled around it, moving fast, dragging at the roots
surrounding the wide trunk. He signaled the cats to follow as he went up it
fast, high, into the canopy, leaping easily from branch to branch, every bit as
agile as the clouded leopards. Near the top, concealed in the foliage, was a
pulley and sling he had secured long ago. The pack went first, crossing high
above the river. It was far more time-consuming to take the cats. There was no
network of branches to bridge the river and it was moving far too swiftly to
swim. The cats had to be placed one by one into the sling and hauled across the
river, something neither of them was too fond of doing. They knew how to crawl
out of the sling onto the branches. It was an escape they had performed and
perfected many times.

On the opposite bank Rio hunkered down in between the roots of a tall menggaris
tree and peered through the driving rain across the swollen river. The wind tore
at his face and ripped at his clothing. He was impervious to the weather, night
vision glasses raised and focused on the bank across from him. He had them in
his sights now, four of them. Faceless enemies furious over his interference
with their plans. He had robbed them of their prey, kept them from their
ultimate goal, and they were determined to bring him down. He eased his rifle
into position, adjusting the scope. He could take two of them before the others
could get off a shot. His position was fairly protected.

The radio tucked inside his jacket crackled. The last of the signals he'd been
waiting for. Keeping a steady eye on the four men across the river, he pulled
the small radio from his inside pocket. "Go ahead," he said softly.

"All clear," the disembodied voice proclaimed. The last of his men was safe.

Rio wiped his hand over his face, suddenly weary. It was over. He didn't have to