Riley's Retribution. Rebecca York
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Название: Riley's Retribution
Автор: Rebecca York
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные детективы
isbn: 9781472034328
isbn:
RILEY RODE NORTH into an area where the landscape was flatter. A couple of miles from the ranch yard, he caught sight of something interesting through the trees and ordered Monty to a halt. Just visible through a screen of branches, he could see an old cabin.
He’d better check the place out.
The militia could be using it—or that Gary Nichols guy could be squatting here.
He dismounted and tied the horse to a low pine branch. Then crept slowly forward, moving from tree to tree in case somebody took a notion to shoot at him.
The cabin sat in a large clearing. He observed it from cover for several minutes, then stepped into the open. Now that he was exposed to view, he moved more rapidly.
Maybe he should have been paying better attention to where he put his feet.
The ground was scattered with brush. When he crossed a patch with a heavy accumulation of branches and leaves, the surface gave way under his feet with a ripping sound. Before he could catch himself, he was tumbling into blackness…and cursing his own stupidity.
Chapter Five
Riley dropped through space, struggling to stay on his feet. Knees bent, he landed with a thud. As far as he could tell, he was at the bottom of a pit someone had deliberately dug.
Daylight poured in from the hole where he’d broken through. And as he tried to move his feet, he found they were stuck between some wickedly pointed stakes poking out of the ground.
They were lethal enough to pierce flesh, and he was damn lucky that he hadn’t landed on his ass.
He took a quick physical inventory, moving his arms and legs, then twisting his torso. It appeared that he hadn’t seriously injured himself in the fall, which was also damn lucky.
He looked up, inspecting the ragged hole in the brush through which he’d fallen. So—was this an animal trap… Or was this a man trap?
He brought his attention back to the broken roof above him. It looked like slender sticks had been placed across the pit. They provided just enough support to hold the brush in place. And he’d stepped through the surface—like a damn fool out for a stroll in the park.
Well, that mistake was in the past. Now he’d better figure out how to get out before whoever had set the trap came back to see if he’d caught anything.
The walls of the hole were too far apart for him to brace his back and feet and climb up that way. He decided to try to pull out the stakes, work them into the side and make a ladder. He had almost freed one, when a noise from above made him tense.
Footsteps.
Someone was up there, crunching across the open space. Coming to scoop him up.
Well, he wasn’t going to stand here waiting for the trapper to get the drop on him. Pulling his gun from the holster at his waist, he held it pointed upward in a two-handed grip, ready to shoot anybody who attacked him.
When a shadow fell across the opening, his finger tensed on the trigger.
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