Into the Wild
Spenser turned. “What was in the package, River?”
Her face burned. “What package?”
“The package your dad sent you. The one that led you to Baños. And before you ask, your assistant told my sister, who told me.”
River thought about the amulet hidden beneath her clothes, of the journal buried in the depths of the sling pack resting against her side.
Share it with no one except Professor Bovedine and beware of the hunters.
She took a step back and answered Spenser’s question with one of her own. “How much is that treasure worth?”
“Today? Around eight billion.”
“Dollars?”
“Whoever discovers that treasure will be rich and famous beyond imagining. Aside from the money itself, there’s the historical significance.”
This from a TV celebrity who hosted a treasure-hunting show. I know a lot of details.
A bell went off in River’s head. “You’ve searched for the Lost Treasure of Llanganatis.”
“Twice.”
“Well, you’re not dead. Or crazy. So obviously that so-called curse doesn’t affect everyone.”
He stepped toward her. “What was in the package?”
“Photos,” she blurted. “Family photos. They were unexpected, a sentimental gift. You’ve probably noticed I call my father by his first name. We were never close. Then…we had a major falling out and…I came here to make amends.” A partial truth, but hopefully one that would satisfy this man. Suddenly, she was as wary of Spenser as the anopheles mosquitoes.
“If you’re thinking of searching for Henry, don’t.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not without blowing her top. Not without inadvertently leaking information.
“You’re not up to the journey,” Spenser said in a sharper tone.
Insulted, she glared at the celebrity treasure hunter, a man who probably had a lot in common with her father. Including underestimating her guts and fortitude. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“Not tough enough. And before your nose gets out of joint, let me add, few have what it takes to survive an expedition in Llanganatis. If the brutal terrain, inhospitable weather and extreme altitude don’t fell you, the curse will.”
River scoffed. “Surely you’re not superstitious.”
“Go home, River.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Don’t be foolhardy.”
“If my assistant heard you say that, she’d bust a gut. I am not, nor have I ever been, reckless. I always have a plan. I’m always prepared.”
“That GPS in your sling pack won’t help you find your dad.”
But his journal might. Clutching her bag, she spun on her heel and stalked toward the jeep. “I want to go back to my hotel.”
“To pack?”
“To think.” To read. “Thank you for the update on Henry. Thank you for the warnings. When I speak to Kylie, I’ll assure her you were attentive and protective.”
She didn’t protest when he helped her into the jeep. Anything to hasten their departure. But, instead of rounding to the driver’s side, he leaned into her, his face mere inches from her own. She nearly swooned because of his close proximity, because of the sexy smell of his aftershave, because of the fierce expression on his outrageously gorgeous face.
“Aside from the brutal terrain and weather,” Spenser said in an ominous voice, “do you know how many species of insects inhabit the Amazon and Andes? Scorpions, spiders, centipedes and millipedes. Beetles, ticks, fleas. Mosquitoes.”
Bastard. “Seventy thousand,” River said in a strangled voice. “Species, that is. More or less.”
He raised a brow. “I’ll assume you’re also aware of the associated diseases. Yellow Fever. Malaria. Dengue.”
“Well aware.” She fought a wave of panic. “I’ve taken the appropriate precautions.”
He studied her with an intensity that liquefied her bones. “When you’re in your hotel room, thinking about whether or not to track your dad, think on this.”
His gaze moved to her mouth and her heart stilled. She dreaded a kiss, ached for a kiss. But he shifted and spoke close to her ear. “There is no vaccination for gold fever. And take it from one who knows, angel. It’s deadly.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
BAÑOS CAME ALIVE at night.
Lively voices and music filtered up from the street and floated in through the open window of Spenser’s third-floor hotel room. He considered stuffing tissues in his ears. He was that desperate to avoid the memories the sounds and smells prompted. Instead, he shut the window and cranked the air. He turned up the television set. He checked his voice mail, pondered the lack of messages from Necktie Nate—what were those execs up to?
He thought about the favor he’d asked of Gordo earlier today. His partner had promised to call as soon as he tracked down the former Andean guide previously associated with Professor Kane. Spenser needed the guide to confirm or deny a story. Gordo preferred playing detective to solitaire, so he’d hopped a puddle jumper south. It had only been a few hours, still…
Spenser dialed his partner, anxious for an update.
No answer.
Ten minutes later, he tried again.
“Do you know how many Juan García’s there are in Lima?” Gordo asked.
“A lot?”
“I said I’d call when I had something to report.”
“Sorry I couldn’t give you more to go on, Gordo.”
“Remind me why I’m doing this?”
“Because it’s more fun than sitting around Cajamarca with your thumb up your ass?”
Gordo grunted.
Spenser closed his eyes and willed away thoughts of River’s desperate determination. “Because Cyrus Lassiter has been known to exaggerate and no one can back him up on this. Juan confided in him and him alone.”
“If what Lassiter told you is true, and if Juan wasn’t exaggerating, then Henry Kane’s raving mad.”
Spenser massaged his temples.
“Helluva thing to break to his daughter,” said Gordo.
“I need verification.”
Silence.
Spenser imagined his partner scratching his beard and then rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’ll find Kane’s guide,” he finally said. “If not tonight, then tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait for your call.”
“Sure you will.” Gordo disconnected.
Spenser tossed the phone on the bed and glanced at his watch: 10:15 p.m. At this hour Gordo was trolling bars, known hangouts for guides and thrill-seekers. By 1:00 a.m. his friend would be three sheets to the wind and feeling no pain.
Sober and miserable, Spenser fell back on his rented bed and stared up at the cracked ceiling. For the umpteenth time in the last five hours, he thought about his outing with River. He’d been a bastard, but he’d wanted her to understand the danger associated with Llanganatis. He hadn’t told her everything he’d learned from Cyrus about her dad’s cursed expedition, because he wasn’t sure how much was true. Cy was a good man, but eccentric. The treasure hunter’s eccentric nature had made him the odd man out. He’d been known to embellish stories simply to garner attention. His take on Kane’s expedition had been troubling. Spenser had wanted to spare River the gruesome details—real or imagined. Even though she played the tough chick, on the inside she was a wary lamb. The dichotomy was a powerful aphrodisiac. The entire time that he’d been trying to warn her away, he’d ached to hold her close. To kiss away her worries. Kissing River was fast becoming an obsessive fantasy.
He closed his eyes and groaned.
Love at first sight was a curse all its own.
The antiquated TV and ineffectual air conditioner droned in the background, along with the muffled sounds of the street. He was blocking memories, craving tequila and damning River Kane when his cell rang.
“What?”
“Nice greeting.”
“What do you want, Jack?” His best friend and soon-to-be official brother-in-law. In truth, Spenser knew what the man wanted.
“I want to know you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re in Baños.”
“So?”
“You swore off that town. Swore off that legend.”
“I don’t care about the legend.”
“Liar.”
“What do you want, Jack?”
“Your sister’s on my ass. About you. About River.”
“River’s fine.” She, too, was holed up in her room. Thinking or sleeping or watching TV, and no doubt cursing Spenser. He’d booked the room across from hers. The two times she’d stepped out, he’d stepped out, too. Both times she’d glared, done a one-eighty and slammed her door in his face. The scent of laundry-fresh bug repellent had lingered in the air, taunting him as keenly as Chanel 5.
“I spoke to Gordo,” Jack said. “He told me who River’s dad is and where you think he might be.”
Shit.
“Are you going after Professor Kane, Spense?”
“I’m going to drive River to the nearest airport and put her on a plane bound for the States.” The sooner, the better. “Then I’m going to get back to business and search for El Dorado. I’ve got a show to film.” He hoped.
“What about Kane?”
“The authorities are aware he’s missing. If they learn anything of consequence, they’ll contact his daughter.”
After a tense pause, Jack said, “You’re an expert on that region, that legend. If Kane used Valverde’s guide or even that other guy’s map—”
“Brunner.”
“You could probably find him. Dead or alive. At least River wouldn’t be left wondering. Also…maybe you could find closure yourself, Spense.”
“Face my demons?”
“Whatever it takes to move on.”
Spenser swung out of bed and nabbed a bottle of pain relievers from his backpack. “Kylie see eye to eye with you on this?”
“She wants you to let go and move on.”
“But she doesn’t want me to trek into the Llanganatis.”
“Hell, no.”
Spenser washed down the tablets with a swig of Inca Kola. He opened the window and breathed deep. Bittersweet memories swirled along with the cool air and salsa music.
He thought about River, acknowledged another kind of ache.
He wanted to move on.
“If I go,” he said to Jack, “there better be a wedding to attend when I come back.”
“Nothing would keep me from marrying your sister. Again.”
Spenser grinned. “I’ll be in touch.”
He disconnected just as another call came in.
Cyrus Lassiter.
The crusty treasure hunter had promised to call if he remembered anything more about Kane and his expedition.
“More news on the professor, Cy?”
“Not exactly,” the treasure hunter shouted over lively background noise. “This is about his daughter.”
Spenser tensed.
“I’m at El Dosel,” Cy said. “And so is she.”
CHAPTER NINE
RIVER COULDN’T DECIDE what had been riskier, climbing over her hotel balcony to the next balcony, then to the next two over, knocking on a stranger’s sliding glass door and exiting into the hall through said stranger’s room or…entering a bar on her own, a bar in a foreign country, a seedy bar patronized, as far as she could see, exclusively by men.
Her body vibrated with nervous adrenaline—a weird sort of high—as she assessed the boisterous, crowded room.
El Dosel was a smoky, dimly lit, testosterone-charged hole-in-the-wall. Taking in the decor, which could only politely be described as rustic, she reminded herself she wasn’t here for the ambiance. Or even the drinks. She was here to find a guide. According to Antonio, the waiter she’d met earlier today, El Dosel was the local watering hole for tour operators and treasure seekers. Telling one from the other was impossible. But she was determined to find someone who would help her locate Henry.
That someone would not be Spenser McGraw. She’d never met a more infuriating, chauvinistic control freak. Booking a hotel room across from hers? Following her every move? The man was practically stalking her.
Yet she was sexually attracted to him. Fiercely attracted.
Talk about twisted.
A purely shallow attraction, she assured herself. One that could be managed. Every time Spenser popped into her head, she kicked him aside with thoughts of David. Accommodating, sensible David—before his meltdown.
Dredging up the confidence and calm she used when speaking with potential clients or anal-retentive wedding planners, River skirted a few tables and moved to an open spot at the end of the bar.
The bartender, a swarthy, rail-thin man with a pencil mustache greeted her. Sort of. “American?”
River sighed. “Oh, good. You speak English.”
“Are you lost?”
“No.” The mere thought struck fear into her heart. She hugged her sling pack containing her GPS and map.
“I don’t want any trouble. You,” he said in an accented voice, “are trouble.”
River practiced her superior people skills. She smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Augusto.”
“Augusto, I’m looking for a private guide. I was told I could find one here. Could you please point me toward a reliable, English-speaking, trustworthy, inexpensive guide?”
He smirked. “You ask much.”
“I’ll settle for someone who knows the Andes like the back of his hand, speaks broken English and won’t cost me a fortune.”
He pointed out a half dozen men.
After thanking him, River moved toward the least grungy and intimidating of the six. He was enthusiastic…until she mentioned Llanganatis.
“Wait,” he said, his dark eyes narrowing. “Are you the woman who’s been asking around about Professor Kane?”
At last! Someone who acknowledged her father’s existence. She’d hoped not to bring his name into this. That supposed curse was a hindrance. Plus, Henry had warned her off treasure hunters and this place was full of them. But this was too promising to ignore. She urged the man to lower his voice and adopted a pacifying smile. “All I need—”
“I cannot help you.” He jerked away as though she were diseased.
Undaunted, River moved on. She got the same response from her second and third prospects. The fourth turned her down before she finished her opening line. They all knew who she was and they all put stock in the curse. These locals were downright spooked. She got the strong sense Spenser hadn’t been completely honest with her. There had to be something more to the story, worse news regarding Henry’s expedition. Something that legitimized the curse.
River took a calming breath. She refused to leave without a hired guide. Maybe if she blended in, she’d put them more at ease.
She scanned the smoky bar, snorted. Blend. Right. Who was she kidding? She looked like a Barbie doll in a room full of G.I. Joes. Her only other option was to flirt. Could she play that game? Trump fears of a curse with her own seductive charm?
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