Into the Wild (25 page)

“I could kill you all here and now,” Andy said. “Proceed to the village on my own. But I fear I would suffer the same fate as Gator and the countless others who ventured too close.”

“I marvel you even made it this far,” said Kane.

“Thanks to my wife, rest her soul, I know these mountains well, and, like your guardians, I, too, move like a ghost.”

“Even if I led the way,” Henry said, “they'd kill us within a mile of the village.”

Andy shook his head. “According to your journal, you're beloved by an elder's daughter. Amazingly, the high council is not opposed to marriage. You have won their trust, established yourself as a god of sorts.”

“Not a god,” Henry argued.

“Still,” Andy said, “you are…cherished.” He aimed his gun at Henry, then quickly trained it back on River. “They will do what they must to protect you,” Andy said, “and your offspring.”

“They will protect the treasure at all cost,” said Henry.

“I can persuade them otherwise.”

Henry fisted his hands at his sides, “I won't help you.”

“Then your daughter dies.”

The air swirled with mist and tension. Henry had indicated earlier that his devotion to his passion was greater than his devotion to River. Spenser could see
by the pained look in River's eyes that she didn't expect Henry to budge on this matter. At this point, neither did Spenser. He had to make a move. He thought about taunting Andy with lies about Jo, drawing his anger and fire. But what if he took out his anger on River instead?

Warped revenge.

“Pity,” Andy said. “I had hoped to keep River alive.

I had plans. She smells so…sweet.” He intensified the pressure of the gun, shrugged. “Ah, well. You know what they say about best-laid plans. And I can buy any woman, sweet or raunchy, even without the ransom.”

“Wait!” Henry shouted. “I'll help you. I'll lead you to the village and do whatever I can. Just don't hurt my daughter.”

River gasped, then burst into tears.

Relief surged through Spenser. The old man really did love his daughter.
Fucking A, Henry.
He'd not only soothed River's soul, he'd bought them some time.

Still…Spenser didn't trust Andy with River's life. Even if Kane got them all the way to the village, even if they persuaded the tribe to reveal the location of the treasure, no way in hell would Andy allow any of them to live.

He'd existed the past nine years in anonymity. He spoke of his wife in the past tense. Had he killed her, too? He'd had a hand in Bovedine's death. In Mel's and Gator's and at least two Andean guides'. How many other deaths had he contributed to in his feverish quest?

“Douse the fire, Professor. Spense, grab your gear.

My supplies are beyond that tree. You'll have to tote
those, too.” He kissed River's cheek. “I'll handle this package.”

Murderous thoughts ran through Spenser's head, but instead of acting rashly, he spoke reasonably. “She'll never make it. Relying on my memory and the
X
on the map, we'll have to ascend another hundred or so feet to reach the village. Am I right, Henry?”

“Yes,” he gritted out.

“River's suffering from AMS,” Spenser went on. “Remember what that feels like, Andy?”

The man frowned. “She'll make it. I have experimental medication in my pack. It'll alleviate—”

“If she doesn't pass out first,” Spenser said, willing River to read his mind. “She looks like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” she whispered in a thin voice. “Feel like…” She went limp. Dead weight that caught Andy off guard.

Spenser lunged.

Somewhere in the jungle…

R
IVER DRIFTED FOR A LONG
time. Eternity. A soothing, silent blackness that later gave way to twisted images of betrayal and revenge. When she could stand it no longer, when she had the strength, she clawed her way through the hazy fog. The closer she got to clarity, the more she panicked.

Danger!

She bolted upright with a gasp and almost retched from the pounding in her head. “Easy, angel.”

Spenser!

He was lying on the ground next to her, looking dazed. His face was bruised and cut, his shirt torn. A moment of sheer panic registered in her brain.

Andy.

Heart pounding, she inspected Spenser for a bullet wound. “Are you all right?” she rasped, throat thick with worry.

“Feels like my worst hangover times twenty. What about you?”

“Sluggish. Sore.” Knowing he'd escaped severe
injury, her anxiety kicked down a notch. Her pulse, not so much. She glanced around. No Henry, no guardians, no Andy. “What happened to us?”

“I remember Andy and I beating the shit out of one another, wrestling for his gun. Other than that…” Spenser curled his fingers around hers. “Give me a sec, hon. My body's not the only thing that's numb just now.”

She rolled back her left shoulder, winced. “I think we got tagged with another blow dart.”

Spenser grunted. “More guardians must've showed. I didn't see them, but that would explain my draggy reflexes and lapse of memory.”

River's own memory was hazy. The last thing she remembered was a gunshot—just as Spenser plowed into her and Andy.

She still couldn't believe the friend Spenser had thought dead was alive. Insane, but alive, and obsessed with the same legend as her father. What were the chances?

Then she remembered more.

Talk of her father. Of an elder's daughter. Of marriage. Is that why Henry was so willing to turn his back on modern civilization. For
love?

The notion confused and intrigued River. Was Henry back with the tribe? Back with his woman? Had he seen River safely to this point, or had he entrusted her solely to the guardians? It shouldn't matter, but it did. She shoved the troubled and complex feelings aside.

She focused on Spenser and Andy beating the hell out of one another, a struggle for his gun. Also troubling.

She remembered blood.

Andy's blood.

She remembered another gun.

Spenser's gun.

Only it was in Henry's hands.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as her memory sharpened. At one point Andy had bested Spenser, pointed his gun at River and… “My dad shot Andy to save me!”

“With my Beretta. Thank God Henry's got decent aim. The way Andy and I were tussling, he could've winged me instead.” Spenser pushed himself into a sitting position, graced her with a tender smile. “Do you remember what happened seconds before the shooting?”

“I'll help you. Just don't hurt my daughter.”

Her heart swelled, her eyes burned. “Henry had been prepared to risk his precious secret to keep me safe,” River whispered. She let the tears flow. “He loves me, Spenser.”

“I think he always has in his own eccentric way.”

Spenser pulled her against his chest, stroked her hair.

She clung to him, trying to assemble her scattered memories and emotions. She would have thought the face-off a terrible dream except for the makeshift splint on her wrist and the very real pain shooting up her arm. She took in the surroundings. The trees looked different.
The smells and sounds were different. And the sun was shining. “We lost a night.”

“So I see.” Spenser rubbed the back of his neck. “They really souped up those darts second time around.” He glanced at his watch. “Damn. We were out for over sixteen hours.”

“Where are we?”

“Don't know.”

Using her good hand, she unlooped her scarf and unzipped her jacket while Spenser reached for her sling bag. It was lying alongside his bulging backpack. He pulled out her GPS, the one she'd lost in the road robbery.

“I have a headache,” she said. “But I can breathe easier and…I'm not as light-headed. Or cold.” In fact, she was burning up.

“No wonder. We're at twelve thousand feet.”

“What were we at before?”

“Fourteen and a half at least.” He thumbed more coordinates. “Unbelievable. Somehow they transported us from there to here in less than a day, and here is as good as home.” He glanced at River, smoothed his hands over her face. “You're feverish.”

“I'm fine.” A knee-jerk response. She didn't want him to think her weak. At the same time this was a possible problem she was unable to ignore. “My wrist is throbbing and my arm hurts. Bad.”

“We need to get you to a doctor,” Spenser said calmly. “Can you walk?”

She was still feeling the effects of the tranquilizer.
But she'd zip-lined on coca tea and scaled a flipping muddy jungle wall under the influence of a mysterious seed juice. Surely she could conquer flatland on the remnants of…whatever. “A straight line might be asking too much, but, yes,” she said, allowing him to help her to her feet. “I'm mobile.”

He traded the GPS for his satellite phone. “Yeah, Gordo. I know. I
know.
Where are you? Great. Stop bitching. I'll fill you in later. On my way. ETA fifteen minutes.”

River's mind whirled. Again. “Gordo? Your cameraman is nearby?”

“I asked him to arrange transportation in case I needed to get you out of here quickly.”

“When?”

“The day we left Triunfo.”

She'd lost track of time, but one thing was clear. “You didn't expect me to make the trek. You thought I'd wimp out or chicken out.”

“I worried we'd run into trouble,” he said, hurriedly guiding her through hacked vegetation. “When Cy went missing and you started exhibiting signs of AMS, I wanted the option of flying you out.”

“Airplanes steer clear of the Llanganatis, don't they? Too much cloud coverage?”

“Typically, that's true. Occasionally there are exceptions. Especially with daredevil chopper pilots.”

“I take it you know one of those.”

“Bingly.”

“First name? Last?”

“Both.”

“Bingly Bingly?”

“Keep walking.”

River walked. She contemplated a chopper pilot with two last names. She contemplated the discussion she and Spenser both seemed to be avoiding. Maybe he was trying to get his thoughts straight, his emotions in line. She knew
she
was reeling. “It doesn't seem real.”

“I know.”

“But it all happened, right?” she asked as they neared a clearing. “A dead man walking, warriors from a lost tribe stalking, my father—”

“It happened.”

She swallowed hard at his tense tone and less than forthcoming answer. What was he thinking? Anxious, she whirled and planted her good palm against Spenser's chest. “Henry shot Andy, right?”

“Right.”

“Dead?”

“If not by Henry's hand, then probably by the guardians'.”

“But you don't know for certain.”

“No.”

“So again you're left with no closure regarding Andy.”

“That's right.”

“And I'm left with…what? His cryptic letter and one photograph. I lost Henry's map, the journal, the family photos tucked between the pages.”

“You have the memory of him standing up for you, protecting you,” Spenser said reasonably.

“But I didn't get to say goodbye. And he didn't… I wanted… I was hoping… I feel like…like I was cheated somehow. Like I came all this way and… How long was I with my dad? An hour? Two? And I'll never see him again.” She choked back a sob. “I don't feel it, Spenser.”

“What?”

“
Closure.
I still have questions. Unresolved…needs.”

He threaded his fingers through her hair, cupped the back of her head. “You apologized for blaming him for your mom's death. He chose you over his ‘treasure.'”

“In that moment.”

“That moment has to be enough, River. Let it go.”

Frustrated, she punched his shoulder with her good fist. “I want to let it go. I
want
to move on. And I will. I just wish… I wanted more.”

Spenser stared down into her eyes, his expression unreadable. He leaned down and kissed her—soft and sweet, hot and desperate.

It felt like…goodbye.

He eased away, squeezed her hand. “Get in the chopper.”

River jerked out of her emotional daze, surprised by the loud whir of the helicopter blades. The whir of the engine. The churning air blasted her as she turned and, prodded by Spenser, moved closer to the whirlybird.
Disoriented, she squinted up at the redheaded, scruffy bearded stranger offering her a hand up. “Gordo?”

“River? Wow. You're pretty.”

She was covered with mud, sweat and jungle debris. She was wearing Spenser's jeans—several sizes too big, baggy, the hems rolled high. She didn't even want to think about the state of her hair. “I'm a mess.”

“A pretty mess.”

“River's got a broken wrist and a fever,” Spenser shouted over the noise. “She's also suffering lingering effects of AMS and a tranquilizer of unknown origin. Fly her to the best hospital in Quito.”

“You're coming with, right?” Gordo asked as if reading River's mind.

“Have to go back.”

“Why?” Gordo and River railed as one.

“It's personal.”

“Don't give in to the fever, Spense. Not this fever,” Gordo snapped. “Get in the chopper and let's get the hell out of here. Necktie Nate called. He's got an idea for a shoot.”

“So do I.”

River pinned Spenser with anxious eyes. “Don't go.”

“Bingly!” he shouted. “Got a survival kit handy?”

The chopper pilot jerked a thumb toward the rear seat.

Spenser nabbed an army-green backpack from beneath, then locked on Gordo. “Got your minicam with you?”

“Goddammit, Spense.”

“Give it to me.”

Instantly River thought the worst. She envisioned Spenser risking the guardians' wrath in exchange for a chance to shout
eureka!
She envisioned him with a spear through his chest. She nabbed Spenser's jacket. “Some tales are best forgotten.”

He kissed her hard, then looked over her shoulder at Gordo. “Take good care of her.”

“Take me with you!” she demanded.

“Can't.”

“You mean you won't!”

“Sorry, angel.”

“If you do this,” River shouted as he backed away, “if you don't come with us right now, Spenser McGraw, I…I won't wait for you in Quito. I won't wait at all!”

He started to back away and her stomach dropped to her toes.

“Wait!” she screamed.

All along she'd known they weren't meant to be. She'd sensed the end of the adventure would mean the end of their relationship. She was logical and practical, after all. But she refused to let him walk off like David, leaving her stunned and speechless. If this was the end, she'd have some sort of say. “Take this,” she said, pulling off her Inca chakana necklace.

“Your dad gave that to you.”

“And I'm giving it to you. The tree of life,” she shouted over the helicopter's whir and roar. “A positive talisman, yes?”

“River—”

“Take it, dammit. Wear it.” Even though he was breaking her heart, she wanted him safe.

He looped the Inca gold cross around his neck. “I love you,” he mouthed, then shouted to Bingly, “Take her up!”